The Fastest Way to Fall(88)

Other posts like “The First Boy Who Told Me I Was a Mistake,” “Falling and Failing,” and “I’m Just Not That Into You: The Scale, the Mirror, and Another Salad” made me want to hug her. She left everything on the page about pride and guilt, shame and confidence, strength and power, and about feeling hopeless and feeling seen.

Cord stepped in and closed the door behind him. “You want to talk now?” He plopped into the chair.

“I’m meeting Britta at my place.”

His jaw was set, and he gave a grunt in response and nodded before asking, “What are you going to do?”

“Are you asking if I can keep it in my pants?”

“No, jackass.” He shot me a rueful look—one I deserved. “And don’t act like I shouldn’t. What is going on with you? Sleeping with a client? This is a big deal, and not just for the company. You’re looking to be distracted so much, you put our company at risk. I’ve been your best friend for ten years, and you lied to my face.”

“I’m sorry, but I swear she’s not a distraction. I’ve never felt like this with someone.” I met my friend’s hard stare. “I know you warned me. I should have told you.”

Cord’s expression softened. “Well, tell me about her now.”

“I can’t believe she was writing about us the whole time.”

“You said she told you she was a journalist this weekend?”

“She did, and I swear I thought it was for this one-and-done article. I thought she’d known for maybe a couple weeks. But six months?”

Cord looked thoughtful. “You love her?”

I had known the answer four hours earlier when I kissed her on the sidewalk outside my building. Except we both lied for months. I glanced at the pages and pages of the members of #TeamBritta without answering, but he must have read my expression.

He nodded, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “Thought so.”

I glanced back at the screen, where I’d been scrolling through to a flood of comments on one of her posts—people saying how much they needed to hear about her struggles, how they’d thought they were the only one not knowing how to feel good about their body, with self-doubt and uncertainty, and that her posts made them notice warning signs in others. I pointed to the screen. “I can’t shake the thought that if Libby had something like this, maybe she would have found other ways to cope, or would have felt she could ask for help.”

“Maybe so.”

“Like, these are the kinds of things I want our clients to be reading.”

Cord was quiet for a few seconds. “I’m pretty sure she’s going to have to choose between being with you and writing that.”

“Yeah.” I let my voice fade. Britta had reached so many people, and it clawed at me that I was the reason she might have to stop.

I glanced at the clock over his shoulder. “I gotta go, man.” I pushed away from my desk and shoved my phone in my back pocket. “I know I fucked up, and I’ll be careful, but I need to see her.”

Cord nodded and raised his fist for me to bump. “Good luck.”

I headed to the elevator with a sour taste in my mouth. I knew what I had to do. Britta was doing something important. As much as it made me want to punch a wall, I knew I wasn’t worth her having to stop.





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BANNED FROM WRITING or posting, I couldn’t focus. Eventually, I gathered my purse and walked toward the main entrance. I would have liked to say I walked with my head held high, but the entire company knew everything about me. So, I hung my head and pretended to be texting, praying no one would try to engage me in conversation. Though there were whispers, no one did. Claire hadn’t so much as looked at me. I seethed at her betrayal and kicked myself for ever believing in her truce, especially after she tried to play innocent.

“Britta, a minute?” The voice stopped me in my tracks, and Maricela motioned from the doorway to her immaculately appointed office.

Shit. “Sure.”

Maricela folded her toned arms on her desk and leaned forward. “How are you?”

I blinked back tears, drained, like someone had released the air from my tires. “Okay.” I nodded too many times. “Maricela, I swear it’s not as bad as it looks. We—”

She held up her palm. “Natalie told me already. It’s not my immediate concern, the nature of your relationship with the coach. You’ve . . .” she trailed off. “The Internet can be a cruel place, Britta. We all know that—we deal with trolls, but you’ve walked into public scrutiny.”

“I can handle it.”

“I’m sure you can, and you will.” She tapped at her collarbone. “You don’t have a choice, but I have to think of our entire company, and we rely on readers trusting our collective voice. You’ve made a big mistake here.”

I gulped. No, no, no, no, no.

“I need you to step back from Body FTW and writing. Maybe it’s a good time to use some of your vacation.”

My heart folded in on itself like Saran Wrap. “I thought the plan was to deny everything. You want me to take a leave of absence?”