The Fastest Way to Fall(98)

“Welcome back. I wanted to check in and see how you’re doing.”

“I’m okay,” I said, noticing how my hand looked against the smooth tabletop. I’d skipped getting a manicure to join Helen for an advanced hip-hop dance class the day before, and my polish was chipped, and the condensation from the water bottle that had replaced my morning coffee had left a small puddle near my pinky finger. I smiled to myself, taking in all the changes at once, and repeated my answer, but meeting her eye this time. “I’m okay.”

“The post you wrote while you were out,” she began, gesturing to her tablet.

I gulped and bit my tongue. I’d been banned from posting, but whoever was supposed to cut my access to our social media never did. I searched her expression, but it was the same professionally serene one she always wore. They didn’t take it down, but probably by the time they noticed, it had too much traction already. Did I get myself fired over this post?

Maricela interrupted my stewing. “It was wonderful.”

“Thank you.” After I’d posted it, I’d logged off. I didn’t want to risk seeing more hateful comments from trolls and disappointed comments from loyal readers, so I’d left it at #sorrynotsorry and had gone for a long run. My resolve to not check on it lasted only until the end of the run, and it had already exploded.

“It was tremendous, actually. It resonated with people, and I thought about passages days later.”

“I’m glad.”

Maricela eyed me, and a small crease appeared between her brows. “Britta, I’ll be candid.”

I swallowed. “Okay.”

“Your ethical misstep was critical, and I can’t ignore it. You will not write or post for us again. You’ve played fast and loose with our rules, and I can’t allow that.” The words hit like a hammer, but I couldn’t say I didn’t deserve them. “Please don’t assume you shouldn’t be writing somewhere, though.” She tapped the screen of her tablet to wake it and then slid it to me, and I saw my post and comments. “And you should be writing things like this.”


I needed to hear this today—keep running, Britta.


Thank you for sharing this. It makes all the difference in the world when you find your real motivation. We’re cheering you on. Stay strong.


I hate that you lied . . . but it sounds like you’re in love with someone amazing—both yourself and your coach. Keep going, Britta.



The comments went on and on, and emotion caught in my throat.

“You’re a good assistant, and we’ll keep you as long as we can, but this”—she tapped the screen again—“this is where you shine.”

I pressed my lips together. Gratitude at the praise, sadness at the reminder I wouldn’t move up at Best Life, and the realization I was in love with someone amazing . . . who I’d cut out of my life all hit me at the same time.

Maricela dropped her own perfectly manicured hand to mine. “I’m glad you’re still going to run.”





60





“NERVOUS?” CORD GLANCED across the conference table after tucking his phone in his jacket pocket. He pulled at the sleeve and fiddled with a button. Next to him, Mason scrolled through his phone.

It had been weeks since Britta and I had split. Since then, I’d been a lot of things, but that morning, I was confident. “Not nervous.”

Pearl strode toward us from the open door, stopping next to Cord, who straightened on her approach. “They’re here. Ready?”

“Yeah, can you send them in?” I glanced at my notes, the condensed version of two weeks of planning, strategizing, investigating, and exploring.

Pearl nodded and ran a hand over Cord’s shoulder, brushing off a piece of lint. “You look nice in a suit.”

I’d known Cord a long time, long enough to decipher the flash of a goofy grin on his face.

He returned my questioning glance with a small shrug.

“Good morning.” The three of us stood as Kelsey and two of her senior people entered the room. I’d asked her to meet privately, told her we were against exploring the merger and we weren’t changing our minds, but she insisted she wanted her team there. She planned to steamroll us like I’d let her in the past.

“Morning,” I said, extending my hand to greet them. Mason and Cord did the same, and we settled around the table.

“Let’s get started,” she said, resting both hands on the tabletop. “We’ve prepared a plan to—”

“That won’t be necessary,” I interrupted.

Her expression tilted in veiled annoyance. “I figured you’d want me to lead the planning, but by all means.”

Cord cleared his throat. “As we’ve told you, we’re not moving forward with a merger.”

Kelsey’s eyes narrowed, and she gave Cord a withering look. “I thought I made it clear why this was in both of our best interests.” Her laser-like stare turned to me, and her two vice presidents exchanged their own worried looks.

“We never agreed to this.” I examined her face, a cool and composed mask, but a muscle in her neck ticked. “And your intimidation tactics and threats will not work.”

“Let’s pause here,” one of her vice presidents spoke up. “We believe this will be mutually beneficial, especially considering current . . . events. We’ve brought along some figures—”