Page 53 of Fighting Gravity

She inhaled sharply. “To whom?”

“Me.”

Her face crumpled. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I noticed him acting squirrelly. He kept coming by my desk for no reason. I started to suspect him, so I set him up. Luckily, Linda, the woman from HR, had suspected him for a while, too.”

Probably because Lizzie had mentioned his behavior to them both as Rosie was being escorted out. She was glad Linda had taken Lizzie’s assertion seriously if it had saved Jeremy his job.

“I caught him typing the fucking email at my desk.” Jeremy shook his head. “I took pictures and called Linda immediately. She seemed glad to be rid of him.”

Rosie couldn’t crack a smile. How could she have been friends, and occasional lovers, with a man like Chad? What was wrong with her judgment? How could she not have seen the duplicitousness lurking in him?

She shook herself. “I’m glad you got to keep your job. I’m glad Chad didn’t burn your reputation to the ground.”

“Rosie,” Jeremy said softly. “I know you left with your reputation burning, as you say. But you weren’t villainized for long. This is what I’ve been dying to tell you for two years. Our black colleagues did not believe you wrote that email.”

Tears filled her eyes. She remembered the glares. The disgust. The betrayal she’d felt that anyone could suspect her of such heinous thoughts. She shook her head. “Solange—”

“Solange was the most vocal of your supporters. She knew,knew, you didn’t feel that way about her. She went on a crusade to clear your name. Lizzie, too.”

Tears spilled onto her cheeks and didn’t stop. She pressed her lips together to stop them from trembling, but it didn’t work. “Really?”

“Yes, really.”

Rosie dropped her forehead to the table and let silent sobs leave her body. She’d been holding on to shame for so long. The shame of the words in the email, the label she’d assumed came from them, the worry about the emotional damage done to Solange, the trust she’d placed in the wrong person. The shame was a black hole in her heart. And it had been holding her back, sucking hope from her life. Her past kept her from pursuing big clients, from making new connections in the design community. Her past kept her from Tate, she realized, the kindest and purest of men. A man who never seemed to make mistakes.

No longer.

Chad had been a looming specter in her life since he’d screwed her over. He’d hurt people she worked with. He’d hurt her. He was still hurting her. She didn’t have to let him. Her first step? Silence the warning voice that told her she couldn’t trust Tate or the happiness he brought. Rosie didn’t want to listen to that voice anymore.

After what felt like forever, she was cried out. She straightened and wiped at her cheeks. Jeremy just sat there, empathy coloring his expression. “I hid from you at Sprouts a couple months back. I really wish I wouldn’t have. I could have had this breakdown in the bulk aisle instead.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he replied, looking around. “This coffee shop is a pretty good place for a breakdown. Almost everyone has headphones in.”

Rosie gave him a wobbly smile. “Thank you for telling me this. I still feel like a fool for trusting Chad, but you just helped me more than you know.”

“I wish you wouldn’t beat yourself up over Chad. He duped everyone. Luckily, he’s probably the worst person any of us will ever come across. He doesn’t deserve a place in our lives in any capacity.”

Jeremy was right. She needed to tell Selah. More important, she needed to see Tate.

Four hours later, Rosie pulled up at the villa unannounced. She’d overfed Bella and hastily thrown an overnight bag together. She was ready—dying, aching—to let go of the dark shame and throw herself into the light.

She wanted to try with Tate. Really try.

She was still shaky and raw from the revelatory conversation with Jeremy. She hadn’t magically healed in half a day, but she was closer than she’d been in two years to allowing possibility. Hands still shaking, she knocked on the front door, a part of the house she’d never been to, since she’d always entered through the garage at the back of the house. There was no answer from her knock, or when she rang the doorbell.

The sounds of a nail gun, music, and voices reached her on the wind. She’d check out back.

The pool was first, and it was empty. But there were towels strewn about and more than one beer bottle. And tanning oil. And a pink tank top laid out on a chair. Uneasiness stirred. Quinn didn’t seem like the pool or novelty tank top type.

Tate’s patio was also empty, but the door was ajar so Rosie slipped inside, where she heard noises in the kitchen. She found Tate rummaging in the fridge.

She cleared her throat to announce herself. “Hey. No one answered the door, so I just came in. I hope that’s okay.”

He jerked to standing and turned toward her, hands empty. But instead of looking glad to see her, Tate looked stricken. “Rosie, what—”

A voice interrupted him, one Rosie didn’t recognize. “Did you get lost in this massive house? What is taking so—oh. Sorry.”

---