Page 104 of Words We Didn't Say

My gaze drifted around my office. My reward. I scoffed a hollow laugh. A white-walled prison with a harbour view. Once upon a time, that had meant something. The claps, the green eyes, and forced smiles when I’d moved into the office next to Chris’s had been a prize. Achieving partnership was supposed to be my happily ever after. The moment I’d worked for my entire career. The time I’d finally risen from the ashes of poverty to become a success instead of the skinny loser with the beat-up Corolla.

I glanced at the photo of Eden on my desk and touched my fingertips to my lips before pressing them to the glass. My beautiful girl. She was myrealhappily ever after.

Tension short-circuiting my stiff fingers, I focused on the computer and clicked open a new email. The cursor blinked in the white box. How should I word the message to implode my career? If I’d planned better, I would’ve forwarded a photo of the card Eden had sent me all those months ago—the one with the cat that said, “Giving zero fucks.” The final middle finger.

I started typing.

I can no longer work for this firm.

It has been my pleasure to work with some of you, but continuing to turn a blind eye to the toxic practices of a partnership who prioritise money and ego over its people only lowers me to the bottom of the barrel with them.

We all deserve better than to work for a man like Chris Stone.

I’m sorry.

I clicked send.

Twelve years of my life ended with a few sentences, but I’d promised Eden action, not only words.

I slipped off my glasses, arranged them neatly beside the laptop, and rose on steady feet. I shrugged off my suit jacket and tossed it on the desk. Diamond cufflinks dropped on the wool. Off went the carefully knotted tie. Finally, I folded my shirt sleeves to my elbows.

Action, not only words.

How long would it take someone to call the cops? Would I be arrested? I’d never been arrested before. I’d barely been in a fight. Dad had taught me it was better to walk away. I’d been a good kid and kept my fists to myself even when the other boys had teased me and knocked me down just because I’d worn glasses and preferred reading to sport. I was tired of being knocked down. The bullies didn’t always have to win.

The door to my office burst open. Michaela stumbled inside, her chest heaving, cheeks red.

“Zach, your email—” She gulped in a breath.

I headed for the door, but she smacked it shut and barricaded the handle and every possible escape route with a windmill ofarms. It would’ve been laughable if there was a drop of emotion left inside me.

“Move,” I said.

“Think about what you’re doing!” The words scratched out of her in a desperate shriek. “Sit down at your desk and retract that fucking email! Zach, I know you—”

“You knownothingabout me.”

“I know you’ve worked your arse off for twelve years. You’re the best lawyer in this firm. That woman you’re with is poison, Zach. If she told you to quit—God—whatever lies she’s told you—”

“Bruises don’t lie.”

“Bruises?”

“Chris.”

Michaela’s face turned white, but somehow, she didn’t look shocked.

“Move.”

“Okay.” She nodded. “I’m moving.” Her hand shook when she pulled down the door handle.

I shouldered past her without another word.

People stared at me, and heads popped out of offices as I charged down the corridor. Two colleagues tried to stop me. So many questions.

What happened? Where are you going? Are you okay?

What would everyone say when this was all over? Would it be like when the news anchors interviewed people in the neighbourhood after someone snapped?

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