Page 18 of Forty, Flirty & Fired

"Trying isn't good enough." I start typing. "Not when women's livelihoods are at stake. Not when?—"

"Not when you want him to put his cream in your cannoli?”

My fingers freeze over the keyboard. "I don’t want him to put his…cream in my anything.”

"Sure you don’t.” She stands, heading for the door. "Just likeyou weren't checking out his forearms when he rolled up his sleeves."

"I was not?—"

"His very thick, veiny forearms." She grins. "With those fancy watch tan lines that say 'I make good life choices but also know how to have fun.'"

"Get out."

"I'm just saying," she pauses at the door, "maybe there's more to this story. Maybe he's not the villain you want him to be."

"He's not a villain," I mutter, staring at my screen. "He's a symptom of a bigger problem."

"Or maybe he's trying to fix that problem…Maybe.”

She leaves before I can respond, which is probably good because I don't have a response. Not a good one, anyway.

I look at my blog draft:

"BREAKING: Major tech companies talks big game about inclusion while paying women 30% less. C-suites love to claims 'it's complicated.' You know what's not complicated? Basic math. #PayGap #TechBros"

My fingers hover over the post button. It would be so easy. One click, and Drake Enterprises' dirty laundry goes public. The board couldn't ignore that.

But Alex's words echo in my head: "Sometimes the story they tell isn't the whole truth."

What if he's right? What if there's more to this than numbers in a spreadsheet?

What if I'm letting my past—my ex-husband's betrayal, the promotions I lost, the constant battle to be taken seriously—color how I see this situation?

"Dammit." I close my laptop. I need more data. More context.

And maybe, just maybe, I need to figure out why the sightof Alexander Drake's rolled-up sleeves is more distracting than it should be.

My phone buzzes. A text from Lucia: "BTW, that Slack drama? The developers are organizing their own investigation into pay discrepancies. Looks like you're not the only one asking questions..."

Perfect. Let them do the digging. Let them ask the uncomfortable questions.

Meanwhile, I have a CEO to investigate.

I grab my bag and head for the elevator. As I pass Alex's office, I glimpse him through the glass walls, bent over what looks like financial reports. His tie is completely undone now, hanging loose around his neck.

I force myself to look away. Focus on the mission, Mackenzie. The blog. The exposé. The truth.

But as I drive home, I can't help wondering: whose truth am I really after? The one in the numbers, or the one I want to believe?

The one that makes Alex Drake just another tech bro to take down, or the one that suggests he might be fighting the same battles I am, just from a different angle?

And why does the second option terrify me more than the first?

My phone buzzes again. This time it's Nonna:"If you're still at that office, I'm sending your mother to get you. With soup. And opinions about your work hours."

I smile, typing back:"Just left. Heading home now."

"Good. And bambina? Remember what I always say about judging the sauce before it's finished cooking..."

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