Page 91 of Forty, Flirty & Fired

“No, I don’t. But, A-dog…From from where I'm sitting, you're doing exactly what that ex-husband did. Just with better suits and more musical numbers."

Through the windows, Seattle glitters under fresh snow, completely indifferent to my emotional crisis.

My father's text hits right on cue:Saw the board's demands. Smart choice. Can't let emotion cloud business judgment. Just like I taught you after your mother?—

I close it before he can finish. Before he can remind me how walls keep you safe. How trust is weakness. How love destroys everything it touches.

"Here's the thing," Grayson closes his laptop. "Mac's posts changed after she met you. Less rage, more... hope. Probably the first time since this ex of hers that she actually believed change was possible."

"She wrote an exposé?—"

"That she didn't publish." Connor cuts in. "While actively improving your company. Meanwhile, old cradle robber’s over there, taking credit for her success while his business tanks without her innovation."

My phone lights up - Mac's latest post:

"TECH TRUTH: Sometimes the biggest walls aren't in corporate culture, but in the hearts claiming to change it.Sometimes the hardest trust to earn isn't with others, but with ourselves. #StillLearning #StillHoping"

"Three hundred forty-two posts about toxic leadership." Grayson gathers his things. "One about love being worth the risk. Guess which ones came after you?"

They leave me there with scotch and revelations and all the walls I built thinking they were protection.

When really, they were just another way to stay alone.

Emma's final update hits:Keith's latest song making board members cry. In a good way. Mostly.

I look at Mac's posts again - at her journey from anger to hope, from protection to possibility. At the way her words changed after we met, even if neither of us could trust it yet.

At the walls we both built thinking they would keep us safe.

When really, they just kept us apart.

Through the windows, Seattle's snow continues falling, transforming everything into something new. Something possible.

Something worth the risk.

Just like Mac wrote about.

Just like I might be ready to believe.

28

SOME CHRISTMAS MIRACLES

MACKENZIE

Four mornings after my exposé dropped like a bombshell, I'm hiding out in La Famiglia's wine cellar. The vintage bottles around me have seen plenty of Gallo family dramas, but nothing quite like this shitshow. I swear the '82 Brunello is giving me the stink eye.

"You know, that Brunello is judging you hard," Lucia calls out from the cellar stairs. Outside the tiny window, Seattle's December snow is falling steadily, turning the alley into a freaking Norman Rockwell painting. Too bad I can't enjoy it over the mess I've made.

"Tell Nonna I'm good," I say, scrolling through another tech news headline. Keith's Twitter thread about "love in the time of corporate reform" is blowing up. Who knew heartache could trend so hard?

"Good? Really?" Lucia raises an eyebrow. "Because you're sitting in a wine cellar looking like a hot mess with last night's mascara smudged all over."

"It's a look, okay?" I sigh, running a hand through mytangled hair. My phone buzzes with another news alert. Just great, my 3 AM wine-fueled blog post is making waves.

@MizzByteMyAlgos: "BREAKING: Sometimes exposing corporate truth means losing your own. Who knew champagne was better at starting riots than romances? #LessonsLearned #ChampagneProblems"

"Champagne problems, huh?" Lucia reads over my shoulder. "Cute. But maybe dial back the booze metaphors?"

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