Page 61 of Married As Puck
I lean back in my chair, shaking my head. “Please tell me you didn’t entertain that nonsense.”
“Entertain? Babe, I barely survived. He asked if I’d join his VR wedding start-up. I told him my Wi-Fi was too unstable for commitment and left.”
I burst out laughing, covering my mouth. “Julia, you have the worst luck. Honestly, if there’s a parade of oddballs, you’re always first row.”
She sighs dramatically but I can hear her smile. “Better oddballs than crickets. At least I have material for my memoir: ‘Dating Disasters of a Hopeless Romantic.’”
“You know what?” I tease. “You should start a podcast. The world needs these stories. I’d be your first subscriber.”
Julia snorts. “Yeah, and you’d also be my first guest because your love life is turning into a soap opera. At least with my guys, the stakes don’t involve dangerous, broody hockey players.”
“Touché,” I mumble, rolling my eyes, but the laughter bubbling between us feels like a relief. For a moment, the weight of Cameron and Miranda fades, and it’s just me and Julia, two women laughing at the absurdities of life.
I force myself to get ready as quickly as possible and get to work. When I arrive, I sift through contracts, invoices, and design boards. I’m halfway through revising a gala floor plan when a flashing alert on my screen catches my eye—one of our office’s security feeds flagged for review.
Curiosity gets the better of me. I click.
And my blood goes cold.
Miranda. In my office.
She’s supposed to be in her own corner, pretending to run her projects, but here she is on video, moving through my drawers like she’s looking for something. She pulls out one of my finalized event contracts—the one for next month’s Randolph Foundation gala—and slips a different folder in its place. My pulse spikes as I lean closer to the screen.
I’ve been waiting for this. Proof.
Heart hammering, I save the clip to a drive and head straight for Mrs. Randolph’s office. My hands are shaking by the time I knock, the weight of vindication and fury making it hard to breathe.
I don’t even bother knocking. I push the door open and stride into Mrs. Randolph’s office, my heart thudding so hard it almost drowns out my own voice. She’s on a call, headset perched on her hair, eyes narrowing the second she sees me.
“I’m sorry, but this can’t wait,” I say, breathless but determined. “Miranda has been sabotaging my work.”
Mrs. Randolph holds up one finger, murmurs something curt into her headset, then clicks it off. She leans back in her chair, unimpressed.
“I do hope you have a concrete reason as to why you’re barging into my office like a mad woman.”
I try to steady my breathing, “Mrs. Randolph, Miranda has been sabotaging my work.”
“Sabotaging? That’s a very serious accusation, Brie. Do you have proof?” She leans back and raises a brow at me.
“Yes,” I say, maybe a little too quickly. My hands tremble as I flip open my laptop. Finally, Miranda will be exposed. I open the folder where I saved the footage, click—and freeze.
The screen is blank. The file is gone.
“What is this, Brie? What exactly am I supposed to be seeing?” Mrs. Randolph frowns at the blank screen.
“It was just—just here,” I stammer, clicking frantically. The video, the timestamp, all of it… vanished. “I swear, I saw her. Miranda was in my office switching documents—”
“Really?”
The voice comes from the doorway. Miranda herself. Smiling, all wide-eyed innocence.
“Switching documents? Brie, that’s a serious accusation. I’d be careful before throwing my colleagues under the bus.”
I whirl on her, my blood boiling. “Don’t act like you weren’t just—”
“Weren’t what?” She steps closer, tilting her head in mock pity. “You should probably keep better track of your files. If you’re this careless, no wonder things keep slipping through your fingers.”
Mrs. Randolph folds her arms, her gaze sharp and skeptical. “Brie, accusations without evidence are dangerous. Are you absolutely sure you’re not mistaken?”
