Page 132 of Wildflower
Long meetings with legal and HR, headache-inducing PR discussions about how to restore my reputation, and the most painful company all-hands I’ll ever hold—telling people the same lie the board made me tell the press and shareholders. Exuding confidence and nonchalance, which is the opposite of what I’m feeling.
And I hear the whispers. I know the team chats are blowing up. They’re not happy with me.
But I have to keep powering through, keep up the charade until they’re convinced.
Resilient on the outside. Suffering on theinside.
The worst was telling everyone Rey had ‘chosen to pursue opportunities elsewhere’. Especially because Nia informed me the same day that she’d had to let Rey go. At least she got severance, although there’s little solace in that. There’s nothing right about this outcome.
A knock on my glass door makes me jump, and I swivel my chair, finding Horace in the doorway.
“What are you doing here on a Sunday?” I ask, sounding more accusatory than I mean to. “I mean, come in, please.”
“I just came to get my laptop. I need to work from home tomorrow. My son just vomited, so…” He shrugs. Fuck, I didn’t even know he had a child.
“How old’s your son?”
“He’s eleven. It’s him you can thank for my still being here, by the way. He’s a big fan of the games.”
“I’ll make sure I do.” I smile at him. It took a lot to get Horace to stay. He was livid with me for costing us Rey’s talent. And for hurting her. “Want a drink before you head out?” I ask, nodding to the half-empty bottle on my desk. “I didn’t drink all this, don’t worry. It’s leftover from the social night the team had here.”
The night Rey told me she loved me. Loves me? Could she still? I drag a hand over my face.
“Sure,” he says. “Do I need to find a glass?”
I nod, and he disappears.
Horace returns less than a minute later, and I find I’m relieved he came back. I’ve isolated myself more than usual. But now I want to talk. I want him to shout at me again. Someone needs to dare to talk to me about Rey.
The sharp ache in my chest eased after a few days of focusing on work. It felt like it helped me, making sure my sacrifice at least would be worth it.
But then I did the stupid thing and went to see her at herbrother’s house. Thinking I could apologise, and maybe she’d forgive me.
Xander’s eyes, so like Rey’s, made him hard to look at. The pain in them is etched into my memory.
“What the hell will be different?” Xander had asked me, his voice strained. “Nothing has changed, right? Have you suddenly grown a spine?”
He might as well have punched me in the face. I shook my head, nothing to say in my defence. No, I hadn’t done anything differently. It was selfish of me to try to see her, but I was desperate.
The worst was his face getting all distorted, and him growling at me. “She’s lost everything she loved because of you. Her modelling gig, the concept art …you.” He said the last word as if it caused him physical pain. “She’s been in bed all week, barely eating. If she doesn’t come back out of it this time—” He’d stopped then, his jaw clenched. “I’ll make you pay.”
Then Aiden tore me a new one the following Saturday morning, when he essentially forced his way into my flat after I had been avoiding him all week. Instead of rowing like we used to, we had a one-sided verbal sparring match. He called me every possible synonym for arsehole found in the dictionary. In multiple languages.
Which I deserved.
“Mark, can you at least try to talk to her?”
“She’s better off without me, Aiden.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Her brother said so. I took everything from her. Because I told the board, the internet, the idiots out there, that they were right to judge her. I judged her.”
I’ve looked at the photos again since. Every day. And it’s so obvious.
She’s not flirting.
She’s not some sex object trying to get men excited.
