Ian lets out a frustrated breath. “Why the fuck would she do that?”
“I’d like to know the answer to that myself.”
“Jesus, Jack.” Ian hesitates; I can almost hear the damn wheels turning in his head. Then he says, “All right. Suspend the guy, pending investigation. That’s protocol. Then let legal do their thing. If the allegations are true, he’s out on his ass. Probably even facing charges.” Ian sighs. “Look. I know I’ve been reluctant to admit we’ve got problems in the office, but sexual harassment? That’s a zero-tolerance offense in my book.”
“We’re in agreement there.”
“What’s this Webb guy’s deal, anyway?” Ian asks. “Blair says you vouched for him. Brought him in outside the usual channels.”
Technically Ian brought “him” in the day he volunteered me to keep an eye on his sister, but no need to split hairs.
“Eric is not the bad guy here,” I say, keeping my voice measured. “Blair is up to something. I just need time to prove it.”
“Blair has been an excellent employee from the start. Opportunistic, sure. A little on the manipulative side. But I can’t see her lying about something like this.”
“You’ve been gone a while.”
“Three weeks is hardly a while, Jack.”
I shake my head. Isn’t it, though?
Three weeks ago, Ellie was my best friend’s little sister. A woman I crushed on from a distance, then did my best to avoid.
But somehow, between her first interview in that horrid fake ’stache and now, I got swept up in her irresistible tide. I let my guard down.
I fell in love with her.
The realization hits me all at once, a sucker punch to the gut that nearly knocks the wind out of me.
I’m in love with Ellie Seyfried. With the sound of her laugh. With the way she closes her eyes and hums when she drinks strong coffee. With her singular devotion to cheese. With the way her brain works when she’s figuring out a tough research problem and the way she feels in my arms when I hold her close and the way she makes me want to be a better man.
For her.
Because a woman with Ellie’s heart and integrity and bone-deep commitment to making the world a kinder place deserves the best. I love watching her break through her own boundaries, and love standing beside her while she stands up for what she believes in.
Who she is, who she’s still becoming—they both inspire the hell out of me. I want in with Ellie, one hundred percent. I want to be there for every step of the adventure, no matter how hard things get. Now. Tomorrow. Always.
But thanks to my epic fumble Friday night, I’m not sure I’ll get that chance.
“I still don’t see Blair’s angle,” Ian says, dragging me back to craptastic reality. “Odds are she’s telling the truth. Women don’t usually lie about this shit.”
“Well, this one is,” I say. After spending the better part of three weeks between Ellie’s thighs, or anticipating the next time I’d be between her thighs, or dreaming about the last time I’d been between her thighs, I’m pretty fucking certain “Eric Webb” is biologically incapable of exposing a dick to Blair or anyone else.
Not that I’m suicidal enough to share that tidbit with Ian.
“I don’t have time for this,” Ian continues. “Rictor and I are this close to locking down the Justin Cruise account, and word is he’s got a couple of other guys from the team interested in what we have to say.”
“I know it’s bad timing—”
“Bad timing? No. Bad timing is when you come home a day early for spring break and walk in on your Dad banging his girlfriend on your favorite Star Wars sheets.”
“Dude.” I crack a smile, despite my dour mood. Ian’s crazy. I love him like a brother, but hell, that boy needs some serious help. “Have you ever considered therapy? Just throwing it out there.”
“This isn’t funny, dickhead. A lawsuit will bring our whole operation down. And if she brings this to the media? It doesn’t matter if it’s true or not. We’ll be crucified.”
He’s got me there. But of course, I know it won’t go that far.
Everything in me is screaming to tell him the truth—all of it. Ellie’s his sister, I’m his best friend and business partner, we all want what’s best for S&H.
And we all want what’s best for Ellie.
He’ll understand, right? Eventually?
I take a breath, open my mouth to confess. But…
No. I can’t do that to Ellie. I promised I’d keep this secret. Telling Ian now would mean betraying the woman I love, and I can’t do that. Not even to save my own ass from Ian’s wrath—or the media’s.
“I’m handling it,” I say. “Focus on the Cruise stuff, and by the time you’re back on the East Coast, this mess will be a distant memory.”
I hang up with Ian, my gut tied in knots. Blair’s email trigger-finger seems to have calmed down for the moment, but there’s a new one from a member of my senior legal staff.
To: Jack_Holt
From: Macy_Parkridge
Subject: Harassment allegations
* * *
Jack —
* * *
Blair Keneally has looped me in on the situation with Eric Webb. My understanding is that she is not interested in pursuing legal action at this time, however, we are taking her accusations seriously and have assured her that we will investigate and come to a resolution as quickly as possible. To that end, I would like to meet with Eric Webb’s immediate team, as well as any assistants or other support staff he may have worked with during his tenure. I’ve asked Hannah to schedule a mandatory meeting with those individuals, including yourself, for 9:00 AM tomorrow. We’ll do a quick general debrief with the group, then arrange to interview them one-on-one. If you’d like to discuss further, please contact me no later than 3:00 PM today.
* * *
—Macy
* * *
This is bad. Really bad.
My job is on the line, my reputation, my relationship with Ian and every last one of my employees—hell, I could lose everything I’ve dreamed about and worked hard for since Ian and I started this place with no more than our MBAs, a little start-up capital, and two big hard-ons for finance.
For so long, it’s been the most important thing in my life.
Most people would say I’m crazy to risk it all for a woman.
But Ellie Seyfried has changed everything for me. She’s what’s most important now. I don’t care how fast it happened, or what Ian thinks about it, or what kind of stunts Blair is ready to pull.
Losing Ellie is simply not an option.
But we’ve only got one choice right now. I just have to make her see that, too.
I pick up the phone and dial Ellie’s cell.
She sends me straight to voice mail.
Damn.
“Ellie, it’s me. Listen. Legal’s involved now, and they’ve set up a meeting for tomorrow morning to interview your entire team. It’s only going to escalate from here. I hate that it’s come down to this, but we’re out of options. We need to come clean. I can break the news, or you can do it yourself, or we can do it together. Your choice, but it has to be done before this meeting tomorrow. We can’t let this nonsense with Blair continue. Please call me back as soon as you get this so we can strategize. I’m really worried about you. I’m… Yeah. Call me back. Please.”
But she doesn’t call back. Not for this voice mail, or the four others I leave throughout the day.
By closing bell, I’m against the ropes—we both are. As much as I hate to move forward on this without her, she’s left me no choice.
This ends now.
I start a new email, cc’ing everyone involved.
Subject: The allegations are false. Eric Webb is not a man.
Chapter 20
Ellie
I’m ready. Or as ready as I’ll ever be.
I’m wearing a new navy designer shift dress I couldn’t afford to splurge on, flesh-toned p
umps, and a vintage pearl necklace that once belonged to my mother. My hair is swept into an elegant up-do, and Spencer came over early to do my makeup so my blue eyes are popping amidst perfectly blended copper and brown eye shadow and my complexion appears deceptively flawless.
It’s been a long time since I’ve been this well pulled-together, but I might as well be naked.
I feel naked.
Exposed.
Vulnerable and defenseless without my bulky suit and oversize shoes, without my mustache and penciled-in man-brows and the armor that allowed Eric to stride confidently into the S&H offices for three weeks, certain he could make the world—or at least this company—a better place.
I can’t believe it’s only been three weeks.
I can’t believe everything’s gone to shit in a weekend.
I can’t believe I’m teetering down the hall to the conference room as myself, as Ellie, the compromised reporter and Failure at All Things.
The email from my editor at Barrington came through while I was on the train. An exposé is only an exposé if the reporter isn’t outed in the middle of getting her story. Denise no longer has any interest in the piece on S&H, and I doubt she’ll want anything else from me in the future.
People say you can’t read tone from an email, but Denise is a professional word wrangler. Her five clipped sentences made it abundantly clear that she isn’t impressed.
Neither am I.
And neither are the angry, shocked, and betrayed faces that turn my way as Hannah spies me through the windows of the conference room and rises to open the door.
As I step into the charged space, I’m keenly aware of Jack standing in the corner of the room—the smell of him, the tension rolling off his powerful form, the way something deep in my chest aches to turn to him, run to him, wrap my arms around him and hold on tight until we find a way out of this mess—but I avoid making eye contact.
I can’t look at Jack, or I won’t be able to hold it together through what comes next.
I set my briefcase on the smooth glass at the head of the table, but I don’t sit down. Sitting will only make me feel more vulnerable, and I get the sense I won’t be here long.
These people don’t look like the friends and coworkers Eric knew. They don’t look like people who want to ask questions, listen, and come to an understanding. They look pissed off, scared, or too stunned to have an opinion, and I wish all over again that Jack had waited. That he’d trusted me, believed in me, and given me just a little more time.
Or that I had listened to his voice mails sooner, instead of shutting down communication and hiding in my lair like the old, socially dysfunctional Ellie because the thought of losing Jack and this story at the same time was enough to short circuit my coping mechanisms.
I understand why Jack felt backed into a corner, but did he really have to send out that group email last night, before we’d even had a chance to regroup?
If he had waited just a day or two, I might have been able to walk in here with my head held high, a criminal-activity-exposing hero. At the very least, I would’ve been armed with complete and professionally presented research that would have justified my deception.
But the notes and pie charts I cobbled together after finally listening to Jack’s frantic voice mails last night aren’t impressive.
As I pull the copies from my briefcase, my hands are trembling. Around two this morning, when it became clear I was going to need every second I could get to pull my presentation together, I emailed Jack, giving him permission to start the meeting before my arrival. I was hoping he would soften them up with the signature Holt charm, and then I’d win them over by explaining why my investigation was so important and dispensing evidence of my solid research skills.
But as I stare at the sea of angry, confused faces, my confidence in my plan crumbles faster than the stale muffin I forced down on my way to the train.
“Before we start looking over the numbers and statistics,” I say, my voice thin in the too-silent room, “I want to assure all of you that I never intended to make anyone feel foolish. I truly had, and still have, the best of intentions.”
“I don’t care about your intentions.” Rictor’s bark breaks the seal on the room, inspiring a chorus of angry grumbles from where the brokers are gathered. “I want to know if your undercover stunt is going to sink the company we’ve busted our asses to build.”
“It’s not fair,” Frame pipes up, dark eyes wide in his pale face. “A lot of us have families, people depending on us. Making S and H look bad in the media isn’t going to make the world a better place for women. It’s going to take food off the table for our wives and kids. And do you have any idea how much diapers cost?”
“And childcare,” Barb from accounting pipes up.
“I understand where you’re coming from.” My gaze shifts between Frame and Barb, willing them to see that my heart is in the right place. “This isn’t about throwing S and H—or any of you—to the wolves. Through my investigation—”
“Through your deception, you mean.” This from Lulu’s supervisor, Will Pool, who isn’t even trying to wipe the smear of smug satisfaction from his face.
Plowing on, I say, “I’d hoped to get an insider’s perspective and a clearer picture of where a typical financial institution is failing to provide equal opportunity and compensation, and by bringing that to light, start a conversation that might lead to change. Not just here, but—”
“Might is the operative word, Ms. Seyfried.” Penelope, one of the most senior members of the executive support staff, is clearly unimpressed. “I’ve been in this game a long time, and change, when it comes, comes slowly. Half the time the people who blow the whistle are tossed out or paid off, the unpleasant things they’ve exposed are swept under the rug, and the only result is ruined reputations, lost money, and wasted energy, which should be spent getting work done, spent cleaning up a pointless mess.”
“Not all the time. Sometimes policies change and things get better,” Wallace says, surprising me. He was kind to Eric, but I wouldn’t have pegged him as an ally. “I just hate knowing I was part of an experiment without my knowledge.” He blows out a breath, cutting his gaze to Jack. “And I can’t believe the execs went along with it.”
“That’s why I’m here to assure you all that we’re going to make this right.” Jack steps forward to stand beside me. “Ellie’s research was unconventional, yes, but it was also invaluable in pinpointing places where S and H can improve best practices. In the coming weeks, Ian and I will be reviewing all of Ellie’s findings, meeting with any employees who wish to discuss issues and ideas, and implementing positive changes based on your direct input. I’m sorry I misled you, but I will do everything in my power to earn back your trust, if you’ll let me.”
Wallace nods, and most of the others in the room follow suit. How could they not? Jack is a force. He’s not afraid to apologize or admit when he’s wrong, and no matter how shaken they were by the news that he’s been involved in my research, he’s always had their backs.
I just wish he had mine, too.
I lower my eyes, blinking back tears as Jack continues to rally the troops with his detailed plans for making S&H great again.
“To that end,” he continues, “we’re starting immediately with some modifications to our sexual harassment policy and protocols.” Jack motions toward the door, where Hannah is seated in her usual chair against the wall, taking notes. “Hannah, if you’ll hand out the materials, please? I want to be sure everyone knows the proper channels for lodging a complaint and how that complaint will be evaluated and addressed. We’ll walk through the new procedures, then open the floor up for any questions. Sound good?” At everyone’s murmurs of agreement, Jack turns to me with a smile that feels forced and thin. “Thanks for coming in today, Miss Seyfried.”
And just like that, I’m dismissed.
Jack doesn’t tell me to leave, but it’s clear that I’m no longer needed—or wanted—her
e.
Tucking my untouched handouts back into my briefcase, I take a step toward the door, but Jack appears in front of me, blocking the exit.
“Don’t go,” he says, his voice low. “Stay. See what Ian and I came up with last night. I think you’ll be proud of the changes we’re making—all because of you.”
Pressing my lips together, I shake my head. “They don’t want me here.”
“They’re just surprised—they need some time to process. Besides, I want you here, and I’m the boss.”
The cautious smile curving his lips and the hope in his eyes offer the opportunity to salvage at least one beautiful thing from the wreckage of my failed experiment. Jack still wants me. I could stay, suffer through the rest of this uncomfortable meeting, and then go to lunch with my boyfriend.
But as much as a part of me wants that—to be Jack’s girl, to be in Jack’s arms and his good graces and his bed—the sting of his rejection hurts too damned much.
He didn’t reject Ellie the woman he’s sleeping with, but his insistence on exposing our plans before I could finish my work set off a bomb in the middle of Ellie the reporter’s life.
Ellie the sister isn’t faring too well, either.
The message Ian left on my cell last night was the angriest I’ve heard my brother since I played bomber pilot with his model airplanes when we were kids, gleefully sailing each wooden masterpiece off the roof to crash onto the driveway below, my five-year-old brain not realizing how impossible it would be to put them back together.
And now Jack and I are the same.
Shattered. Broken.
He made that clear in his response to my email last night, when he insisted this was the only option—we had to tie up loose ends and put everyone’s minds at ease before the situation escalated—and revoked my remote access to the S&H systems.
Right. I’m sure everyone’s mind is at ease now—especially Blair’s, considering I can’t get back into her emails and I’ve got no clear evidence to prove she’s at the core of something rotten, eating this company from the inside out.
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