Chapter 8 - THE WOMAN IN THE PINK CARDIGAN
Three weeks later, Emily walked into Alderstone wearing a pink cardigan.
Not because she had to.
Because she wanted to.
The lobby noticed.
So did Brooke Landry.
Emily stopped.
Brooke was sitting near reception.
For one uncomfortable moment, neither spoke.
Then Brooke stood.
“I owe you an apology.”
Emily waited.
Brooke swallowed.
“What I said that day was cruel.”
“Yes.”
Brooke seemed surprised by the direct answer.
Emily continued.
“And it wasn’t funny.”
“No.”
“You weren’t laughing at clothes. You were trying to make somebody feel smaller so you could feel bigger.”
Brooke’s eyes dropped.
“I know.”
Emily studied her.
“Why are you here?”
“I reapplied.”
Emily almost laughed.
“You’re brave.”
“Or stupid.”
“Could be both.”
Brooke looked toward the elevators.
“They changed the process. Anonymous portfolio review.”
Emily knew.
She had helped design it.
“My portfolio passed.”
“Congratulations.”
Brooke blinked.
“That’s it?”
“What do you want me to do?”
“I thought you’d tell them not to hire me.”
Emily shook her head.
“If your work is good enough, your work is good enough.”
Brooke’s eyes filled with embarrassment.
“Why would you do that?”
“Because otherwise I’d be doing the same thing you did.”
Emily walked toward the elevators.
Behind her, Brooke called, “Emily?”
She turned.
“I really am sorry.”
This time Emily nodded.
“I believe you.”
Upstairs, Alderstone was changing.
Slowly.
Painfully.
Three executives resigned.
Two were fired.
Several projects were paused.
The board hated the headlines.
Investors hated the uncertainty.
Jonathan refused to hide any of it.
Independent engineers reviewed every questionable development.
Affected communities received public reports.
Alderstone established a fund to repair defects at no cost to residents.
The financial hit was enormous.
Jonathan approved it anyway.
One afternoon, Emily found him staring at a spreadsheet.
“You look sick.”
“I just spent one hundred and twelve million dollars.”
“On repairs?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
He looked offended.
“You have an alarming relationship with my money.”
“You have more.”
“That isn’t the point.”
Emily placed coffee beside him.
“Drink.”
He did.
Her reporting line had changed.
She now worked under chief architect Diane Mercer.
Which meant Jonathan had technically removed the professional barrier between them.
Yet nothing happened.
For twelve days.
Then sixteen.
Emily began wondering whether she had misunderstood him.
On day nineteen, she found an envelope on her desk.
Inside was a handwritten note.
Dinner. Friday. 7:00. No investors, no architecture, no kidnapping.
Emily laughed.
She wrote beneath it:
Define dress code.
Five minutes later, the note returned.
Whatever makes arrogant people uncomfortable.
Friday evening, Emily wore the pink cardigan.
Jonathan arrived at her apartment wearing jeans.
Emily stared.
“You own jeans?”
“I purchased them.”
“For tonight?”
“Yes.”
“You look uncomfortable.”
“I am.”
“Excellent.”
Their first date was not at a luxury restaurant.
Jonathan took her to a tiny Italian place his father had loved.
They ate pasta.
Argued about brutalist architecture.
Shared tiramisu.
Jonathan admitted he hated yachts.
Emily admitted she had assumed billionaires slept in suits.
“Only during mergers.”
She laughed so hard the table beside them stared.
Outside, rain began.
Jonathan walked her home beneath one umbrella.
At her apartment door, they stopped.
Emily looked up.
He looked suddenly uncertain.
She enjoyed that more than she should have.
“You’re overthinking it,” she whispered.
“I’m trying to behave appropriately.”
“Terrible strategy.”
She kissed him.
Softly.
Briefly.
When she pulled away, Jonathan stared at her.
“That was extremely unprofessional.”
“I don’t report to you.”
“Best restructuring decision I’ve made.”
She laughed and kissed him again.
For the first time in years, Emily’s life felt light.
Then Monday came.
Alderstone’s board called an emergency meeting.
Jonathan entered expecting financial projections.
Instead, every director had a printed photograph.
Emily and Jonathan kissing outside her apartment.
The headline had already appeared online.
BILLIONAIRE CEO GIVES JOB TO WOMAN HE’S SECRETLY DATING.
Emily’s stomach dropped when she saw it.
The article implied their relationship began before her hiring.
It claimed she had fabricated accusations against executives to advance her career.
And its anonymous source described Emily as “an ambitious opportunist who engineered access to the CEO.”
By noon, strangers were attacking her online.
By two, reporters stood outside her mother’s house.
By three, Alderstone’s board demanded Jonathan place Emily on leave.
Jonathan refused.
Emily didn’t.
She walked into his office and placed her access card on his desk.
“No.”
“Jonathan.”
“No.”
“I’m taking leave.”
“You did nothing wrong.”
“That doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to me.”
“And that is exactly the problem.”
He stared at her.
Emily’s voice softened.
“If you protect me because you love me, they’ll say that proves everything.”
Jonathan went still.
Emily realized what he had heard.
She had not meant to say it.
Neither had he.
“You said love.”
She closed her eyes.
“Of all the words in that sentence…”
“Emily.”
“Don’t.”
He stood.
“Do you?”
She looked at him.
This arrogant, difficult, exhausted man had believed her when people with better clothes had laughed.
He had listened when she challenged him.
He had risked his company rather than bury the truth.
“Yes.”
Jonathan crossed the room.
But Emily stepped back.
His face fell.
“I love you,” she whispered. “Which is why I’m leaving until my name is cleared.”
She walked out.
That evening, Jonathan discovered who had leaked the photograph.
The security image had been purchased from a freelance photographer.
The payment came from a public-relations firm.
May you like
The firm’s client was one of Alderstone’s board members.
And that board member was Brooke Landry’s father.
