Brothers of Paradise Series

“Yes. The contract, my requirements… It was to prove to myself that I wasn’t a pushover. That I had dignity. But in reality, I wouldn’t have said no. How could I? I’ve never been able to say no to you.”

I grip her hand tighter. “We’re on the exact same page there, Faye.”

Faye

On Monday morning, I wake up to my alarm, a window full of sunshine, and a good morning text.

Henry Marchand: Looking forward to our Monday meeting today. Wear the red dress?

I smile at the phone. My good mood lasts all the way through my shower, my breakfast, to my conversation with my sad little palm tree. “Cheer up,” I tell him. “Life is good.”

And when I walk into the office later-in my red dress-it’s with renewed confidence. I might not know how Henry and I will solve our professional problem, but I have a job I enjoy, a purpose, and a man I really like.

I open my laptop and get started on today’s work. The coming week is packed, but then again, so are most weeks here. As I sort through Henry’s calendar, my mind is already racing ahead, thinking about the different firms I could apply for. Only working for Marchand & Rykers for a few weeks won’t exactly look good, but at least I’ll get a good reference.

What can I say as the reason for leaving? Creative differences?

An email lands in my inbox from Terri Richards. The headline makes me pause.

Terri Richards: I think you should check the break room. I’m sorry, Faye.

That’s all it says.

It’s with nerves in my stomach that I walk down the long hallway and into the open landscape. The atmosphere is normally competitive, but today it feels downright tense. Ben from accounting gives me a little smile, but he’s the only one.

Terri is sitting in the break room with a stack of papers in front of her.

“It has to be Kyle,” she tells me. “I’m sorry, Faye.”

With shaking hands, I grab one of the papers, and the world drops out from beneath my feet.Text property © Nôvel(D)ra/ma.Org.

It’s a picture of Henry and me from the wedding. We’re dancing, and he has his lips against my temple. My hands are around his neck. It’s clearly been enlarged-we’re in the background of someone’s photo-but there we are, in all our pixelated glory.

Below is an attached copy of my application letter. My eyes burn as I scan through the familiar drunken words. You’re not going to hire me, you old stooge, and let me list the reasons why. And below it all is a single sentence in all caps.

WHY DO YOU THINK SHE WAS HIRED?

I sink into the seat opposite Terri and drop my head in my hands. I swallow, and swallow again, to keep tears at bay. Everything we’ve done this weekend suddenly feels cheap when exposed under these fluorescent office lights. My dress that I’d so painstakingly picked out in that washed-out picture, his hands resting just slightly too low on my back. It looks bad. The whole thing looks just as bad-no, worse-than I ever feared.

“I’m over,” I say.

Terri’s eyes are sympathetic, her bob as perfectly cool as always. “I’m not one for kind lies. It is bad. I don’t know who he’s circulated these to outside the office, but I think it’s time for damage control.”

“Everyone’s seen this?”

She gives a polite nod. “In the office? Yes, I think so.” She looks down at her nails, and her voice hardens. “Kyle hasn’t come in today. I bet that if we spoke to HR, we’d find his resignation letter.”

“This is so… petty. It’s revenge. And all because I took his spot when we pitched?”

“Yes, but it’s got to be more than that. He was an asshole every single day in this office, and he never felt he got the recognition he deserved. I think you got caught in the crossfires. And… I think he’s mad at Marchand. He idolized the man.”

Oh, Henry. He doesn’t know about this yet. He can’t, or he would have been at my desk immediately.

“I’m sorry, Faye. But I have to ask… is it true?”

What point is there in trying to hide now? I look down at the picture of us, at the clear happiness on my face, and feel nauseous. “Yes. That’s not what he hired me for… but have we gotten closer? Yes. God, I’ve been such a fool.”

She reaches out and puts a cool hand on mine. To both of our surprise, I grip it tight. We sit there for a long while, the two of us, both of us the picture of hard-working, professional office women, with blow-dried hair and fitted blazers. There’s no competitive atmosphere in the break room at the moment.

“It happens,” she says softly, her ice-blonde hair an elegant sweep along her neck. “I don’t know you very well. I won’t pretend to. But you were excellent in here. For what it’s worth, I really enjoyed working with you, and I’d be happy to work with you again-as an architect.”

“I enjoyed working with you too.”

She pats my hand gently and lets me go. “Now, how are you going to get him back?”

“Kyle?”

“Yes, and Marchand. I like the man well enough, but he should not have gotten involved with his assistant. You would’ve thought the man had learned that lesson by now.”

“What?”

Her eyes soften. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t… but you should know now. His previous assistant was nice. Sara. A little shy, from out of town. Good at her job, by all accounts. But she got far too involved. I don’t know what happened between them, but she was very clearly in love with the man. In the end, she quit.”

Something like ice settles in my stomach. I had asked why my perfect predecessor had been fired, but every time I’d gotten non-answers.

My application letter, there on the table in front of us, glares at me with its awfulness. He told me I impressed him in the interview. But how could I know it wasn’t because of my looks?

“Can I sue Kyle? For slander?”

Terri cocks her head. “Maybe. You’d have to talk to a lawyer about that.”

“My application letter. How did he get it? Did Melissa give it to him?”

“I know he has a background in computer engineering, before switching to architecture. If he wanted to access the file… maybe he could. But it seems unlikely.”

I gather up all the papers on the table. As she watches, I tear down the ones stuck to the fridge, to the cabinets, and toss them all in the bin.

“Thanks for telling me.”

She nods. “You would do the same for me.”

And she’s right. I would. No one should have to go through this, even if it’s their own mistakes being thrown at them. My path forward suddenly seems crystal clear.

“What are you going to do?”

I look down at the one paper I spared, my proof copy. “The only thing I can,” I say. “Damage control.”

Henry’s eyes soften when I enter his office, over an hour early for our Monday meeting. “Hey.” But then my expression registers. “Faye?”