I tucked the note in my pocket, deciding this was definitely another keeper for my growing collection of Sandy's inspirational messages. They usually ranged anywhere from telling me to "make the day my bitch" to telling the world to "fuck off entirely." My roommate definitely had a way with words.
The storm was still raging outside, rain pelting against the windows in sheets. I grabbed my umbrella from the closet, knowing my carefully styled hair wouldn't survive the walk from the house to my car without protection. Deciding against making a mess by eating cereal, I grabbed one of the many blueberry bagels we kept stocked and slathered what was probably a metric ton of cream cheese on it.
I headed out the door with the bagel pressed firmly between my teeth while I juggled my umbrella, purse, and car keys. The rain was coming down so hard I could barely see my car in the driveway, and by the time I made it inside, my shoes were soaked despite my best efforts.
The drive to work was treacherous—other drivers creeping along at half their normal speed, windshield wipers working overtime, and the occasional flash of lightning illuminating the gray morning in stark, dramatic bursts. But somehow, morning traffic was still lighter than usual—apparently not everyone was brave enough to venture out in this weather—and I made it to work with plenty of time to spare.
Before putting my phone in my purse, I checked it one more time, feeling that another stab of disappointment when I saw Patrick still hadn't responded. The rational part of my brain tried to offer excuses—he was busy, he was in meetings, he wasn't a morning person—but a smaller, more insecure voice whispered that maybe he was already regretting everything he'd said last night, then again, maybe it was just the wine talking.
As I headed into the building with what I hoped was my usual confident stride, I waved at the security guards who were switching shifts. The building lobby felt like a refuge from the storm, warm and dry and filled with the comforting smell of brewing coffee from the little café near the elevators.
Elroy was working this morning, and thankfully, he had his signature container of candy sitting on the front desk, ready for any staff member who needed a pick-me-up on their way in. I grabbed a few blue Jolly Ranchers, knowing Elroy would never touch them because, as he always said, "How can I chase out the hooligans with a blue tongue? They'd never take me seriously!"
He shook his head at me as I popped the Jolly Rancher in my mouth, the sweet blue raspberry flavor clashing horribly with the lingering taste of blueberry bagel and cream cheese. I waited until I was standing in front of the elevator bank, watching the numbers descend, before discreetly spitting it out in the nearby trash can.
"Rough weather out there," Elroy called out. " I heard it’s going to be raining like this all day, so you best be careful driving home tonight, Miss Ashleigh."
"Thanks, Elroy. Stay dry!" I called back as the elevator dinged its arrival.
I stepped into what I dramatically thought of as my silver chariot, ready to whisk me away to what would hopefully be an exciting day of working on the Cypher Tech campaign and maybe, if I was lucky, talking to Patrick between the usual endless phone calls.
But as the elevator approached my floor, it suddenly shuddered violently before screeching to a halt with a grinding sound that made my teeth ache. The lights flickered ominously, and then the doors tried to open but only managed to slide apart about six inches before getting stuck, revealing nothing but a concrete wall.
I was trapped between floors.
Panic shot through me like ice water, my heart hammering so hard I thought it might burst right out of my chest. The elevator car felt like it was shrinking around me, the fluorescent lights humming ominously overhead while the storm raged outside the building.
I immediately grabbed the emergency phone that was supposed to automatically connect to building services, but instead of ringing, it gave me nothing but a monotonous dial tone. I tried pressing the emergency button frantically, the little red light flickering but doing absolutely nothing. The elevator felt like a metal coffin, and the realization made my breathing turn shallow and quick. The mirrored walls reflected my growing panic back at me from every angle.
"Hello?" I called out, my voice echoing strangely in the confined space. "Can anyone hear me? I'm stuck in the elevator!"
Silence, except for the distant rumble of thunder and the creaking of the elevator cables above me.
I pulled out my phone, hoping to call for help, but of course, there was no signal. Because why would anything go right today? I tried calling the main office number anyway, holding my phone up toward the ceiling like that might somehow improve cell reception, but the call wouldn't even attempt to connect.
Minutes felt like hours as I paced the tiny space, pressing every button repeatedly like some kind of maniac. I tried to stay calm, reminding myself that people got stuck in elevators all the time and they were almost always fine. But the storm outside was making everything worse, the windows rattling slightly in the wind and adding to my sense that something was seriously wrong.
Just when I was starting to imagine spending the entire day trapped in this metal box, possibly missing important calls from Patrick, the elevator suddenly lurched back to life with a mechanical groan that sounded like it was in pain.
The car jerked upward so violently I had to grab the handrail to keep from falling, my stomach dropping as we shot up faster than normal. And then, mercifully, the doors slid open to reveal the familiar hallway of my floor.
I practically stumbled out, my legs shaky from the adrenaline, and took a deep breath of non-recycled air. That was definitely not how I'd planned to start my morning, and the whole experience felt like another bad omen on top of the storm.
"Rough ride?" Alex's voice made me jump. She was standing by the coffee machine, eyebrow raised in concern, steam rising from two mugs in her hands.
"You could say that," I muttered, still trying to calm my racing heart. The elevator decided to take a little break between floors. I thought I was going to be stuck there all day."
"Ugh, that thing's been acting up all week. Maintenance keeps saying they'll fix it 'soon.'" She handed me one of the steaming cups of coffee, and I could have kissed her for the kindness. "You look like you need this more than I do. Extra cream, extra sugar, just how you like it."
I took the cup gratefully, wrapping my hands around it to stop them from shaking. "You're a lifesaver, Alex. Literally."
We started walking toward our desks together, but Alex suddenly veered off to her own workspace when she spotted who was waiting at mine. Mr. Martin was leaning against the thin wall of my cubicle, his ankles and arms crossed as he examined his fingernails like he had all the time in the world. Even from a distance, I could see the smug smile playing at his lips, and my stomach dropped.
When I approached, he stepped aside with exaggerated politeness, allowing me to enter my small space. "Looks like you work fast," he said before I could even set my coffee down, his voice carrying that oily undertone that always made my skin crawl.
Mr. Martin was an expert at ambushing me before my day officially started, always finding a way to guarantee I'd have a shitty beginning to what was already going to be a long day. He reached into his suit jacket pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper, unfolding it with deliberate slowness like he was revealing a winning lottery ticket.
It was a photocopy of a check from Cypher Tech. For fifty million dollars.
My heart leaped into my throat. Patrick had actually done it. The deal was real, the money was real, everything he'd promised last night was actually happening.
I reached out to grab it, wanting to see the details, to make sure I wasn't hallucinating, but before my fingers could even touch the paper, he snatched it back up, folded it quickly, and shoved it back into his pocket like he was teasing a dog with a treat.
"Did you spread your legs to get Mr. Henson to cough up fifty million so quickly?" he sneered, his voice low enough that other employees couldn't hear but loud enough to make sure I caught every disgusting word. "He looks like the type who'd pay top dollar for his entertainment."
The words hit me like a slap across the face. All the excitement about the deal, all the happiness from last night, came crashing down as his vile implication sank in. He was reducing everything—my ideas, my expertise, Patrick's genuine respect for my work—to something sordid and transactional.
Right when I was about to respond, to tell him exactly what I thought of his disgusting suggestion, a loud bang echoed from Alex's cubicle, followed by the sound of her chair rolling into the wall. She came rushing around the corner, her face flushed red with anger and her hands balled into fists at her sides.
"Mr. Martin," she said, her voice tight with barely controlled fury, "I need to speak with you. Now."
I could see the storm brewing in her brown eyes, and I realized she'd probably heard every disgusting word he'd just said. Alex had been putting up with his inappropriate behavior and sexist comments for months, and it looked like she'd finally reached her breaking point.
"I'm a little busy here, Ms. Ackerson," he replied, not even bothering to look at her as he narrowed his eyes at me instead, like he was enjoying the way his words had affected me.
"It's urgent," Alex said through clenched teeth, her voice getting dangerously quiet in a way that reminded me of Patrick the other night when he'd been angry at Mr. Martin.
Mr. Martin turned his cold glare back to me, like this interruption was somehow my fault, before giving Alex a curt nod. "Fine. This conversation isn't over," he said, pointing a finger at me before following Alex down the hallway between the cubicles.
I could hear their voices getting louder as they moved away, Alex's anger finally exploding after months of professional restraint. Part of me wanted to follow them, to hear her give Mr. Martin the dressing-down he'd been asking for, but I was also grateful for the moment alone to process what had just happened.
Once they disappeared around the corner, I slumped into my chair, my hands still shaking from Martin's vile comments. But underneath the disgust and anger, there was something else—excitement. That check was real. Fifty million dollars. Patrick had actually done it, which meant everything he'd said last night about wanting to work with me, about believing in my ideas, was true.
I turned on my computer and pulled up my email, my fingers hovering over the keyboard for a moment as I tried to figure out how to put my feelings into words. Finally, I started typing:
-----------------------------------------------
To: Patrick Henson
From: Ashleigh Mayar
Subject: We did it!!!
Patrick,
I can't believe it! Mr. Martin just showed me a copy of the check - FIFTY MILLION DOLLARS! I'm still in shock. I know we talked about this last night, but seeing it actually happen...
I can't thank you enough for believing in me and my ideas. This changes everything for my career, and for the first time in three years, I feel like I'm actually going to be able to do the kind of work I've always dreamed of.
Mr. Martin is still being his usual charming self (that's sarcasm, in case it doesn't translate via email), but I don't even care right now. Nothing he says can diminish how incredible this feels.
I hope you're having a good morning and not regretting any impulsive business decisions. ;)
Can't wait to hear from you and start working on this campaign.
xoxo
-Ashleigh
P.S. - Still thinking about last night. All of it.
-----------------------------------------------
I hit send before I could second-guess myself, that familiar flutter of excitement mixing with nerves as I watched the email disappear into cyberspace. At least now he'd know how grateful I was, how much this opportunity meant to me.
For the next few hours, I threw myself into work with renewed energy, trying to push all thoughts of Patrick's silence and Mr. Martin's disgusting comments from my mind. I had other clients to handle, mock ads to send to businesses, and deadlines to meet. But every few minutes, I found myself checking my phone or refreshing my email, hoping for some sign that Patrick had gotten my message.
"Yes, Mr. Johnson, I completely understand your concerns about the timeline," I said into my headset, suppressing a sigh as Alex appeared in my cubicle doorway. She had her hands shoved deep in her pockets and an expression on her face that I couldn't quite read.
"Are you okay?" I mouthed at her as she settled into the chair across from my desk. She nodded and waved her hand dismissively, gesturing for me to continue my conversation.
But I became so focused on the look on Alex's face—something between anger, relief, and determination—that I completely lost track of what my client was saying. I caught something about moving a timeline and adjusting deliverables, but the specifics went right over my head.
"Of course, Mr. Johnson, we can absolutely adjust the timeline for the campaign launch," I said, hoping I was responding to the right thing. "We'll make whatever changes you need."
"Perfect. I'll need the revised proposal by the end of the week, then," Mr. Johnson said, sounding satisfied.
"Absolutely. You'll have it by Friday," I replied, making a mental note to figure out what the hell I'd just committed to later.
"Excellent. Thanks, Ashleigh. Talk soon."
"Thank you, Mr. Johnson. Have a great day."
I ended the call and immediately pulled off my headset, turning my full attention to Alex. There was something different about her—a lightness that hadn't been there this morning, like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders.
"Okay, what happened?" I asked, studying her face. "And please tell me Mr. Martin didn't fire you for standing up to him."
She rubbed her fingers under her chin, staring up at the ceiling like she was trying to find the right words, but there was a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "No, he didn't fire me," she said at last, looking back at me with something that looked suspiciously like freedom in her eyes. "But I did quit."
The words hit me like a punch to the gut. "What? Alex, no! You can't quit because of what he said to me—"
"It wasn't just what he said to you," she interrupted, holding up a hand. "Though that was the final straw. Ashleigh, I've been putting up with his sexist bullshit and inappropriate comments for months. The way he treats you, the way he treats all the women in this office... I can't be part of it anymore."
She leaned forward, her voice getting more passionate. "Do you know what he said when I confronted him? He actually had the nerve to tell me that I was 'overreacting' and that I should be 'grateful' for the opportunity to work here. Like, we should be thankful for the privilege of being sexually harassed."
I felt sick. "Alex, I'm so sorry. I never wanted—"
"Stop," she said firmly. "This isn't your fault. This is about him being a predatory asshole who thinks he can treat women like property." She sat back in her chair, and I could see the resolve in her expression. "I love you, Ashleigh, but I can't stand this place and that creep any longer. Kristy's been telling me for months that I should leave, and she's right. Life's too short to spend it working for someone who makes you feel like shit every day."
The mention of her girlfriend made me smile despite everything. Kristy was smart and fierce and absolutely perfect for Alex. They'd been together for two years, and I'd never seen Alex happier than when she talked about their future together.
"What will you do?" I asked.
"Kristy's firm is hiring a new graphic designer. The pay's better, the hours are more reasonable, and from what I've heard, the partners actually treat their employees like human beings." She grinned. "I have an interview tomorrow."
I felt happy for her and devastated for myself at the same time. Alex had been my lifeline in this place, the one person who understood how awful Mr. Martin was and who always had my back. Without her...
"I think you should tuck your tail and run too," she continued, reading my thoughts. "Especially after what just happened. He's not going to let this go, Ashleigh. He's going to make your life hell."
I shook my head, though part of me wanted nothing more than to walk out with her. "I can't, Alex. I just landed this huge deal with Cypher Tech. This could be my chance to finally prove myself, to move up from this junior position I've been stuck in."
She nodded, looking resigned but not surprised. "I figured you'd say that. Just... promise me you'll be careful, okay? And if things get too bad, you call me. Kristy knows employment law, and we can help you figure out your options."
The thought of losing Alex, of facing Mr. Martin's retaliation alone, made my chest tight with anxiety. But I was right to stay because of the Cypher Tech deal—this was the opportunity I'd been waiting for, the chance to finally do the kind of work I'd dreamed about in college.
"Well, if I can't talk you into leaving," Alex said, standing up and grabbing her backpack, "maybe I can at least talk you into getting lunch somewhere that isn't this hellhole for a change? Consider it my farewell tour."
"That sounds perfect," I said, leaning down to grab my purse from under my desk. "And Alex? Thank you. For standing up to him, for having my back, for everything."
She squeezed my shoulder. "That's what friends are for. Now come on, let's get out of here before I change my mind and march back into his office to tell him more of what I think of the perverted pig."
We walked the short distance from the office building to my favorite burger joint, huddled under my umbrella as the rain continued to pour down. The storm seemed to be getting worse instead of better, and I couldn't shake the feeling that it was some kind of omen about the day I’ve been having.
The restaurant was warm and cozy, a welcome refuge from the chaos of the morning. We found a booth in the back corner, away from the lunch crowd, and I felt some of the tension leave my shoulders as soon as we sat down.
"So," Alex said after we'd ordered, leaning back in the vinyl booth with a satisfied smile, "tell me about this mysterious meeting with your childhood sweetheart. And don't leave out any of the good parts."
I felt my cheeks flush as I thought about last night. "It wasn't supposed to be... I mean, I thought it was just business. But then we started talking, and he told me he'd never stopped thinking about me, and..." I trailed off, suddenly feeling foolish.
"And?" Alex prompted, raising an eyebrow.
"And he said he wanted us to try again. That he couldn't let me walk away a second time." The words sounded even more surreal when saying them out loud. "Alex, we barely talked for ten years, and then suddenly he's talking about building a perfect life together. It should have been crazy, but..."
"But it didn't feel crazy," she finished, understanding.
"Exactly. It felt like coming home." I picked at the paper napkin in front of me. "We talked for hours, about everything we'd missed, about what went wrong before. And when he kissed me..." I felt my cheeks get even hotter. "God, Alex, it was like no time had passed at all."
Alex smiled, and for a moment, she looked genuinely happy for me. "That sounds amazing, Ash. So what's the problem?"
I pulled out my phone and showed her the screen. "He hasn't responded to any of my texts. Not one. It's been over twelve hours since he walked me to my car and promised he'd call today."
Alex's expression shifted, concern replacing the happiness. "Have you tried calling him?"
"I sent him an email about the deal this morning, but nothing personal. I don't want to seem desperate." I laughed bitterly. "Though I'm pretty sure that ship has already sailed."
The server appeared with our burgers, setting them down with a clatter of plates. I stared at the food that had looked so appealing when we ordered, but suddenly I'd completely lost my appetite. Everything felt wrong—Alex quitting, Patrick's silence, the storm outside that seemed determined to wash the whole city away.
"Maybe he's just busy," I said half-heartedly, picking up a fry but not eating it. "Running a company and all that."
Alex took a bite of her burger and shook her head while chewing. "Ash, nobody's too busy to send a text. Especially after what you just described." She swallowed and pointed a fry at me. "Trust me, if a guy wants to talk to you, he'll find a way."
"But he seemed so genuine last night. The things he said..." I forced myself to take a bite, but the food tasted like cardboard in my mouth.
"Of course, he seemed genuine. That's how guys like that operate." Alex dipped her fry in ketchup with more force than necessary. "They know exactly what to say to get what they want, and then—poof—they disappear."
"Patrick's not like that," I protested, but even as I said it, doubt crept into my voice. How well did I really know him anymore? Eight years was a long time. People changed. Maybe the boy I'd loved had grown into exactly the kind of man Alex was describing.
"Honey, they're all like that when it comes down to it." She softened her tone, probably seeing the hurt in my eyes. "Look, I'm not saying he's evil or anything. Maybe he just got cold feet. Rich, successful guys like him... they probably have women throwing themselves at them constantly. Maybe he realized you're not just some easy conquest and decided to back out."
I pushed my burger around on my plate, having given up any pretense of actually eating. "So I'm just another conquest?"
"I don't know. Maybe. Or maybe he realized mixing business with pleasure could get messy and decided to back out." Alex reached across and squeezed my hand. "Either way, if he's not responding to you, that tells you everything you need to know about his character."
The rational part of my brain knew she was probably right. But my heart kept replaying the way Patrick had looked at me last night, the vulnerability in his voice when he'd told me about his marriage, the desperate way he'd kissed me like I was the air he needed to breathe.
"Maybe something happened," I said quietly, grasping for any explanation that didn't involve him simply not caring enough to respond. "What if he's in meetings all day, or what if his phone died, or—"
"Ashleigh." Alex's voice was gentle but firm. "Listen to yourself. You're making excuses for someone who isn't making any effort to contact you. That's not healthy."
I nodded, swallowing past the lump in my throat. "Yeah, you're probably right."
Maybe he was playing me. Leaving me hopeful and picturing a future, just like I left him eight years ago. The storm outside seemed to be getting worse, the restaurant lights flickering occasionally when thunder rolled overhead.
Alex glanced at my barely touched plate and sighed. "Come on, let's get out of here. You're not eating anyway, and I can't stand watching you torture yourself over some guy who clearly doesn't deserve you."
She flagged down our server and asked for the check, then grabbed both our barely eaten burgers. "At least you can take these back to the office. Maybe you'll actually eat something later when you're not spiraling."
"Thanks, Alex," I said quietly as we slid out of the booth. "For lunch, for standing up to Martin, for... everything."
"I’m always here for you," she said, bumping my shoulder with hers as we headed toward the door. "And for what it's worth, if Patrick Henson is dumb enough to ghost someone like you, then he's an idiot who doesn't deserve another second of your thoughts."
If only she knew how impossible that was going to be.
Alex walked me back to the office building through the pouring rain, linking her arm through mine and smiling over at me with that fierce protectiveness I'd come to love about her. Despite everything—Mr. Martin's harassment, Patrick's silence, the storm that seemed determined to ruin the day—I felt grateful to have someone like Alex in my life.
"Promise me we won't lose touch, okay?" she asked as we approached the entrance, having to raise her voice over the sound of rain pelting the sidewalk.
"I promise," I said, squeezing her hand. "And promise me you'll be happy at your new job. You deserve to work somewhere that appreciates you."
When we reached the lobby, she pressed the leftover food containers into my hands before stepping back toward the parking garage. "I'll call you tonight. We'll figure out a girls' night soon, okay? Love you!" she called out.
"Love you too!" I called back, watching her disappear around the corner. The lobby suddenly felt much emptier without her energy, and I realized how much I was going to miss having her around.
I made my way back up to my floor alone, knowing that someone was probably already at Alex's cubicle, packing up her things. The thought made me sad all over again—losing my closest ally right when I was about to need support the most.
Just as I was settling back into my chair, determined to throw myself into work and stop thinking about Patrick's silence, my phone dinged with a notification. I scrambled to grab it, my heart jumping with hope that Patrick had finally responded. All of Alex's warnings from lunch instantly evaporated from my mind.
But my heart sank when I saw it wasn't a text from Patrick. Instead, it was a news notification from The Daily Chronicle, the local newspaper I'd subscribed to for updates about the city.
I almost dismissed it without reading—probably just another story about the storm damage—but something made me tap on the notification. Maybe it was the instinct that had been nagging at me all day, the feeling that something was off..
The headline made the world tilt on its axis:
BREAKING NEWS: Motorcycle crash involving Cypher Tech CEO Patrick Henson, age 25. Condition unknown at this time.
