“You quit?”
“Technically, I was fired.”
She spun around.
“Because of my wedding?”
“Because your wedding was inconvenient.”
“Elena!”
“What?”
“You loved that job.”
“No. I was good at that job.”
She stared at me through the mirror.
There was a difference.
Apparently I had needed three years to understand it.
My phone had been silent since Thursday afternoon.
No calls from Jackson.
No messages.
Nothing.
I told myself that was good.
At 10:14 Friday night, it rang.
Margot.
I answered.
“Please tell me the building is on fire.”
“Worse.”
“What happened?”
“Jackson happened.”
I sat on the hotel bed.
“What does that mean?”
“He rejected three versions of the Harrington schedule.”
“Who built them?”
“Everybody.”
I laughed despite myself.
Margot lowered her voice.
“Legal says your version was already correct.”
“Then use mine.”
“They can’t find the final dependency sheet.”
“Shared drive. Harrington. Closing. Version fourteen.”
Silence.
Then Margot said, “I love you.”
“Goodnight, Margot.”
“Elena?”
“What?”
“He hasn’t left his office.”
I looked toward Sophie.
She was laughing with our mother.
“That sounds like Jackson’s problem.”
I hung up.
Saturday arrived bright and cold.
By eleven, I was standing beside Sophie in a Manhattan hotel suite.
“You look beautiful,” I told her.
She immediately started crying.
“Stop.”
“You started it.”
“No, you did.”
Someone knocked.
Mom opened the door.
A hotel employee stood outside holding an enormous arrangement of white roses.
“For Elena Carter.”
Sophie looked at me.
I frowned.
“Who sends flowers to the maid of honor?”
The card contained only four words.
You were right. — J
Sophie read over my shoulder.
“Oh.”
“No.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You made a face.”
“It was an interesting face.”
I put the card down.
“He fired me.”
“He sent flowers.”
“He gave me an ultimatum.”
“Very expensive flowers.”
“Sophie.”
“I’m getting married. I’m allowed one day of bad judgment.”
At 4:30, the ceremony began.
And I forgot about Jackson.
I watched my little sister walk toward the man she loved.
I fixed her train.
Held her bouquet.
Cried during the vows.
When she whispered, “You kept your promise,” something tightened in my throat.
“Yes.”
Afterward, during photographs, Dad approached me.
“Your boss here?”
“Former boss.”
Dad blinked.
“What happened?”
“Long story.”
A voice behind me answered.
“I made a mistake.”
I froze.
Dad looked over my shoulder.
So did I.
Jackson Pierce stood twenty feet away.
Black suit.
Black tie.
No entourage beside him.
No assistant.
No board members.
Just Jackson.
Sophie whispered, “Well, this got interesting.”
I walked toward him.
“What are you doing here?”
“I was invited.”
“By whom?”
My father raised his hand.
I stared at him.
Dad shrugged.
“He called.”
“You called my father?”
Jackson glanced at Dad.
“I asked permission to attend.”
“This isn’t 1954.”
“I noticed.”
“Why are you here?”
Jackson’s eyes settled on mine.
“To apologize.”
I folded my arms.
“Then apologize.”
A tiny muscle moved in his jaw.
“I was wrong.”
I waited.
He apparently realized more was required.
“I treated your personal commitment like it mattered less because it wasn’t mine.”
“Better.”
“And I threatened your job because you refused.”
“Keep going.”
Sophie was openly listening now.
Jackson noticed.
“I assume we have an audience.”
“You walked into a wedding.”
“Fair.”
He looked back at me.
“I’m sorry, Elena.”
I believed he meant it.
That did not mean everything was fixed.
“Thank you.”
His expression changed slightly.
“That’s it?”
“What were you expecting?”
“I’m not sure.”
“That must be uncomfortable for you.”
Sophie covered a laugh.
Jackson glanced toward her.
Then back at me.
“I’d like you to return Monday.”
“No.”
He went still.
“Not like before,” he said.
“No.”
“Salary increase.”
“No.”
“Chief of staff track.”
“No.”
“Then tell me what you want.”
I stepped closer.
“You still think this is a negotiation.”
His eyes narrowed.
“Isn’t it?”
“No.”
I turned toward my sister.
Behind me, Jackson said quietly:
“I’m beginning to understand that.”