Chapter 2

“Mr. Delgado, you should know what happened this morning.”

Winona's friend stepped forward, keeping one hand on her shoulder.

“The second those flowers arrived, Ms. Maxwell ordered her to print hundreds of pages. She gave her one hour.”

Philip looked toward Winona's desk.

“She stood at that printer forever,” the woman continued. “Her back was killing her. And look at it. Page after page of nonsense. Nobody's going to read any of that.”

The second woman nodded.

“It was punishment. Everyone could see it.”

Philip released the breath he'd been holding and walked toward the printer.

A half-finished stack sat in the output tray.

He pulled out several pages and scanned the diagrams, equations, and test results. I'd explained the system to him often enough that he should have recognized them.

Instead, he looked back at me.

“This is what you made her do?”

“Philip, those are—”

He tore the pages in half.

The sound stopped me.

Then he tore them again and threw the pieces at my face.

A strip caught against my mouth. Another settled on my shoulder.

“I was about to offer you an apology,” he said. “And all this time, you've been taking your jealousy out on an intern.”

No one moved.

The employees watching us understood that tone. It was the voice Philip used downstairs, behind the locked doors, when someone had disappointed him.

Only this time, he had an audience.

“We look after our people here, Cora. I won't have you abusing someone who can't defend herself.”

Behind the falling paper, Winona lowered her eyes.

Not quickly enough to hide her smile.

I'd spent five nights preparing that report.

Five nights of checking encryption performance, testing failures, and proving that the system could protect communications across the Eastern Pacific terminals without interrupting port operations.

Eastwell, the consortium overseeing the project, had requested printed technical dossiers before its decision-makers withdrew for final deliberations. The public bid opening was tomorrow. Today's review was our last chance to secure their technical approval.

I'd asked Winona to print and bind the files by ten.

One straightforward task.

Philip grabbed another sheaf.

“Apologize.”

He struck me across the face with it.

The edges scraped my cheek. I flinched, and a warm line of blood reached the corner of my mouth.

Somewhere behind him, someone drew a sharp breath.

Philip didn't seem to hear.

“Now.”

I touched my cheek, then looked at the blood on my fingers.

For a moment, I remembered the same hand covering mine across our kitchen table while he promised we'd get through another difficult month.

I bent to retrieve the pages.

“She had an hour to print them,” I said. “She spent the morning carrying her flowers around the office.”

Winona made a small, wounded sound.

I picked up a page containing the results of a seventy-two-hour security test.

“The job is still unfinished. If anyone owes an apology, it's her.”

Philip caught me by the collar and pulled me upright.

The fabric tightened against my throat.

“When did you become like this?”

I looked at his hand.

“Let go.”

“Petty. Vindictive. You can't bear to see another woman receive something nice.”

His face was close to mine.

“Get on your knees and apologize to her. Do that, and I might let you keep your position.”

I waited for someone to object.

Nobody did.

Instead, the woman beside Winona folded her arms.

“You've been chasing him for months. Now you're punishing his girlfriend because he isn't interested?”

“She wastes everyone's time printing this garbage and thinks she deserves an apology.”

Another employee shook her head.

“She doesn't even take a salary. We all know why she's here.”

A few people laughed.

“Exactly. She was happy working for free when she thought it would get her into his bed. Now suddenly she wants employee benefits.”

A laugh escaped me.

It sounded strange enough that Philip loosened his grip.

Working for free.

That was what they'd made of it.

When we'd married, Philip had carried the Delgado name but controlled almost nothing. The senior men in his family held the profitable businesses. He was determined to build something they would have to respect.

We lived in a small apartment above a shuttered restaurant.

The heating failed every winter. I worked at the kitchen table because there was nowhere else to put a desk.

He used to bring me wildflowers.

Sometimes they were crushed from being carried inside his jacket. Sometimes he came home with wet shoes because he'd climbed down an embankment to pick them.

He always remembered.

Then he decided technology would be his way into the family's inner circle.

Secure networks. Port logistics. Contracts that could earn legitimate revenue while making the older men dependent on him.

I already had a reputation in the field. Other companies wanted my expertise, and I could have chosen a comfortable life.

Instead, I paid for his first servers.

I covered payroll when a promised investment failed. I helped his engineers solve problems they weren't experienced enough to recognize.

Every time he said he needed a little longer, I found a way to give it to him.

By last year, the company finally had steady contracts.

Philip leased more office space, recruited a larger team, and brought in interns. He talked about expansion over breakfast, through dinner, in bed.

I knew how much it mattered to him.

So when he asked me to take over the technical division, I agreed to waive my salary until the new contracts came through. I redirected my bonus into the hiring budget. When there weren't enough benefits to go around, I told him to give mine to the junior staff.

I thought we were building something together.

Then the rumors about Winona began.

Her expense claims arrived without receipts. Finance paid them anyway.

She missed deadlines. Someone else finished the work.

At the end of the year, Philip gave her a sports car.

When I questioned him, he told me I didn't understand how to motivate a team.

“People need to feel valued, Cora.”

I'd wanted to believe him.

Perhaps that was the most humiliating part. Not that he'd lied, but how often I'd helped him make the lie sound reasonable.

This morning, I'd seen the flowers arriving and felt a brief, foolish lift in my chest.

He remembers, I'd thought.

After all these years, he remembers.

Instead, he'd allowed them to leave my desk empty. Then he'd come downstairs to make sure I didn't embarrass the woman who'd received more than everyone else combined.

I pulled my collar free of his hand.

Philip stared at me, his anger sharpened by the fact that I still hadn't obeyed.

I held up the pages I'd collected.

“You keep calling this garbage.”

A torn diagram trembled between my fingers.

“These are the test results Eastwell asked for. The complete technical case for our Eastern Pacific proposal.”

His eyes flicked toward the paper.

“I worked through five nights to finish it. Winona was supposed to print the submission copies this morning, before the review deadline.”

Nobody behind him spoke now.

“If she'd done her job, Eastwell's technical committee could already have approved our system. We could have gone into tomorrow's bid with their support.”

I looked at the shredded pages around his shoes.

“The files can be printed again. The submission window won't reopen because your girlfriend couldn't be bothered to use a printer.”

Winona's hand tightened around the bouquet.

I met Philip's eyes.

“You want someone out of this company for wasting resources and jeopardizing the contract?”

My voice caught, but I forced myself to finish.

“Then tell me why you're threatening my job instead of hers.”