Chapter 6 No.6

6

Hali sat at her desk, staring at the cursor blinking on her screen. Her stomach churned violently. The nausea wasn't just stress anymore; it was a physical assault. The Plan B was wreaking havoc on her system.

She stood up abruptly, hand over her mouth, and rushed to the employee restroom. She barely made it into a stall before her stomach emptied itself.

She knelt on the cold tile floor, gasping for air, tears pricking her eyes. She felt wretched.

When she emerged, rinsing her mouth at the sink, she looked pale and ghostly in the mirror.

Yara walked in, holding a makeup bag. She took one look at Hali and stopped.

"Whoa. You okay? You look... green."

Hali forced a weak smile. "Bad sushi."

Yara narrowed her eyes. "Or... morning sickness?"

Hali laughed, a harsh, brittle sound. "Definitely not. Just food poisoning."

She went back to her desk, feeling like she was walking on a tightrope.

An hour later, a notification pinged on everyone's computer simultaneously. An all-company email from the CEO's office.

Subject: S-Country Fashion Week Delegation

Hali didn't bother opening it. She was a junior assistant. Junior assistants stayed in New York and organized swatches.

But then Yara gasped. "Hali! Look!"

Hali clicked the email. Her eyes scanned the list of senior designers, directors... and there, at the bottom, under Special Support Staff:

Hali Andrews.

The office erupted in whispers. Heads turned in her direction. Some looks were confused, others were openly hostile. Why her? Why the girl who had been here for six months?

Hali felt the heat rise up her neck. This was Ezra. He was manipulating her career like pieces on a chessboard.

She grabbed her phone and marched toward the elevators. She needed to scream at him.

When she reached the top floor, Finley was waiting. He held up a hand before she could speak.

"He is in a board meeting, Ms. Andrews."

"I don't care," Hali hissed. "He can't just-"

"He left this for you." Finley handed her a folded piece of heavy, cream-colored cardstock.

Hali snatched it. She unfolded it. Ezra's handwriting was sharp, angular, and aggressive.

This is your chance to prove you are not just a pretty face. Don't waste it.

She crumpled the note in her fist. He was baiting her. He knew she wanted to design. He knew she was talented-or at least, he suspected she had potential. He was dangling her dream in front of her to make her compliant.

Her phone buzzed. A text from Irving.

Babe! Saw the list. You're coming to Fashion Week? That's huge. We can turn this into a vacation. S-Country is romantic in the fall.

Hali stared at the screen. Irving had never taken her anywhere. He refused to be seen with her at industry events because it "complicated his brand." Now, suddenly, he wanted a romantic vacation?

Because she was on Ezra's list. Because she had value now.

A wave of disgust washed over her.

Sure, she typed back. Let's talk about it tonight.

She turned to leave, but her phone pinged again. A Slack message. From E.G.

Feeling sick?

Hali looked up at the security camera in the corner of the waiting area. Was he watching her?

I'm fine, she typed.

Liar, came the instant reply. Finley left something at the front desk for you.

Hali frowned. She looked at Finley.

"Downstairs," Finley said.

Hali took the elevator down to the lobby. The receptionist, a girl who usually ignored her, smiled brightly and handed her a thermal bag.

"Mr. Butler said this was urgent."

Hali took the bag outside, sitting on a concrete bench near the fountain. She opened it.

Inside was a thermos of soup. She unscrewed the lid. The smell of simple, strong ginger broth wafted out. It was a generic remedy for nausea, something anyone with common sense would suggest.

There was no note.

He knew she wasn't well. And instead of being angry that she might be hindering his efficiency, he sent her soup.

It was confusing. It was... kind. In a twisted, controlling way.

She took a sip. The warmth spread through her chest, settling her roiling stomach almost instantly.

Across the street, a black SUV was parked in the shadows. The tinted window was rolled down an inch.

Ezra watched her drink the soup. His knuckles were white on the steering wheel.

"Did you clear the logs?" he asked, not looking away from Hali.

"Yes," Finley said from the passenger seat. "No record of her movements this morning exists."

"Good." Ezra watched Hali stand up. She hesitated, looking at the thermos. Then, with a sudden, defiant movement, she tossed the expensive thermos into the trash can.

Ezra's eyes darkened.

"Drive," he said.

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