Chapter 4 — The First Time He Asked

I lasted until the car reached the house.

Then I turned my phone back on.

Nate watched the screen light my face.

“That doesn’t look like nothing.”

“It isn’t.”

I opened the payment history and handed him the phone.

He read without speaking. The driver stopped beneath the entrance canopy, but neither of us moved.

“Forty-eight thousand six hundred,” he said.

“For one shipment. Paid twice.”

“An integration error.”

“Possibly. There are three more.”

His thumb moved across the screen.

“Why are you looking at my uncle’s approvals?”

“Because they’re attached to invoices I process.”

“You submitted this today?”

“Yes.”

“And now you’re showing it to me.”

“Because the review was withdrawn.”

“By your manager.”

“Under instruction from the integration office.”

He handed the phone back.

“You’ve been married to me for two days.”

I stared at him.

“What does that have to do with duplicate payments?”

“It means anything you raise about Victor will be interpreted through that marriage.”

“By him, or by you?”

Nate looked toward the house.

“I’m trying to understand what you expect me to do.”

“Nothing outside the process. I want the report reviewed.”

“You could have asked me before submitting it.”

“No. That’s the point. An accounts payable clerk doesn’t need her husband’s permission to flag an invoice.”

His expression closed.

“I didn’t say permission.”

“You meant something close enough.”

I opened the car door.

He caught it before it swung into the stone pillar, then let go as soon as I stepped out.

“Audrey.”

I turned.

“Don’t confront Victor.”

“I wasn’t planning to.”

“Good.”

“But I’m not withdrawing anything either.”

By nine the next morning, my access badge no longer worked.

The receptionist tried it herself, apologizing as if the machine had developed an unfortunate opinion of me.

My manager came downstairs with a woman from human resources.

Neither looked pleased to see the other.

“We need to clarify a potential conflict,” the woman said.

“What conflict?”

“Your access to information concerning the parent company.”

“My access hasn’t changed. My marriage has.”

“Which creates an unusual situation.”

I followed them into a meeting room.

They offered me paid administrative leave while they assessed reporting arrangements.

I asked whether it was connected to the review request.

My manager stared at the table.

The woman from HR said, “The integration office raised concerns about confidentiality.”

“Did they identify anything I disclosed?”

“The assessment is ongoing.”

I took the letter they gave me.

“Please confirm that my original report and the withdrawal history will be preserved.”

Her eyes lifted.

“Of course.”

“I’d like that in writing.”

My manager looked startled, as though the girl who processed invoices had never previously understood sentences.

I signed only to acknowledge receipt.

Outside, I called Mara.

She listened, asked me to send the letter, and told me not to copy company records onto personal devices.

“I have the notification and the references I submitted.”

“Keep those. Ask for preservation through the appropriate channel. Let them do the explaining.”

I stood beneath the awning while rain collected in the gutter.

For years, I had worked to make myself reliable enough that nobody would want to send me away.

Apparently, reliability could become inconvenient overnight.

Victor was waiting in the dining room when I returned.

“An unfortunate necessity,” he said.

I stopped beside the door.

“You know about my leave.”

“I’m responsible for integration.”

“Then you can explain why duplicate payments are confidential from the person who processes them.”

He set down his cup.

“You’re new to this family. It would be wise to learn the difference between suspicion and judgment.”

“I know the difference between an invoice and a second invoice for the same shipment.”

“Not every decision requires your understanding.”

Evelyn entered before I could answer.

“Audrey, there you are. We should discuss your schedule.”

“I’m going to pack.”

She stopped.

“What?”

“My apartment is still mine.”

“There’s no need to overreact.”

I looked at Victor.

“I agree. Someone should tell the integration office.”

Upstairs, I changed out of my work clothes and folded the gala dress into its garment bag.

I left it hanging in the wardrobe.

The ring stayed on my finger. Taking it off would make this a declaration I wasn’t ready to make.

I sent Nate a message.

I’m returning to my apartment. I can meet any agreed public commitments from there. We’ll discuss the rest with our lawyers.

He called immediately.

I let it ring.

Then I wrote: I’m not available for another conversation about whether I should have reported an error.

His next message arrived before I reached the stairs.

Were you suspended?

I answered: Ask your integration office.

My apartment smelled faintly of coffee and the basil plant I kept forgetting to water.

I opened the window.

Downstairs, a delivery truck blocked half the street. Someone leaned on their horn. My neighbor’s television came through the wall.

I had never been happier to hear noise.

I was carrying a box of books from the hall when the cardboard bottom split.

A hardback struck my hand.

I swore, sat on the floor, and pressed my palm against my knee.

That was when someone knocked.

Through the peephole, Nate filled the narrow landing.

No security guards.

No flowers.

Just a dark coat and a face that looked as if the drive had been unpleasant.

I opened the door halfway.

“How did you get the address?”

“You gave it to our attorneys.”

“What do you want?”

“To speak to you.”

“You’ve managed that.”

His gaze dropped to my hand.

“Are you hurt?”

“A book attacked me.”

“May I come in?”

I moved aside.

He stepped over the fallen paperbacks, then crouched and gathered them before I could object.

The sight of Nathaniel Blackwell on my floor, holding a battered romance with a cracked spine, was almost enough to make me laugh.

He placed the books on the table.

“Where’s your first-aid kit?”

“Bathroom cabinet.”

He returned with it.

“I can do it.”

“I know.”

He held out the antiseptic.

“May I?”

I gave him my hand.

His fingers supported mine while he cleaned the scrape. He was careful, slower than necessary.

I watched the dark bend of his head.

At the house, his size had belonged to the rooms.

Here, with his knee almost touching mine and his shoulder blocking the lamplight, there was nowhere to forget him.

“The report was raised before,” he said.

I looked up.

“What?”

“A warehouse controller questioned two of those freight references last month. It never reached the central review queue.”

“Why?”

“That’s what I intend to establish.”

He smoothed a bandage across my palm.

“I spoke to your manager.”

“And?”

“He’s frightened of contradicting the integration team.”

“Now you believe me?”

“I should have examined the report before questioning why you brought it.”

He set the kit down.

“I was wrong.”

The words didn’t erase the morning.

But they were plain. He hadn’t buried them beneath an explanation.

“I’m not asking you to forgive that immediately,” he added.

“What are you asking?”

“Help me understand the payment path.”

“I’ll cooperate with an independent review. I won’t secretly investigate your uncle for you.”

“All right.”

“And my leave needs a proper explanation.”

“Yes.”

“You can’t fix that by giving me a better office.”

“I’m beginning to understand.”

He looked around the apartment. His gaze stopped at the basil plant, then the chipped mug beside it.

I waited for a comment about the size.

Instead, he said, “You left the dress.”

“It isn’t mine.”

“It was purchased for you.”

“I didn’t come here because I needed more things.”

His eyes returned to mine.

“No,” he said. “You came because you needed fewer people deciding for you.”

Something in my chest loosened.

I looked down before he could see how much.

My phone vibrated against the table.

Sophie.

For a moment, I couldn’t touch it.

Then I opened the message.

Don’t trust Victor. He knows why I left.

Beneath it was a second line.

Can you meet me alone?

Nate saw my face change.

“Is it her?”

I closed my hand around the phone.

“Yes.”

“Is she safe?”

“I’m about to find out.”