Chapter 12: Fourteen

I didn't call.

I took a cab to RiNo on Sunday night in the same clothes I had worn all weekend.

Climbed the steel stairs, and pressed the doorbell that plays "Moon River."

Drake opened the door in a grey T-shirt and bare feet.

He saw my face, and I watched him know.

"Roz."

"Fourteen," I said.

He stepped back to let me in.

I walked into the middle of the loft and turned around.

I had a printout in my hand, the version history from the Aspen bid, with the timestamps circled in red pen.

I held it up.

I laid it on his drafting table and smoothed it flat.

He said nothing.

"Fourteen times. I checked every folder."

"Yes."

"You threw them."

"Yes."

"All of them."

"Yes," said Drake.

I had practiced this on the cab ride, and I had a speech.

It had left me completely.

"Why?" I said. It cracked.

He set his hands on the back of a chair.

"Two years ago in October," he said.

"Kip's predecessor left. The board met to talk about who would fill Product."

"I was in the hall outside the boardroom with a stack of folders when I heard them."

"And?"

"One of them said you were the best pure designer in the building."

"He said you had never beaten anyone that mattered. 'Show me a record of wins, and then we'll talk.'"

"Another one said I was the safe choice. They'd already assumed I'd get the nod."

My mouth was dry.

"That was before the first Trail Review."

"I know. I went back to my desk. I sat there for three hours."

"You decided to lose."

"I decided you should have what you'd earned," he said.

"I knew I could beat you, Roz. On paper I probably could have."

"But you'd never have had the chance to show what you were."

"A board doesn't care about the stitch. They care about the record."

"So you gave me the record."

"I gave you the chance."

"You gave me a charity," I said.

"It wasn't charity."

"You decided what I could win!"

I was shouting, and I didn't care.

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