She Cheered for His Office Crush, Then Left Her Husband Behind novel · Chapter 2 of 24

Chapter 2: Cap at Forty

The office thinks Tristan has a crush on Ivy, Ivy admits she'd rather have a reference letter, and at home Tristan won't sign the separation agreement without seven days. Vivian posts five rules on the fridge, and his mother expects them Sunday.

By seven a.m. the group chat had a photo of a street corner and a caption: "Stratton + Hayes, 12:40 a.m.??"

Forty-one people had reacted with the eyes emoji.

The photo was blurry. It showed two figures, a lamppost and what might have been a mailbox.

By seven-ten Ivy had posted underneath it: "He's getting me a BIRTHDAY GIFT, you nosy people! Vivian is helping!!"

By seven-fifteen the chat had decided the real story was Mr. Hayes and Ivy, and that I was the assistant.

I read this standing in the elevator with a coffee that had cost me six dollars.

My lie had worked so well that I'd been demoted in the rumor.

I decided to take it as a win.

The seven a.m. meeting was on the twelfth floor. Tristan sat at the head of the table in a white shirt with the sleeves pushed up, and his wedding ring was not on his finger.

It hung on a chain under his collar. I knew because I had bought the chain.

"Ms. Stratton," he said, without looking up. "Slide four."

I put up slide four.

"Cut it."

"It's the revenue forecast."

"It's wrong."

"It's the one that got us the Fenwick account."

"Cut it, Ms. Stratton."

I cut it. At home I would have fought him on it, but we hadn't really talked at home since spring.

Ivy caught me in the break room after the meeting.

She had made two coffees. She pushed one across the counter with a napkin on top, folded into a little fan.

"For the girl who saved me from a wild rumor," she said. "I'm so sorry about last night. I don't know what I thought I saw."

"You saw two people trying to buy you a present," I said.

"Okay." She laughed her big laugh. Then it dropped. "Can I say something and you won't repeat it?"

"I repeat nothing I can't invoice."

"I don't want a gift. I'd rather have a recommendation letter." She turned her cup in a slow circle. "Everyone already thinks I'm Mr. Hayes's favorite. A necklace doesn't help."

"Nobody is giving you a necklace."

"Right, because we're both going for the same promotion."

I took a sip.

"I know," Ivy said. "I think it's funny. Don't you?"

I did not, but I liked her, which was inconvenient.

"Forty dollars," I said.

"What?"

"The gift. Forty dollars, tops. That's what a boss spends on a coworker he doesn't have a crush on."

Ivy raised her coffee. "Forty dollars. Finally, a number I can believe."

That evening, Tristan got home at ten past eight.

I was at the kitchen table with a folder open and eleven tabs in it.

He stopped in the doorway, still holding his keys.

"What is that?"

"A separation agreement." I slid it across the table. "Page six. Sign and date at the bottom."

"Since when do you have a separation agreement?"

"Since May. It's been in a drawer. The new HR form is due Friday, and if we're separated before then, I don't have to put you on it."

He picked up the folder and read page one in full.

It took him a long time, and he did not move his face once.

Then he put it down and took out his phone.

My phone buzzed on the table. A calendar invite.

Title: "Seven days."

Location: "Kitchen."

Description: "Accept or decline."

"You sent me an invite," I said. "I'm sitting across from you."

"You've been declining my invites since January."

"I've been declining them because they say 'Meeting' and nothing else."

"This one says what it is."

I looked at the invite.

"What happens in seven days?"

"I sign," Tristan said. "If you still want me to. But you give me the seven days first."

"To do what?"

"Be here."

I had no feelings to bill for it. But a signature that came after seven days was still a signature before Friday, and I needed my paperwork airtight.

"Fine," I said. "But I'm setting the terms."

I got up, took a pen, and started writing on yellow squares.

HOME BY EIGHT, THREE NIGHTS.

NO WORK TALK AT DINNER.

ASK ABOUT MY DAY. LISTEN TO THE ANSWER.

NO TESTS.

NO KISSING UNTIL I SAY.

I stuck them on the fridge door one by one, over the old ones.

Tristan read them. Then he looked at one spot on the fridge, lower down, for longer than the rest.

He didn't say anything about it, and neither did I.

"What's a test?" he asked.

"You know what a test is."

He rubbed his jaw. "Agreed."

"You agree to all five?"

"I agree to Friday."

He went to the bedroom, and I stood in the kitchen with the refrigerator humming.

Through the door, he said, "Sunday dinner is at my mother's. She knows you're coming."

I opened my mouth.

"She also knows I'm coming," he said. "And that your father is bringing a casserole."

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