Take It Again

Chapter 3: A Chair I Hadn't Asked For

I woke up on my sister's couch with a stiff neck and a missed call from Owen.

Leah lived in a narrow apartment over a bakery on the west side of Bellwether. She had offered me the couch without asking what had happened, which was one reason I trusted her. The other reason was that when we were kids, she'd given me the first-place ribbon she won at a spelling bee because I'd cried in the car after losing mine.

I'd spent years pretending the gesture didn't matter.

At eight thirty, I called Arthur Vale.

"Have you seen the clarification I sent to procurement?" I asked.

"I have," he said. "You should have called me before you sent it."

"I'm sorry."

"You aren't."

"No."

He let the silence sit. Arthur had been my boss since I joined Northline, and I knew how he used pauses. He expected people to fill them with excuses.

"I'm asking for the actual record," I said. "The city asked who did the work."

"Your account is accurate."

"Then you don't have a problem with the response."

"I have a problem with the timing."

"The award is in a week."

"If the city treats this as a formal challenge, they can suspend our bid."

"Should I have waited until after the award?"

"No." He exhaled. "That's the part I dislike."

Arthur told me to come into the office. I showered, borrowed one of Leah's sweaters, and arrived before ten. Owen was already in the conference room with Arthur. He didn't look at me when I came in.

The city's procurement officer had scheduled a private review for the following afternoon. They wanted the original design lead and the firm's signatory present. Owen would attend as the current listed lead. I would attend as the person who had filed the clarification.

Arthur sat at the head of the table. "No one's employment changes today," he said. "No one discusses this with the press. We answer the city's questions and preserve the bid."

"What does preserve the bid mean?" I asked.

"It means we don't make claims we can't support."

"I can support mine."

Owen folded his hands. "So can I. The work was collaborative."

"Then say that."

"That's what I'm saying now."

"Your slide didn't say collaborative. It said design lead."

He looked at me. "The committee needed a point person."

"Then why did you tell them you created the model?"

"I said I led the team."

"You said you led the modeling."

He glanced toward Arthur. "We're going to spend a lot of time arguing over phrasing instead of protecting the project."

There it was again: my concern framed as an obstacle to the work.

Arthur tapped the table once. "We'll deal with the facts tomorrow. Until then, I need both of you focused on the city's questions."

"I am focused on them," I said.

Owen's phone buzzed. He turned it face down without checking it.

After the meeting, Arthur asked me to stay.

"I can't promise the city won't suspend us," he said.

"I understand."

"If they do, the project team will be reassigned."

"I understand that too."

"Your name may end up on the public record as the person who challenged the firm's submission."

"It's already on the record."

"That could follow you."

"I know."

He looked at me for a long moment. "You've always been good at taking the thing you wanted."

"Not always."

"No?"

"I wanted the truth on that screen yesterday."

He didn't answer.

I returned to my desk. The room sounded different than it had the day before. Conversation thinned when I walked past the junior team. A couple of people looked away. Others gave me small nods. I didn't know which gestures meant support and which meant they were waiting to see what happened.

At lunch, I went to the cafeteria on the ground floor. Owen was there with our communications lead, Mara Pike, and two client representatives. They were discussing the city's review. When Owen saw me, he stood.

"Can we talk?"

"About what?"

"Us."

"Not here."

He followed me to the stairwell. "You sent the city our internal history before speaking to me."

"I spoke to you yesterday."

"You accused me. You didn't ask why I made the change."

"You removed the vendor lease. I know why."

His brow tightened. "You think the city will accept a twenty-year lease on a pier they're spending millions to rebuild?"

"I think the vendors need enough security to stay open."

"The developer's financing depends on flexibility."

"Then tell the city that. Don't claim the lease is still in the proposal."

"I didn't say it was."

"You called it flexible tenancy."

"That's not a promise."

"It's a way to make an omission sound like a benefit."

He moved closer, lowering his voice. "The contract would give us a decade of work. It would secure everyone here. It would secure us."

There was no need to ask what he meant by us. The wedding had been set for October. We had spent the previous weekend choosing a caterer. He had helped me paint the study in the house we planned to buy together.

"You think the money makes it acceptable?" I asked.

"I think the project is bigger than either of us."

"It was bigger than either of us when I was the one doing the work."

He looked toward the landing, where a staff member had opened the door. The person saw us and turned back.

Owen's shoulders dropped. "I didn't want to hurt you."

"You could have tried not taking my name off the work."

He reached toward my hand, then stopped when he saw the empty ring finger.

"I'll put the original credits back," he said. "We'll call it a team project. I'll make sure you lead the design through the next phase."

"I already led the design."

"You know what I mean."

I did. He was offering me a chair after making sure it wasn't mine.

I left him in the stairwell and went back to my desk. The promise didn't comfort me. It only showed how easily he could offer back something he'd never had the right to take.