He Called It a Joke. I Called My Lawyers. Chapter 02

“Nora! Nora!”

I heard his footsteps start after me. Then stop.

“Grant…” Lacey’s voice trembled. “Did I ruin everything? She’s going to hate me forever. It’s because I’m poor, isn’t it? I’ve never been to a party like this. I just wanted to see something magical…”

Silence.

Then Grant’s voice, gentle in a way it hadn’t been with me in months. “Hey. Don’t cry. Nora will get over it. She always does. You’re too sweet, Lace. She can’t even take a joke anymore.”

The elevator doors closed on the sound of her sniffling.

By the time I got home, my phone buzzed.

Grant: Be mad at me if you want. But Lacey didn’t do anything. She cried the whole ride home. Apologize to her tomorrow.

Grant: Do that and I’ll take you to the Cape this weekend. I know you’ve wanted to go.

Not are you hurt. Not I’m sorry. Just instructions.

I sat on the shower floor in my ruined dress and let the hot water pound down on me. I scrubbed my skin until it turned red. The champagne washed off. The laughter didn’t. It played in my head on a loop.

Ice Queen. Please thaw.

Three years ago, my father asked me to run Whitfield Holdings’ London office. Twenty-six years old, a seat on the international board. Every business magazine would have written about it.

I said no. Because Grant had cried in my car and said, “I can’t do long distance, Nor. I can’t do a single day without you.”

So I stayed in Boston.

And when Grant was passed over for promotion at Crane & Co. for the third time, I made one quiet phone call. My family owns sixty percent of Crane. Grant has never known that. He thinks he got VP because he’s brilliant.

He used his brilliant promotion party to wrap me in plastic for another woman.

Lacey started four months ago. Suddenly my morning latte came with a second cup for her. On our anniversary, he gave me a bracelet, and I found the matching one on her wrist a week later. Whenever I frowned, he laughed.

“She’s new, Nor. She doesn’t have anyone. Stop being jealous.”

Our wedding was in six days.

My phone rang. Dad.

“Sweetheart.” His voice was tight. “I need you to tell me you’re safe.”

“I’m home.”

“There’s a video.” He paused. “Nora, it has two million views.”

My stomach dropped. I opened Instagram with wet, shaking fingers.

There I was. Wrapped. Taped. Drenched. A man’s voice cackling, “Look at her face!”

And under it, pinned at the top of the comments, a reply from Grant’s account.

@LaceyMonroe Told you I’d make it up to you for last week. Gonna keep the Ice Queen trending all weekend. 😂❄️

Something inside me went very cold. Then very quiet.

Twenty years. Gone in one emoji.

“Nora?” Dad said. “Are you there?”

“The London position,” I whispered. “Is it still open?”

A long breath. “It’s been open for three years. It’s yours the moment you say so.”

“I’m saying so.”

“When?”

I looked at the wedding dress fitting reminder on my calendar. Friday afternoon.

“Friday night. One-way.”

“Do you want me to handle Grant?”

“No.” I wiped my face. “I want you to call Harlan.”

Harlan Price was our family’s lawyer. The kind of lawyer other lawyers pray they never meet.

“Tell him to save everything. Every video. Every comment. Every name in that ballroom.”

My father was quiet for a second. Then: “That’s my girl.”

After we hung up, I screen-recorded the livestream. I downloaded every post. I saved Grant’s comment.

Then I pulled off my engagement ring and set it on the bathroom counter.

It looked so small without my hand around it.