Chapter 5
Charles's voice grew deeper. "Do you have to bring up the past today?"
He said it was about bringing up the past.
I slowly pulled out the hard drive.
All of this was old grudges for him.
Vivian came down from the reception desk in time to catch the last part of our conversation.
Her face went pale, and she pressed a hand to her chest, looking like she'd been startled by us.
"Charles, did I say something wrong?" she asked.
Charles turned around immediately and said, "No, you did great."
"But Evelyn seems upset," she said, glancing at me, her eyes turning red again. "I got back to the country, and I'm still catching up on a lot of the technical stuff. If I made any mistakes, I can fix them."
I looked at her.
She looked like she was shrinking into herself, almost trying to disappear.
So much so that if I said anything more, it would feel like I was picking on her.
Charles reached out to his assistant. "Water."
The assistant handed him a bottle of water.
Charles took it, twisted off the cap, and handed it to Vivian.
Her grip was shaky, and her fingers trembled.
A bit of water spilled onto the sleeve of her blazer.
Charles quickly knelt and dabbed at the spill with a tissue for her.
Everyone backstage saw it.
Vivian said softly, "I'm fine. I got a little out of breath on stage."
Charles glanced up at the AC vent. "Turn the temperature up two degrees."
The assistant hurried off to find the remote.
I stood in front of the computer, holding the stack of pitch notes.
The edges of the pages were already creased from how tightly I was gripping them.
Charles was half-kneeling in front of Vivian, gently straightening her sleeve.
His movements were gentle and meticulous.
Even more patient than when he helped me with my collar earlier.
Suddenly, I remembered last month, when I'd been working so late in the lab that my stomach started to hurt, and I ended up crouched in the hallway, unable to stand.
When I called him, he was at a brand party with Vivian.
He said, "Evelyn, take some medicine first. I can't leave right now."
That night, I went to the pharmacy alone to buy some medicine for my stomach.
The rain was pouring down, and the lights outside the pharmacy were a blur in the downpour.
When I swallowed the pills, there was still a band-aid on the back of my hand from where I'd had blood drawn.
Later, Charles came back in the middle of the night and handed me a box of cold oatmeal.
He said he was tired and told me not to bother him.
I said, "Okay."
Vivian took a couple of sips of water and looked up at me.
"Evelyn, don't be too hard on Charles. He has been stressed out lately," she said.
Charles stood up and turned to look at me. "Why don't you head back to the office and get some rest? I'll explain everything after the press conference."
I looked down and tore off the cover of the pitch deck.
The sound of the paper tearing was barely audible.
For a moment, everyone around fell silent.
The two names printed side by side on the cover were torn apart.
Charles's name remained in my left hand.
I folded my own name into my right palm.
I set Charles's half of the paper on the table, grabbed the technical pages with notes, and stuffed them into my bag.
"We can talk about it later," I said.
I picked up the hard drive and turned to leave.
Charles called out to me from behind. "Evelyn."
I didn't turn around.
As the backstage door swung open, the bright lights from the front stage spilled through the gap.
It was blinding.
And it was cold.
*****
By the time the press conference ended, the rain had stopped.
The glass walls of Cloudspire Headquarters gleamed, freshly washed by the rain, and shallow puddles collected in the flower beds downstairs.
The media vans pulled away one by one, while staff dragged heavy equipment cases out the side door, their wheels rumbling dully across the ground.
When Charles came out after me, I was standing at the bottom of the steps.
He still had my phone in his hand. "Let me take you home."
He handed me my phone, his voice gentle again, as always.
It was as if the whole press conference had been a brief interruption.
I took the phone, and the screen lit up with more than thirty unread messages.
There were texts from investment bankers, the audit manager, folks from the R&D team, and a few ex-colleagues I still kept in touch with.
They were all asking the same thing: Evelyn, why weren't you there today?
I didn't open any of them.
Charles looked at me, checking my expression.
"The driver's waiting in the underground garage. Head back to your apartment, take a shower, and get some rest. I'll stop by tonight," he said.
I looked up at him. "What for?"
He frowned, "To placate you."
The words floated out of his mouth, as if it meant nothing at all.
As if everything I'd lost today were nothing more than a cranky toy that needed a pat on the head after a tantrum.
I slipped my phone into my bag. "No need."
He reached out, blocking my way. "Evelyn, don't cause a scene here. There are still plenty of media people hanging around."