Page 104 of Snake
Well, that was unexpectedly sweet. A small spate of tears stinging her eyes, Autumn sat on the bed beside her friend. “I’m not going far, hon.”
This was the deal she’d struck with Chase: she would oversee the establishment of a satellite office initiative, starting with St. Louis. With the Signal Bend Pavilion project underway, St. Louis made sense. For Autumn, it made sense because she wasn’t moving far from her dads and Ida—and most importantly, because it allowed her to keep a job she loved and make safe distance between her and Chase.
For MWGP it made sense because a satellite office system would allow them to broaden their regional scope for minimal capital overhead. A satellite office could be fully functional and comfortably productive in about a thousand square feet of office space, maybe less. When St. Louis was up and running and the Pavilion was a success, they could open offices in Louisville, Cincinnati, Chicago, and beyond, and really elevate the company’s profile, not to mention its portfolio.
For Chase, the deal made sense because he was apparently terrified Autumn would do something to hurt him, and he’d been visibly thrilled that her big ask had not been to destroy him and his family’s company, but simply to get distance from him and more pull for herself.
Because she didn’t want him to know she had no idea what he thought she had on him, she hadn’t asked him why he was so worried. All she actually had on him was her story of years of almost-harassment (in retrospect, it was fully harassment, but her dogged determination not to be pulled off track had softened the edges of all those uncomfortable moments) and a poor-quality recording of him slurring passes at her during the Signal Bend fiasco. She hadn’t told him about that, because she hadn’t needed to. He’d been ready to deal the second she’d entered his office that day.
She could guess that the Horde was blackmailing him, but she couldn’t guess what ammunition they had. Maybe a threat to hurt him more than Cox already had?
It didn’t matter; she’d been happy to jump on their bandwagon and use the implication of their threat to achieve her own ends. Now she was positioned to make the most of her Heartland Homesteads, to get Chase out of her regular work life, and to develop new opportunities in an area MWGP had not yet made a significant impact on.
The trade-off for Autumn: being away from the people she loved.
The plan had been hatched the night she’d talked with Pom and Pops over Thai dinner. They’d wanted her to quit, but when she’d sobbed over the very idea of giving up a job she excelled at and a team she’d hired herself, her dads had shifted to workshopping other solutions.
She’d come up with the satellite idea, which had been germinating in her head for months, every time she had to devote three whole days to a trip to Signal Bend, factoring the ridiculous waste of time built into every plane flight.
Pom’s first reaction had been dramatically against the idea. He hadn’t realized Autumn might move away if things changed in her job. But Autumn pointed out that changing companies would likely have meant relocating anyway, and possibly father away. Real estate developers weren’t rare, but they weren’t fast-food franchises, either. She’d have to go where the job was.
Better to make her own job and relocate where she wanted to. St. Louis was the right place because it was a major city with a lot of opportunity for renewal, and it was almost smack between Indianapolis and Signal Bend, where her first Homestead was being built.
She had absolutely no other reason to want to be closer to Signal Bend. None at all.
After several days of wallowing self-pity and a couple weeks of general malaise, Autumn had managed to shove Cox behind a door in her mind and wedge it closed. The surreal coincidence of his mother committing suicide at the exact same time they’d engaged in some sexcapades had made their connection feel much deeper than it ever had been. The very fact that she’d been thinking she could love him, that she might actually already have been falling in love with him, proved the whole thing had been an illusion. More like a delusion.
Only in fairy tales, romance novels, and certain Shakespearean tragedies did people fall in love so quickly. The real truth was that Cox’s explosive grief had collided with her tendency to be hyper-focused in emergencies and created a chemical reaction between them, powerful but evanescent. Beyond some physical attraction, none of it had been real.
There was still a deep throb of pain when that door in her mind rattled, a vestige of the sensation of looming love she’d felt, but she was working on it.
She was not moving to St. Louis to be closer to Cox. That was the important thing.
Autumn folded the sweater and handed it to Ida. “Tell you what. I’ll give you custody of the sweater. But I get visitation when I’m in town.”
Ida snatched the sweater and hugged it. “Deal—and no takesy-backsies!” She pressed it to her face and took a deep breath. “Yep. Honeysuckle and davana—The Autumn March-Rooney Signature Scent.” She affected a dreamy expression and pitched her voice soft and high. “I don’t think I’ll wear it. I think I’ll tuck it under my pillow and dream on it every night.”
Autumn wadded up a t-shirt and threw it at her.
––––––––
~oOo~
––––––––
Ida sat on Autumn’s kitchen island and sank a corn chip into an ocean of salsa. “This feels weird,” she said and put the whole chip in her mouth before she continued, “Like you’re trying to stretch your home across the whole state of Illinois, half on this side, half on that.”
Autumn picked up a chip of her own, but waited to dip it until she said, “That’s basically what I’m doing, and yeah, it feels weird to me, too. But not bad weird.” She dipped her chip and ate it.
Ida shrugged. “I don’t know. Are we sure Chase didn’t win here? I mean, he gets to keep doing his thing, no repercussions, and you’re turning your life upside down. And what about the next chick he sets his sights on?”
If anyone else had brought that up, Autumn might have been defensive. But she and Ida were those friends, the ones who could say the hard stuff and have the conversation. She pulled the bottle of tequila toward her and filled their shot glasses.
As she handed one to Ida, she said, “One, I can’t save the next ‘chick.’ We both know I didn’t have enough evidence on him to be sure to get him in legal trouble, and he’s the CEO of the company, Ide. Going through channels would have gotten me fired. Maybe with a golden parachute, but probably not. And there was enough trouble getting Signal Bend going that he could probably build a case that I was fired for cause—so that track leaves me screwed and doesn’t help anybody. Too much risk for no reward. Two, I love my job. I’m good at it, I’ve got some room to make my own deals and build my own legacy. I don’t want to leave it. I know it’s the norm to change jobs every few years, I know I could maybe make more money negotiating with new employers every few years, but that’s not me. I like that I’ve worked at the same place for a decade. I like stability. And I make plenty of money. Three, this arrangement gives me what I want—autonomy, responsibility, initiative—and gets Chase out of my hair. I still have my team, and they all get more autonomy, responsibility, and initiative, too. They’ll be top of the list as we open more offices. Yeah, Ida. I’m sure Chase didn’t win. Maybe he didn’t lose, but he didn’t win.”
She’d also done what she could to save other women in the company from Chase’s predations by simply telling him she’d be paying attention to his conduct. But Ida didn’t know that part; Autumn hadn’t wanted to implicate the Horde in any way, so she’d made their mysterious blackmail ammunition one of the very few secrets she kept from her friend.
Ida twisted her mouth up. “A draw doesn’t sound like enough pain for that slick jerk, but okay.” She lifted the salt shaker, and they did a shot together.
