"I'm questioning whether you have the judgment necessary for partnership." She leaned back, her expression smug. "Partners need to maintain professional boundaries. They need to be above reproach. They need to prioritize the firm above personal entanglements."
This was it. The test. Choose the firm or lose everything I'd worked for. Why was everyone being a super douche today?
"However," Belinda continued, "I'm willing to overlook this incident if you can prove your commitment. The Morenga merger is heating up. We need someone who can dedicate themselves to the case. I'm talking hundred-plus-hour weeks for the next three months. Total availability. No distractions. That would be someone I would whole heartedly get on board to be a partner in our firm."
She was offering me partnership. The thing I'd wanted for years. The goal I'd sacrificed everything for.
All I had to do was go back to Manhattan and bury myself in work. Prove that what happened with Sam was just a brief lapse in judgment. Show that I was serious about my career.
All I had to do was choose the life that was slowly killing me over the man I just met.
"I understand," I said. But I didn’t, not really. I didn’t want to choose between the two things I loved. But did I really love this job?
I didn't see Sam again before I left.
He was gone by the time I finished packing—off on some emergency supply run, according to Kevin. But I saw the way Kevin looked at me, the disappointment in his eyes, and I knewSam hadn't gone anywhere. He just couldn't stand to watch me leave.
I couldn't blame him.
The helicopter ride out felt surreal. One minute I was on the mountain, surrounded by snow and wilderness and the memory of Sam's hands on my body. The next I was in a hotel near the airport, showering in a bathroom that was too clean and too sterile and smelled nothing like cedar and pine.
The next morning, I boarded a plane back to Manhattan.
And with every mile between me and Vermont, I felt the walls rebuilding. The armor I'd worn for years sliding back into place. The corporate lawyer mask fitting over my face until I could barely remember what it felt like to be the woman who'd laughed in Sam's arms.
By the time I walked into my apartment—my expensive, soulless apartment with its designer furniture and Manhattan views—I'd almost convinced myself I'd made the right choice.
Almost.
THREE WEEKS LATER
The panic attack hit during a client meeting.
One minute I was presenting merger strategy to a room full of executives, my voice steady, my arguments flawless. The next, my chest was tight and the room was spinning and I couldn't remember why any of this mattered.
"Ms. Madison?" The client's CEO leaned forward, concerned. "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine," I gasped, even though I clearly wasn't. "Just need a moment."
But I didn't have a moment. My vision was tunneling. My hands were shaking. I gripped the edge of the conference table, trying to ground myself, but it wasn't working.
"Get her out of here," Belinda snapped. "Amanda, take her to the ladies' room. Gentlemen, I apologize for the interruption. Let's continue..."
Amanda's arm came around my shoulders. The walk down the hallway felt like miles. The bathroom was blessedly empty as I collapsed against the sink, gasping for air that wouldn't come.
"Breathe, Jess," Amanda said, her voice distant. "In through your nose, out through your mouth. You know the drill."
I did know the drill. I'd been having panic attacks for two years. But this one was different. This one felt like drowning. I was dying. Maybe not physically, but in every way that mattered, I was dying.
"I can't do this anymore," I whispered when I could finally speak.
"It's okay. The client will understand."
"No. I mean I can't dothisanymore." I looked at Amanda in the mirror, seeing my own hollow eyes, my too-pale face, the woman I'd become. "This job. This life. I can't keep pretending."
Amanda's expression softened with something like pity. "Is this about Vermont? About that guide?"
"No. Yes. I don't know." I pressed my hands to my face. "I thought I wanted partnership. I thought if I just worked hard enough, achieved enough, I'd finally feel enough. But I don't. I just feel empty."
