Updated Nov 23, 2025 • ~8 min read
Monday morning, I arrived at Morrison Creative to find chaos.
“Conference room. Now,” Julie hissed as I walked past her desk.
I followed her, coffee still in hand. “What’s going on?”
“You’ll see.”
The conference room held our entire senior staff, plus someone I didn’t recognize. A man in his forties, wearing business casual, holding a tablet and looking entirely too comfortable.
My boss, Eric Hobbs, gestured to an empty chair. “Roselyn, perfect timing. This is Brad Ackerman. He’s consulting on the Henderson account.”
“Consulting?” I set down my coffee. “Since when do we need consultants?”
“Since Henderson threatened to pull their contract if we don’t deliver something groundbreaking by Friday.” Eric looked exhausted. “Brad comes highly recommended. He’ll be working with you directly to refine the concept.”
Something about this felt off. “Who recommended him?”
“A mutual connection.” Brad’s smile was too practiced. “I’m looking forward to our collaboration.”
The meeting proceeded with Brad offering suggestions that were actually pretty good, which only annoyed me more. I’d spent weeks on this campaign. Now some random consultant was swooping in to save the day?
After the meeting, I pulled Eric aside.
“What’s really going on?”
“Henderson’s CMO called Friday. Said they loved the initial pitch but needed ‘fresh perspective’ before committing.” Eric rubbed his temples. “Brad reached out Monday morning offering his services. Perfect timing.”
Too perfect.
Back at my desk, I Googled Brad Ackerman.
His LinkedIn was impressive. Top firms, major campaigns, glowing recommendations. One recommendation stood out.
From Jeremy Patterson.
Brad’s strategic thinking helped us rebrand Patterson Technologies during our Series B. Highly recommend.
My blood ran cold.
I marched to the conference room where Brad was setting up his workspace. “Who hired you? Really?”
He didn’t look surprised by the question. “Jeremy Patterson. He thought you could use support on Henderson.”
“He WHAT?”
“Relax. I’m good at my job. Your campaign will benefit—”
“He hired you to spy on me!”
“He hired me to help. There’s a difference.” Brad sat back. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on between you two, but the man clearly cares. He saw you were stressed about this account and wanted to help.”
“By inserting someone into my workplace without my knowledge or consent? That’s not help. That’s control!”
“Or it’s a billionaire using his resources to make his wife’s life easier.”
“I’m not his wife!”
“Legally, you are.” Brad pulled up something on his tablet. “And according to him, you have been for five continuous years. Which in Illinois, could actually impact asset division if you eventually divorce.”
I felt the blood drain from my face. “What?”
“Community property laws. Anything acquired during marriage is jointly owned. His company exploded in value over the past five years.” Brad’s expression was sympathetic. “You could be entitled to a significant portion.”
“I don’t want his money.”
“He knows that. Mentioned it specifically. Said you’d be furious about me being here, but that the Henderson account mattered to you so you’d tolerate my presence until the pitch was done.”
He knew me too well.
“Get out.”
“Roselyn—”
“Get out of this office before I call security.”
Brad gathered his things. At the door, he paused. “For what it’s worth? Man who goes to this much trouble is a man who’s not letting go.”
After he left, I called Jeremy. Straight to voicemail.
“How dare you interfere with my job! That’s crossing a line, Jeremy. Call me back. NOW.”
An hour later, my office phone rang.
“Ms. Greenwood? There’s a delivery for you.”
The lobby was full of roses. Red, white, pink—hundreds of them in crystal vases.
A card: Sorry about Brad. I overstepped. Forgive me? -J
The receptionist was beaming. “Someone’s pulling out all the stops.”
“Someone’s stalking me,” I muttered.
“That’s the most romantic stalking I’ve ever seen.”
I wanted to throw the flowers away. Instead, I distributed them around the office, keeping one small vase for my desk.
I wasn’t softening. I just liked roses.
That afternoon, Jeremy called.
“You’re mad,” he said without greeting.
“I’m furious.”
“I was trying to help.”
“By manipulating my work situation? Jeremy, there are boundaries!”
“I know. You’re right. I crossed a line.” He actually sounded contrite. “Brad’s off the account. I called Eric and pulled him.”
“Good.”
“But Roselyn? Henderson was legitimately concerned about the campaign. You might want to consider a fresh perspective.”
“Not from someone you planted!”
“What about from me?”
I nearly dropped the phone. “What?”
“I built a fifty-million-dollar company from nothing. I know branding. Let me look at your pitch.” Before I could protest: “No hidden agenda. No strings. Just one professional helping another.”
“Why would you do that?”
“Because you’re stressed, and I can help. Isn’t that what spouses do?”
“We’re not—”
“Saturday,” he interrupted. “Bring the Henderson pitch. I’ll give you honest feedback. Maybe it helps, maybe it doesn’t. But at least you’ll have tried everything before the Friday deadline.”
I hated that it made sense.
“Fine. But this doesn’t excuse you hiring Brad behind my back.”
“Noted. See you Saturday, Rose.”
He hung up before I could correct him on the name.
The rest of the week was a blur. Henderson was demanding, the pitch wasn’t coming together, and Charlie was barely speaking to me.
We’d had exactly three conversations since his ultimatum:
- Him asking if I was still meeting Jeremy Saturday. Me confirming.
- Him asking if I’d reconsider. Me saying no.
- Him saying “call me after” and hanging up.
Julie was equally disappointed.
“You’re walking into his trap,” she said over lunch Wednesday.
“I know what I’m doing.”
“Do you? Because from here, it looks like you’re falling for his manipulation. Flowers, job interference, Saturday meetings—”
“I need closure.”
“Or you need an excuse to see him again.” Julie’s expression softened. “I love you, Rose. But you’re playing with fire. And Jeremy Patterson is the kind of fire that burns everything down.”
Thursday evening, I was packing up when Hayley stuck her head in my office.
“There’s a man in the lobby asking for you. Says his name is Steve?”
I didn’t know any Steve.
I went down to find not-Steve but Jeremy, wearing jeans and a casual button-down that somehow made him even more attractive.
“Steve?” I asked.
“I thought you’d be more likely to come down if you didn’t know it was me.” He held up takeout bags. “I brought Thai food. Your favorite curry, extra spicy.”
“What are you doing here?”
“You’ve been working late every night this week. Figured you’d forget to eat.” He gestured to a quiet corner of the lobby. “Ten minutes. Just eat something.”
I should say no. Should tell him to leave.
Instead, I sat.
He unpacked containers—Massaman curry, spring rolls, mango sticky rice. Everything I loved.
“How did you know I’ve been working late?”
“The lights in your office. I can see your floor from my building.”
“You’ve been watching my office?”
“I’ve been working late too. Happens to glance over occasionally.” Not even ashamed. “You’re stressed. Not sleeping well, I’d guess.”
He wasn’t wrong.
We ate in silence for a few minutes.
“Thank you,” I finally said. “For the food. And for pulling Brad.”
“I meant well but executed badly. Story of our marriage.” He smiled sadly. “I’m working on that. The execution part.”
“Jeremy—”
“Saturday,” he interrupted. “Let’s save it for Saturday. Tonight, just eat. Let me take care of you, even if it’s just curry.”
Something in my chest tightened.
This Jeremy—attentive, thoughtful, present—was the man I’d fallen for. The one I’d occasionally glimpsed during our marriage but who’d always been too busy to fully show up.
“Where was this Jeremy five years ago?” I asked quietly.
“Growing up. Learning. Realizing too late what mattered.” His blue eyes held mine. “Better late than never?”
“Is it?”
“I’m hoping you’ll tell me Saturday.”
We finished eating. He walked me to my car, hands in his pockets, maintaining careful distance.
“Drive safe,” he said.
“Jeremy? Stop watching my office. It’s creepy.”
“I’ll try. No promises.” He grinned. “Old habits.”
I drove home thinking about Thai curry and blue eyes and the way he still remembered how I liked my food.
And hating myself for caring.
My phone rang as I pulled into my parking garage. Charlie.
“Did you eat dinner?” he asked without preamble.
“Yes.”
“Alone?”
I hesitated too long.
“Right.” He laughed bitterly. “He’s there, isn’t he? At your office, your apartment, everywhere. Can’t escape him.”
“Charlie—”
“Saturday. After you meet with him. Call me. Tell me you still want this life. With me.”
“I do want—”
“Prove it.”
He hung up.
I sat in my car, surrounded by darkness, and wondered what I was doing.
Playing with fire, Julie had said.
She was right.
But I couldn’t seem to stop.
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