Scribbled Over Our Love Story

At my daughter Chloe's welcome party, my husband Griffin's "best friend," Rachel, publicly humiliated me.

"Hey, Willow. I hear having a baby makes women lose their edge—in the bedroom and the boardroom," Rachel said, raising her glass with a smirk.

"Griffin, you better find a woman who can keep up. A real man needs someone who can dominate in the boardroom and the bedroom."

Griffin gave her a playful glare. "That's enough out of you, Rach."

Then he turned to me with a casual shrug. "That's just Rachel. Total tomboy, you know? We grew up together. She has no filter."

Rachel tossed her hair, her lips forming a pout. "Oh, lighten up, Willow. Don't be so sensitive. Honestly, I'm a little jealous."

"I mean, look at me. Just closed that massive Miami deal. I was up all night with the client... and I mean all night. I just wonder who'll be lucky enough to tame me someday."

She shot Griffin a sultry look, winking.

"You've had a little taste before, haven't you?"

The room fell silent. Every eye darted toward me, alight with barely concealed curiosity.

I smiled, set down my champagne flute, and met Rachel's gaze with feigned concern.

"That's funny. Because I recall cleaning up your mess on that Miami deal. I don't remember you being quite so...'capable.' Or were you too busy on your back 'entertaining' clients to notice?"

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1

Amid the stunned silence, someone finally snorted with laughter.

"Damn, Willow's got claws! First time I've ever seen anyone shut Rachel up!"

Others chimed in, the jokes a clumsy attempt to diffuse the tension.

Griffin seized the moment, wrapping an arm around my waist. He whispered in my ear, "Rachel doesn't have a filter, you know that. Why'd you have to be so harsh?"

Then he turned to Rachel, his voice softening with affection. "See? That's what you get for running your mouth. Willow just put you in your place. Now, go on and apologize."

Rachel bit back her resentment, forcing a smile as she raised her glass to me.

"Alright, alright, you win. Sharp tongue on you, Willow."

"I guess I got carried away. I grew up with these Wall Street guys, you know? We don't pull our punches. No hard feelings?"

One of Griffin's friends quickly jumped in. "Exactly! Willow, you're a master negotiator—don't stoop to this tomboy's level."

"She's basically one of the guys, just with a bra! Ha!"

Another wave of laughter rippled through the table. Rachel played along, puffing out her chest. "Oh, please. With my numbers and this body? You guys definitely got the better end of that deal."

She turned to me. "So, Willow? My track record, this body... you have to admit, it's a killer combination, right?"

Griffin muttered, "That's enough."

I watched her preen, knowing every one of her so-called triumphs was a disaster I'd had to salvage. A corner of my mouth twitched. Ten trips to the plastic surgeon, and she calls it 'natural'? Killer combination? Of course. I'd practically built her career, and God knows who'd paid for the body.

I spoke again, my professional tone cutting through the noise.

"Rachel, if you're as 'capable' as you say, I suggest you take another look at the profit margins from the Miami project."

"That deal nearly cost the company thirty million dollars. I'd strongly advise you spend less time boasting about your 'performance'—in any capacity—and more time conducting a thorough post-mortem."

My voice was just loud enough for the neighboring tables to turn their heads.

Griffin shot to his feet.

"Willow. Outside. Now."

The heavy wooden door shut out the party's clamor, plunging us into the relative quiet of the hallway.

Griffin yanked at his tie.

"What the hell is wrong with you? Why did you have to call her out like that in front of everyone? You humiliated her!"

I rubbed my wrist, already reddening from his grip.

"At our daughter's welcome party, she's the one bragging about your 'war stories' together. She crossed the line, not me."

A flicker of guilt crossed his face.

"I knew it. You're still pissed about the other night. We were at the bar, playing truth or dare after a client meeting. We're business partners, we talk about work. It's not what you think."

I let out a cold laugh. "You're a hypocrite, Griffin."

His eyes hardened, his jaw tight.

"Do you have to be so goddamn critical?"

"Rachel was right. You have gotten sensitive and paranoid since the baby. That's all she meant."

The words were a slap in the face. Before I could retaliate, a sharp, piercing cry erupted from the living room.

I shoved past Griffin and ran.

When I burst through the door and saw the scene, my blood ran cold.