Dropping the Ball

17. Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fourteen

Kaitlyn

“Kaitlyn?” Micah’s voice is puzzled. “Threadwork? I’d love to hear why you decided to work with Madison?”

Madison.

I blink and glance around the supervisor loft, gathering my bearings.

Madison and the gala. I won’t be distracted from making this gala everything Madison dreamed, and that means not getting caught up in Micah again. That crush became all-consuming, and I don’t have the time or bandwidth for that.

We’re hitting on the right topic to channel my energy elsewhere.

I clear my throat so the first part—the worst part—won’t stick in it. “Were you aware of the scandal surrounding our family company when we were at Hillview?”

He takes a seat on a short stepladder. “Yes.”

“You know what caused it and how it . . . resolved?” That’s not the right word. The damage will never resolve completely. But the case itself did reach a conclusion.

“The company’s factories in Bangladesh were found guilty of negligence,” he says. “I remember that from high school. I looked it up again before I submitted my proposal. Wiki says after years of litigation, the plaintiffs won the largest settlement from a company in the history of the ready-made garment manufacturing industry.”

I could leave it at that. I don’t have to lay out the ugly facts for Micah. But I need to. I want him to see . . . me.

“In a way, it indirectly affected you because it was why I was not great to you in high school.”

“Katie, you’re acting like you bullied me. There’s nothing to explain.”

“I know I didn’t bully you. But I still have regrets.”

He props his elbows on his knees and leans forward, raising an eyebrow to indicate he’s listening.

“This all started when I was in eighth grade. I believed my dad when he said the company was innocent. Madi never believed him, and that’s why we fought. She rebelled to punish him, I obeyed to . . . I don’t know. Neutralize her? It felt like we were under attack constantly, and she was disloyal, trying to separate herself from the scandal. That’s how I thought of it. As a scandal. Not a tragedy. As something that was happening to us, not because of us. That’s what I’m most ashamed of now.”

“Fighting with Madison?”

“Believing we were victims. Because people were dead, and I felt sorry for myself.” It is the ugliest thing to ever be true about me.

I meet his eyes, waiting for him to interject, to reassure me that I was a kid, and I should cut myself some slack. He doesn’t say anything, only nods, and it makes me want to be more honest.

“We were never victims. My father overrode his onsite supervisor’s warnings about a major construction flaw in the factory. He wouldn’t allow a work stoppage. Two days later, the building collapsed, two hundred people were dead, and more than four hundred injured, but he denied liability for years.”

“When did you change your mind?”

“My last year of college. A professor used Armstrong Industries for a case study in my business ethics class. Halfway through, it was pretty clear: My dad lied.”

He flinches. “That must have been a hard class to take.”

That was an understatement. I look out of the supervisor window, scanning the space Micah will transform over the next two months. “It was like having someone do an art installation inside me where they ripped out my worldview and told me to build on a completely different foundation. I had to deconstruct everything I believed about my dad and the company and find a way to view the world through a different lens.”

“Is that when you and Madison became a team?”

I wince. “Not exactly. This is messy family drama. You sure you want to hear about this?”

“Yeah.” His voice is soft. “If you’re okay telling me, I do.”

I take a deep breath. “Before law school, before Madison and I made up, we got in a fight and I went off on her. Her plan since high school was to get her inheritance and match every payout from the legal settlement, doubling each victim’s benefit. I thought my way was better. I chose law school because I wanted to become the compliance officer at Armstrong. I wanted to make sure our corporate ethics were unimpeachable. I told her she was throwing money at a problem so she could take the moral high ground with my dad, not because she really cared.”

His eyes widen slightly.

“I know it sounds bad, but at the time, I was mad about her shutting me out of her life for ten years, so maybe I was harsh.” I give him a small smile.

“I wouldn’t have guessed that you and Madison weren’t always close. Watching you, it’s like you two are as much friends as you are sisters.”

“It took time,” I say. “Once she realized I wasn’t defending our father anymore, we figured out how to talk to each other. But since Madison’s smart and good to the bones, she started looking at what would really help. She decided to get an MBA focused on entrepreneurial activism. Her thesis was Threadwork. It started with microfinance, but she figured out pretty quickly that not everyone wants to be an entrepreneur. Some want job security with good wages, so she opened the Marigold Institute. It offers four different management training courses. We started with garment manufacturing, but we realized that true opportunity meant giving them access to careers they chose, not fell into. We added hospitality, retail, and information technology.”

“When did it go from ‘she’ to ‘we’?”

“I started volunteering at Threadwork when I could during law school.” I run my finger over my eyebrow. How do you explain something you’re not proud of or ashamed of, just something that needed to be done? “We combined superpowers and bent Gordon Armstrong, scion and CEO of Armstrong Industries, to our will. He comps the office space and donates. A lot. When she asked me to act as director while she’s out with the baby, it was an easy yes, and I started full-time in May.”

For some reason, this pulls the biggest smile of the morning from him.

“Is that funny?”

“That two twenty-something women took down a corporate titan?” He shrugs. “I knew you in high school. Doesn’t surprise me at all.”

Flutters. All the flutters. Back. All back.

I pivot to work. It’s safe. Structured. I know the rules. “That’s why Madison is so driven to make this gala a success. She needs the first one to announce itself in the Austin consciousness with the splash of a Super Bowl halftime show. It needs to be iconic from the start.”

“But you’re not as invested?”

“Of course I am, but my ideas are more helpful on the Institute side, coming up with course expansions, handling the operational details she doesn’t love. We collaborate to plan growth. I figure out how to implement it, but her genius is figuring out how to fund it. How to make other people see the vision.”

He stands and walks over to gaze down through the window. “Nothing less than iconic, huh?”

“Yes.”

He turns and meets my eyes. “Challenge accepted.”

I can’t say anything for two full seconds, mesmerized by his eyes, by everything they promise to deliver.

For the gala .

This is not safe. This isn’t safe at all.

I blink and snap out of it, standing to survey the rest of the supervisor loft. “Thanks for taking the time to show me all this. I better get over to the office and find more reasons for our gala guests to spend money when they’re inspired by your art.” I say the last part as I head for the door, and Micah follows me out.

Before I reach the stairs, he plucks at my sleeve, and I turn.

“The grudge is still expired, right?”

“Right,” I say, trying to give him a normal smile. So normal. Super normal. An everything-is-great smile. He starts to look worried. “We’re good.”

He hesitates. “Okay. You seem . . .”

“Remember high school? I like to work. And work is work. And I work better when it stays that way.” None of this emotional connection detour.

As if someone has swiped a filter over his face, the warmth turns cool. “Understood.”

He follows me down the stairs without comment, and when we reach the warehouse floor, I pause near yet another pile of rebar. “Keep me posted. Madison chose the right person for this job.”

“Thanks.” He reaches over and slides a rod from the top, holding it in his upturned palms. One of his thumbs traces the ribs spiraling around it. “Did I tell you where this rebar is from?”

“No.”

“The teardown of the Marble Falls bridge.” He scrapes a ridge. “I’ve had it for years.”

“Weren’t we still in college when that bridge came down?”

He nods. “I was on the construction crew that cleared the debris. They never care what I keep from a demo, so I held on to it, waiting for the right project. All the pink granite for the capitol back in the day came from Marble Falls.” He taps it. “Rebar from a bridge leading to a quarry that helped build a legacy. Fits Threadwork.”

I swallow. This man . . . he makes me want to abandon my role in all this, pull up a chair, and watch him work all day. Watch him make and sculpt and build. “I love that.”

He sets the rebar back on its stack. “Drop in as often as it takes to feel comfortable with the progress.”

I don’t quite meet his eyes as I look over to Eva setting up sawhorses. “You won’t see me much. This is clearly in capable hands, so I won’t be underfoot.”

“I’ll walk you out.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

He doesn’t argue, only nods and slides his hands into his pockets.

“I’ll let Madison know it’s all coming together,” I say before heading to the door.

“See you around,” he says, and it’s almost lost in the clanking of Eva’s setup.

In the parking lot, I climb into my Audi. I replay the whole scene with Micah several times as I drive to the office, trying to understand what I’m feeling.

I like Micah. As a person.

I am attracted to Micah. That body. That brain. That sweet look on his face when he held Harper. The intensity in his eyes when he talks about the installation. The quiet way he listens.

But he also brings out old instincts that I don’t love. Like the urge to compete, even over stupid things. Or the self-consciousness I worked on overcoming all through college. It’s like he sees through my highlights and the high heels, the perfect neutral lipstick with a rosy tint and the tailored suits. He sees quiet, mousy high school Kaitlyn.

He sees the girl who was so quietly, madly in love with him her senior year that she couldn’t hide it and broke her nose.

The shame of being transparent had burned so intensely that even in college, I’d changed direction the handful of times I’d seen him on campus. No burning feelings here, Micah Croft.

As I pull onto the highway, I acknowledge there’s a difference now that I can’t overlook: Micah seems like he likes me as a person too.

What if that went somewhere? What if that turned into mutual attraction and then more?

The flutters explode in my chest even considering it.

And that is the problem.

This wouldn’t turn into another crush. There’s a good chance Micah would . . . reciprocate. I’ve had a serious relationship. I know the signs.

I also know that for the next six months, I don’t have the time. Literally. Where would I fit a relationship while I’m working and studying sixty hours a week?

I won’t disappoint Madison by losing focus, and I won’t delay the bar exam again to make time to possibly date someone that I only have a hunch might be interested in dating me.

You know who puts their career on a one-year pause after three grueling years of law school for a sister? A good sister. You know who puts it on pause for another six months for a guy? A weak woman.

That’s not me.

I pull into work five minutes later, blaring Ciara’s “Level Up,” and walk into the office, boss energy on blast.

Suz jumps up from the desk when I walk in, Big Director energy in place. “Please tell me you have more pictures of that yummy baby besides the announcement Madison emailed.”

I grin, happy to share the picture loot. Kh?i, the accountant, and Aisha, our communications director, rush over to see, and after everyone has had their fill of the boss’s baby, I walk into my office.

And stop cold.

All the framed photos that were leaning against the wall are now hanging on them instead, and if I’d had any doubt who did it, a small plant stand now sits behind my desk with a lucky bamboo on it. The stand is a striking brass-toned geometric structure of soldered wire I’m sure came from a demolished building.

Micah.

Maybe I’m not as strong as I thought.