Page 32 of Parker

Chapter twenty-five

Sophie's Apartment, Glasgow

Nicky

“A cup of tea will make everything better,” Sophie says as she drops the bag into the teapot.

It is blue with white daisies printed all over it—there are ten on the handle alone.

As she waits for the magic medicine to brew, she pulls two mugs from the cupboard and places them on the worktop.

“You’re not a woman who folds easily, Nicky.

I’m guessing whatever happened was nuclear. ”

“Sophie, they’re accusing me of stealing every design I made that was worthwhile.”

“But that makes little sense. Why would Ebony wait until now to throw you under the bus? Why would she let it slide for so long?”

“She hasn’t. The designs are mine. The documents are false.

She’s been plotting to take me down since that bloody award ceremony last year.

” The reality of the situation is sinking in.

My career is over, and most likely my marriage.

“Ebony has been creating evidence this whole time, waiting for the perfect moment to strike and take me out.”

Sophie watches me, stunned into silence.

The cogs in her brain are turning, processing all the information I’ve given her.

The fraudulent emails are still on the coffee table next to the gigantic box of chocolates I brought with me.

My case sits at the door, unmoved since I arrived three hours ago, distraught.

After Joel showered, he redressed in his jeans and a t-shirt before returning to the living room.

Normally after work, he’d change into a loose pair of jogging bottoms and wander around the house bare-chested.

My evenings were dedicated to admiring my husband’s abs.

Tonight, his stony look from the office this afternoon was still firmly in place.

I sat on the sofa, wringing my hands together. This was bad, but my hours of filing through reasons for being fired had drawn a blank. My work was up to date, and all my clients were happy. Ebony and I had no direct conflict.

Scanning all the outfits I’d created over my six years at the fashion house had come up with nothing, too. They were completely different from other designers with unique signatures—my creations were nothing like anyone else’s. How could I be accused of theft?

Joel walked over to the sofa, holding out the envelope I’d seen earlier.

Inside, I found emails and design drawings.

Each one referenced a piece to be created, but none were marked as completed.

Every design was mine, almost. There were tiny differences in each, a simple button placement or hemline, but nothing that changed the overall look of the outfit.

“What are these?” I asked, confused.

“You tell me,” he said. “Ebony brought this evidence to my attention today.”

“These are my designs.” He raised an eyebrow at me. “You know these, Joel, they’re mine. Let me go and get my project book. We can go through them.”

“I already have, Nicky. Every design you’re holding has been cross-checked with your diary since you started. And yes, your designs are similar, if not the same as the ones in your hands.” His voice was level, monotone―not a hint of emotion.

“Okay, so where did these come from?” I waved the paperwork in my hand.

“Those,” he gestured at the bundle of drawings and emails, “are from our archives. Those were created between five and ten years ago.”

“What? That’s impossible. They’re my designs. It must be a mistake.”

He sighed and ran his hand through his hair.

“There’s no mistake. This was all pulled from our systems today.

Everything’s dated, you can see that.” He swallowed before speaking again.

“Nicky…” His fingers tightened around the edges of the paperwork.

“I didn’t want to believe it. I fought them on this.

I told them there had to be another explanation. ”

His voice was tired, low. “But then I looked through it all myself. The dates. The emails. The overlaps. And I…” Our eyes met. “I don’t know how else to explain it. The only thing that makes sense is that you’ve been stealing the other designer’s ideas since you started.”

“I’m being convicted without trial, even though I’m standing here as your wife, telling you this is untrue.

” Fury surged, devastation turning to disbelief.

“You believe this?” I threw the paperwork at his feet.

“Once the criminal, always the criminal. Isn’t that the truth?

We’ve been married for six years. Six years.

And have I ever given you a reason to doubt me? ”

“The evidence is clear. You stole those ideas. The whole of Parker Fashion knows it. You’re going to be fired. If you just tell me how you did it, maybe we could work something out. I love you.”

“Love me?” I sneered. “Is this how a husband who loves his wife treats her?”

His haunted eyes held mine. “I’ve had a tough day.

I have more important issues to be dealing with than women on a power trip.

” He shrugged his shoulders. “The board and my mother have ripped me to shreds, asking me every fucking question under the sun. What you’ve done doesn’t just affect you.

It questions your reliability as a member of our family. ”

“But I haven’t done anything.”

“Stop lying, please. I’ve seen it with my own eyes. All of it. Paperwork doesn’t lie.”

Emotion broke to the surface for the first time since he walked through our front door. I stood looking at the man I love, not knowing who he was. Never did I think Joel wouldn’t be in my corner. How could he believe all this so easily?

“She’s setting me up,” I whispered.

“Nicky,” he bellowed. “Ebony can barely make a cup of tea, never mind set you up as a thief. Please enlighten me on how she traveled back through time to send what you’re holding in your hand.”

“It’s possible to forge paperwork,” I said, deadpan, crossing my arms protectively over my chest and glaring at him.

“She has more important things to worry about. The only reason she never brought this to our attention before now is that you’re my wife.”

His jaw ticked. “She spends her evenings trying to make her bastard of a husband happy. He beats her—every fucking night. And it doesn’t matter how much I beg her to leave, she won’t.

So your bloody excuse doesn’t wash, Nicky.

” He paced like a caged animal, barely keeping it together.

“For once, own what you did and stop blaming everyone else.”

***

Sophie’s eyes drop to the floor as I recount my earlier conversation with my husband.

“What happened next?” she asks.

“I left.”

After he made it clear that he believed her over me.

I packed a bag and drove straight to my friend’s, not knowing where else to go.

She had thrown the door open and taken me in her arms. My tears flowed for an hour before I could control my emotions enough to push the story past my lips.

My happily ever after we cheered about, destroyed.

“What happens now?” Sophie is still stirring the tea in the mugs.

“I don’t know. Joel hasn’t called me. He didn’t ask where I was going. I’m not allowed to go to the fashion house.”

“What about your marriage?” Her wary eyes meet mine. “Your career has entangled itself with your marriage. You need to speak to Joel as your husband.”

I shrug. My mocking phone lies silent, goading me.

What if this has all been an illusion? My job, my marriage, the future we planned. What if my past fears prove true, and I’m the problem at the center of it all?

“Let me run you home, even just to pick up a few more things. You can stay here as long as you need to. But don’t go to sleep on this argument. Your marriage is too precious; you two had the ultimate love-at-first-sight-fairytale.”

“There’s a reason those stories are called fairytales.”

***

After an hour of nagging, I relent and let Sophie drive me home. She said I wasn’t stable enough to drive myself. Pulling up outside the electric gates, I press the buzzer, and they swing open. The house is lit up as usual.

Joel’s flying machine sits in its usual spot. He’s home. But next to it is a small blue convertible, which I recognize as Ebony’s. I glance toward Sophie, but she says nothing.

“Turn off the headlights,” I hiss.

“What?”

“Turn off the lights. I don’t want them to know I’m here.” She rolls her eyes at me but does as she’s told. “If we park here”—I signal to the side of the drive—“we will be able to walk up unseen.”

“Surely the gate alerts you when someone arrives,” she says.

“It doesn’t work,” I tell her. “It’s always failing. Every time we have it repaired, it crashes again.”

We creep along the gravel and slip behind a tree opposite the floor-to-ceiling living room windows. They’re sitting on the sofa, her head on his shoulder. It looks like a fucking cozy night in. Completely natural.

And suddenly I wonder if it was always her. If I was just the placeholder for a different woman. The rebellion, the excitement, the girl he thought he could fix. Maybe I was never the fairytale, just the detour for a different destination.

The realization hits me square between the eyes. They’ve been having an affair. Joel is in on this set-up too.

From our position, I can only see the back of their heads. But my mind fills in the details. Nausea threatens to take over. Insecurities from years ago burst to the surface.

This was all too good to be true—I knew that from the beginning. It was only a matter of time before my life turned to shit. I’d assumed it would be from my doing, not a bitch with a vendetta.

I turn to Sophie. She raises her eyebrows. “What do you want to do?” she mouths.

I want to say kill the pair of them , but I’ve spent years learning to control my temper and search for the truth. “You go back to the car. I’m going to find out what’s going on.”

“I’ll come with you,” she splutters.

“No, Soph. Go back to the car. I’ll only be a minute.”

She hesitates, obviously not wanting to let me go alone.

“It will be fine,” I say, the confident tone a lie. “But if I’m about to find my husband in the arms of another woman, I don’t need the embarrassment of anyone else being there.”

Turning away from my friend, I stride toward my house in pursuit of the truth.