The coffee machine still intimidated me occasionally.
The watches on my floor still cost more than my car.
But I stopped confusing expensive surroundings with superior people.
Grant kept his distance throughout the investigation.
When we crossed paths, he spoke to me exactly as he spoke to other employees: politely, briefly, and without suggesting that one improvised dance entitled either of us to anything.
Nearly a year after the gala, I transferred into an independent ethics unit that reported to the audit committee rather than executive management.
The following week, Grant found me near the same ballroom doors at another charity event.
This time, I had come alone by choice.
He stopped beside me and offered his hand.
“No emergency?” he asked.
“Not tonight.”
“No jealous ex?”
“Definitely not.”
“Then would you like to dance without pretending?”
I looked across the room.
There was no Jason watching, no audience I needed to convince, and no shame waiting to swallow me if I said the wrong thing.
I placed my hand in Grant’s.
“Only if you understand something,” I said.
“What?”
“You didn’t rescue me that night.”
His expression softened.
“I know.”
The music began.
He led me onto the floor, but the choice to follow was entirely mine.
