He Gave Her My Roses. I Gave His Rival the Winning Bid

“Mr. Delgado, you should know what happened this morning.” Winona's friend stepped forward, keeping one hand on her shoulder. “The second those flowers arrived, Ms. Maxwell ordered her to print hundreds of pages. She gave her one hour.” Philip looked toward Winona's desk. “She stood at that printer forever,” the woman continued. “Her back was killing her. And look at it. Page after page of nonsense. Nobody's going to read any of that.” The second woman nodded. “It was punishment. Everyone could see it.” Philip released the breath he'd been holding and walked toward the printer. A half-finished stack sat in the output tray. He pulled out several pages and scanned the diagrams, equations, and test results. I'd explained the system to him often enough that he should have recognized them. Instead, he looked back at me. “This is what you made her do?” “Philip, those are—” He tore the pages in half. The sound stopped me. Then he tore them again and threw the pieces at my face. A strip caught against my mouth. Another settled on my shoulder. “I was about to offer you an apology,” he said. “And all this time, you've been taking your jealousy out on an intern.” No one moved. The employees watching us understood that tone. It was the voice Philip used downstairs, behind the locked doors, when someone had disappointed him. Only this time, he had an audience. “We look after our people here, Cora. I won't have you abusing someone who can't defend herself.” Behind the falling paper, Winona lowered her eyes. Not quickly enough to hide her smile. I'd spent five nights preparing that report. Five nights of checking encryption performance, testing failures, and proving that the system could protect communications across the Eastern Pacific terminals without interrupting port operations. Eastwell, the consortium overseeing the project, had requested printed technical dossiers before its decision-makers withdrew for final deliberations. The public bid opening was tomorrow. Today's review was our last chance to secure their technical approval. I'd asked Winona to print and bind the files by ten. One straightforward task. Philip grabbed another sheaf. “Apologize.” He struck me across the face with it. The edges scraped my cheek. I flinched, and a warm line of blood reached the corner of my mouth. Somewhere behind him, someone drew a sharp breath. Philip didn't seem to hear. “Now.” I touched my cheek, then looked at the blood on my fingers. For a moment, I remembered the same hand covering mine across our kitchen table while he promised we'd get through another difficult month. I bent to retrieve the pages. “She had an hour to print them,” I said. “She spent the morning carrying her flowers around the office.” Winona made a small, wounded sound. I picked up a page containing the results of a seventy-two-hour security test. “The job is still unfinished. If anyone owes an apology, it's her.” Philip caught me by the collar and pulled me upright. The fabric tightened against my throat. “When did you become like this?” I looked at his hand. “Let go.” “Petty. Vindictive. You can't bear to see another woman receive something nice.” His face was close to mine. “Get on your knees and apologize to her. Do that, and I might let you keep your position.” I waited for someone to object. Nobody did. Instead, the woman beside Winona folded her arms. “You've been chasing him for months. Now you're punishing his girlfriend because he isn't interested?” “She wastes everyone's time printing this garbage and thinks she deserves an apology.” Another employee shook her head. “She doesn't even take a salary. We all know why she's here.” A few people laughed. “Exactly. She was happy working for free when she thought it would get her into his bed. Now suddenly she wants employee benefits.” A laugh escaped me. It sounded strange enough that Philip loosened his grip. Working for free. That was what they'd made of it. When we'd married, Philip had carried the Delgado name but controlled almost nothing. The senior men in his family held the profitable businesses. He was determined to build something they would have to respect. We lived in a small apartment above a shuttered restaurant. The heating failed every winter. I worked at the kitchen table because there was nowhere else to put a desk. He used to bring me wildflowers. Sometimes they were crushed from being carried inside his jacket. Sometimes he came home with wet shoes because he'd climbed down an embankment to pick them. He always remembered. Then he decided technology would be his way into the family's inner circle. Secure networks. Port logistics. Contracts that could earn legitimate revenue while making the older men dependent on him. I already had a reputation in the field. Other companies wanted my expertise, and I could have chosen a comfortable life. Instead, I paid for his first servers. I covered payroll when a promised investment failed. I helped his engineers solve problems they weren't experienced enough to recognize. Every time he said he needed a little longer, I found a way to give it to him. By last year, the company finally had steady contracts. Philip leased more office space, recruited a larger team, and brought in interns. He talked about expansion over breakfast, through dinner, in bed. I knew how much it mattered to him. So when he asked me to take over the technical division, I agreed to waive my salary until the new contracts came through. I redirected my bonus into the hiring budget. When there weren't enough benefits to go around, I told him to give mine to the junior staff. I thought we were building something together. Then the rumors about Winona began. Her expense claims arrived without receipts. Finance paid them anyway. She missed deadlines. Someone else finished the work. At the end of the year, Philip gave her a sports car. When I questioned him, he told me I didn't understand how to motivate a team. “People need to feel valued, Cora.” I'd wanted to believe him. Perhaps that was the most humiliating part. Not that he'd lied, but how often I'd helped him make the lie sound reasonable. This morning, I'd seen the flowers arriving and felt a brief, foolish lift in my chest. He remembers, I'd thought. After all these years, he remembers. Instead, he'd allowed them to leave my desk empty. Then he'd come downstairs to make sure I didn't embarrass the woman who'd received more than everyone else combined. I pulled my collar free of his hand. Philip stared at me, his anger sharpened by the fact that I still hadn't obeyed. I held up the pages I'd collected. “You keep calling this garbage.” A torn diagram trembled between my fingers. “These are the test results Eastwell asked for. The complete technical case for our Eastern Pacific proposal.” His eyes flicked toward the paper. “I worked through five nights to finish it. Winona was supposed to print the submission copies this morning, before the review deadline.” Nobody behind him spoke now. “If she'd done her job, Eastwell's technical committee could already have approved our system. We could have gone into tomorrow's bid with their support.” I looked at the shredded pages around his shoes. “The files can be printed again. The submission window won't reopen because your girlfriend couldn't be bothered to use a printer.” Winona's hand tightened around the bouquet. I met Philip's eyes. “You want someone out of this company for wasting resources and jeopardizing the contract?” My voice caught, but I forced myself to finish. “Then tell me why you're threatening my job instead of hers.”

I pointed at Winona. For an instant, her gaze flicked toward the unfinished documents. Then her face crumpled. “Ms. Maxwell, how could you?” Tears rolled down her cheeks. She made no attempt to wipe them away. “Because Mr. Delgado gave me flowers? Because he appreciates my work?” She looked at Philip, then back at me. “You gave me a deadline you knew I couldn't meet. Now I understand why.” I waited. “You couldn't finish the software for tomorrow's bid. You needed someone to blame when it failed.” Her voice broke. “So you chose me. I'm just an intern. I can't defend myself against someone in your position.” Philip's jaw tightened. “Was that the plan?” she whispered. “Ruin my career so you could keep finding reasons to be close to him?” The woman beside her nodded as though a difficult puzzle had finally been solved. “Mr. Delgado's been asking the technical division to fix that system for a year.” “Exactly. Now suddenly it's ready, but the intern ruined everything by not printing it fast enough?” Someone gave a disbelieving laugh. “She must think we're idiots.” “It wouldn't have mattered what was on those pages. All she needed was a missed deadline.” I looked around at them. Not one had asked to examine the report. Not one understood enough of the work to judge it. They didn't need to. Philip had decided who was innocent, and they were supplying the reasons. His gaze settled on me. “You planned this.” “No.” “You volunteered to take over the technical side. You shut yourself in that lab for weeks, barely spoke to anyone, and this is what you were doing?” I thought of the missed calls I'd returned after midnight. The progress reports his assistant acknowledged because he never did. “You have my updates.” He shoved me. My heel caught on the scattered paper. I fell hard, one hand striking the floor beneath me. For a moment, nobody spoke. Then Philip stepped closer. “Apologize to her. Right now. Or don't come back.” I sat among the pages he'd torn apart. When he'd first opened this office, there had been six of us. No assistants. No dedicated support staff. Just borrowed money, secondhand equipment, and Philip's promise that the Delgado family would finally take him seriously. I'd worked my own job during the day and come here afterward. I answered calls. Prepared invoices. Fixed the network. Printed and assembled hundreds of pages before meetings with men who wouldn't tolerate being kept waiting. An hour had always been enough when he was asking me. For Winona, it was cruelty. I got to my feet. Philip watched me brush paper from my trousers. He seemed to expect the familiar surrender, the quiet apology that let him save face. Instead, I unclipped my badge. It landed beside his shoe. “Then I won't be back.” His expression changed. “Cora.” “I quit.” I walked to my desk and pulled an empty archive box from beneath it. My mug went in first. Then my notebook, a framed photograph turned facedown, and the few personal things I'd accumulated during all those late nights. Behind me, someone whispered that I was being dramatic. I opened a document on my computer, sent it to the printer, and waited. Nobody complained about the printer this time. When the pages emerged, I signed where I needed to and carried them to Philip. “Sign these. I'll send you an address for the originals.” He took them impatiently. Then he saw the heading. Marital Settlement Agreement. Below it, in plain type, were our names. His eyes moved over the first page. The anger left his face so abruptly that, for a second, he looked almost unfamiliar. I picked up my box and turned. His hand closed around my arm. “Wait.” A few employees began to clap. They thought he'd accepted my resignation. “Finally.” “Good luck finding somewhere else that puts up with this.” Winona wasn't looking at the papers. She was looking at his hand. Her expression tightened, and she hurried over, placing her fingers around his wrist. “Mr. Delgado?” He didn't answer. “Are you bringing her back to apologize?” She gave him an explanation he could use in front of everyone. “If resigning is her way of accepting responsibility, I suppose that's enough. I don't want to make this harder than it needs to be.” Philip glanced at the watching employees. I saw the decision happen. Whatever had frightened him mattered less, in that moment, than admitting she'd misunderstood. “Of course,” he said. Winona relaxed. Philip's grip tightened. “She doesn't get to cause this much damage and walk away.” He pulled me back. My box struck his chest, and he forced me against the wall beside the executive corridor. The men stationed at its entrance watched him. Neither intervened. He put both hands on my shoulders. “Tomorrow is the Eastern Pacific bid.” “I know.” “If I win it, every family on this coast will have to do business through a system we control. Do you understand what that means?” I'd explained it to him months ago. “The old men won't be able to shut me out anymore,” he said. “Everything I've worked for is right there.” His fingers dug into my shoulders. “And you're choosing now to leave?” I studied his face. He looked almost desperate. Perhaps he was afraid of losing the technology. Perhaps seeing our marriage reduced to a few printed pages had finally disturbed him. Once, I would have searched for the answer. I would have clung to the smallest sign that he still wanted me. Now I only wanted him to move. “You've just told everyone I'm incompetent,” I said. “You think I sabotaged the bid and bullied your girlfriend.” His eyes flicked toward Winona. “So why do you want me to stay?” “Don't twist this.” “I'm using your words.” “This is about misconduct. You don't get to abandon your responsibilities because you've been called out.” He raised his voice slightly, making sure the others could hear. “And leave my personal life out of it.” His personal life. Seven years of marriage, and apparently I had no place in that conversation. Then he bent toward my ear. “Is that what this is really about?” he whispered. “I've been busy. We haven't had much time in bed, and now you're punishing me?” I went still. “You're really going to tear our lives apart over flowers?” I shook my head. There were too many answers. The cut on my cheek. His hands on my shoulders. The woman standing behind him, waiting for him to finish humiliating me. I was too tired to give him any of them. “Let go.” “Cora.” I shoved him away. The box slipped against my forearm. I tried to catch it, but the bottom tilted and everything spilled. My mug broke against the floor. Pens rolled beneath a desk. My notebook fell open. Before I could bend down, Winona reached for the small photograph album lying on top of the scattered things. “Give me that.” She opened it. Her eyes moved across the first page, then the next. A smile formed slowly at the corner of her mouth. “Oh.” She turned the album toward the others. “So that's why you're in such a hurry to leave.” I stepped forward, but she moved behind Philip. “Things weren't working out with Mr. Delgado, so you've found someone else?” The nearest employee leaned in. Train tickets were tucked beside the photographs, their dates carefully written underneath. Faces and station names flashed past as Winona turned the pages, showing strangers pieces of a life they knew nothing about. One woman laughed. “Look at all those trips.” Another shook her head. “She couldn't get so much as a bouquet out of Mr. Delgado, so she's already trying her luck elsewhere.” “That's a lot of effort for a man who probably doesn't want her either.” Winona held the album just beyond my reach. Around her, the laughter grew. “God, Cora. How many trains did you catch chasing this one?”

Philip looked at the open album. The color left his face. What Winona had mistaken for photographs were old railway logos printed above rows of dates and destinations. There were no pictures of another man. Only train tickets. Dozens of them, carefully flattened beneath protective sleeves. I watched recognition settle over him. We'd met at the national collegiate computing championships. I was competing. Philip was on his university's volunteer logistics team, handing out badges and directing people toward the lecture halls. He found me outside the final presentation room and asked me to dinner before he'd even introduced himself. Later, he told me he'd watched my demonstration without understanding a word of it. He'd only known he wanted to see me again. By then, recruiters were already approaching me. My professors called me the most promising software engineer they'd taught in years. Philip was charming, popular, and failing most of his classes. He could talk his way into a private club, but he couldn't pass an introductory programming exam. He also carried the Delgado name. On campus, people lowered their voices when they mentioned his family. I wanted a life built on work I could be proud of, far from men whose influence depended on fear. I turned him down. He came back the following weekend. Then the weekend after that. His family controlled his allowance, and he was too proud to ask them to finance his pursuit of a woman who kept refusing him. He bought the cheapest tickets he could find, traveling for hours, sometimes standing in crowded carriages because he had no reserved seat. He'd arrive with aching legs and terrible coffee, smiling as though the trip had been nothing. Eventually, I started meeting him at the station. On our wedding day, he gave me the album. His hands shook when he placed it in mine. Every ticket was there, arranged by date, the earliest ones so faded I could barely read them. He pulled me against him and cried into my hair. “Ten thousand miles to convince you to take a chance on me,” he'd whispered. “You think I'd ever stop being grateful?” I'd kept it in my office because, on the worst days, it reminded me why I'd come. Now Winona held it up while his employees laughed. Philip said nothing. My silence encouraged them. “Look at her. She can't even deny it.” A phone appeared inches from my face. Then another. Someone started a livestream. “You need to see this,” a woman announced to her screen. “She harasses the boss, bullies his girlfriend, and now we've caught her chasing another man.” I turned away from the camera. Its owner followed. “No, don't hide now. You were happy throwing your weight around five minutes ago.” Behind Philip, one of the security men shifted uneasily. Filming inside the Delgado offices normally required permission. Philip didn't tell them to stop. That was permission enough. On the nearest screen, I saw my own face beneath the office lights. My cheek was swollen. Dried blood marked the cut beside my mouth. Above it, the employee had typed: TOO OLD TO PLAY INNOCENT. STILL TRYING TO STEAL SOMEONE'S MAN. Comments began appearing beneath the video. She looks desperate. Guess getting a real job was too much work. These women always think they're special. The employee read the worst ones aloud. Then a different comment appeared. Wait. Is that Cora Maxwell? The engineer? Another followed. She's won major awards. Why are we assuming any of this is true? For a moment, nobody read those out. I looked at Philip. He stood close enough to stop this with a word. Every person filming me would lower their phone if he asked. I caught the front of his jacket. “Tell them.” His eyes met mine. “You know who I am. You know whose tickets those are.” My voice shook despite my effort to steady it. “Tell them whether I'm someone's mistress.” His gaze dropped to the album. Something moved across his face. Shame, perhaps. Or the realization that there were witnesses now, people beyond this building whom he couldn't simply order to forget. “Cora,” he began. My phone chimed. I was still holding it beside his shoulder. The screen lit up with a message preview. Winona saw it before I could lower my hand. She snatched it away. “Well, this should be interesting.” “Give it back.” She stepped out of reach and turned the screen toward the cameras. Craig's message filled the notification. I'll pick you up at your place tomorrow morning. I'll bring breakfast. He'd contacted me through a secondary account, separate from the number his staff handled. There was no surname, no company logo, nothing the people around me recognized. Just a man offering to collect me in the morning. Winona's smile widened. “Breakfast?” She looked at Philip with an expression of carefully arranged sympathy. “I suppose that explains why she was so eager to leave.” The woman filming leaned closer. “Get that on camera.” Someone laughed. “Already has tomorrow morning planned.” “Probably thought she could keep using Mr. Delgado until the next one came along.” The comments moved faster. The people who'd recognized my name were drowned out. One who'd defended me posted again. Never mind. Apparently talent doesn't buy self-respect. I reached for my phone. “It's a business meeting.” Philip caught my wrist. He was no longer looking at the album. “Who is he?” “Let go.” “Who is he, Cora?” I stared at him. He had stood beside another woman while she called herself his girlfriend. He'd let his employees humiliate me for wanting flowers. Now he looked at a breakfast invitation as though I'd committed an unforgivable betrayal. “You don't get to do this,” I said. His hand struck my face. I stumbled into the edge of a desk and fell. Pain spread through my jaw. For several seconds, all I could hear was a dull ringing. Philip stood over me. “I was about to defend you.” His voice shook. “After everything you've done today, I was still going to give you a chance.” I pressed a hand to the floor. “And all this time, you've had someone waiting?” He glanced at the phone in Winona's hand. “That's why you want out. Not the flowers. Not the job. Him.” “No.” The word came out thick and unsteady. He didn't listen. “You couldn't wait to get into another man's bed.” Someone behind him murmured in agreement. “We don't need someone like you here,” he said. The employees moved closer. One blocked the aisle between the desks. Another stood in front of my box. “You're not leaving without apologizing.” “To Winona and everyone else.” “You've humiliated this company in front of thousands of people.” They were the ones holding the cameras. I tried to stand. A foot struck the back of my knee, and I went down again. Before I could raise my hands, someone grabbed my hair. “Kneel properly.” My head was forced toward the tile. There was a burst of pain. Then warmth slid down my forehead. For a moment, the floor wouldn't stay still beneath me. I heard voices, but couldn't separate them. Winona crouched in front of me. She took my chin between her fingers and tilted my face up, inspecting what they'd done. Then she leaned close enough that only I could hear. “You really thought you could take him from me?” Her perfume turned my stomach. “Look at yourself. Learn when to give up.” I searched past her for Philip. He was watching the blood reach my eyebrow. His expression changed. “Enough.” The word cut through the noise. Hands withdrew from me at once. He pushed past Winona, caught my arm, and pulled me upright. My knees nearly gave way. He tightened his grip and marched me toward the private elevator. Nobody blocked him. One of his men pressed the call button. I looked back once. My things were still on the floor. The album lay open beside my broken mug, its tickets exposed beneath the shoes of people who had never known the man who bought them. The elevator arrived. Philip shoved me inside. I struck the back wall and caught the rail. “Go home.” He stood across the threshold, shielding me from the cameras at last. “Wait there.” I looked at him through the blood blurring one eye. He leaned closer. “And don't ever put divorce papers in my hands again. You know what happens when someone tries to walk away from this family.” The warning was quiet enough for no one else to hear. Then he stepped back and pressed the lobby button. As the doors began to close, Winona slipped her hand around his arm. “Philip,” she said softly. “You promised tonight was mine.” Her voice was playful again. “You're not going to leave me waiting, are you?” The doors closed before he answered.

Through the narrowing gap between the elevator doors, I heard Philip's voice soften. “Of course tonight's yours. Have I ever missed a special occasion with you?” The doors shut. I stood against the rail, holding a tissue to my mouth. Our anniversary. My birthday. The dinner I'd cooked when my latest patent was approved. He'd missed all of them. For a year, I'd told myself that building a business inside a crime family left little room for romance. There were obligations I understood and others he wouldn't discuss. Apparently, he'd found the time for Winona. I wiped the blood from my lip. Philip didn't come home that night. Neither did I. The next morning, Eastwell held the Eastern Pacific contract presentation in a waterfront hotel. Black sedans lined the entrance. Inside, reporters waited beneath crystal chandeliers while representatives of the coast's most powerful families greeted one another with careful smiles. The contract was legitimate. The competition behind it was less so. Whoever controlled the terminals' communications infrastructure would become indispensable to men who disliked depending on outsiders. I arrived with a bandage above my eyebrow and bruises the makeup couldn't conceal. Philip saw me before I reached the registration desk. His gaze moved from my face to the proposal folder beneath my arm. Then he smiled. “I knew you'd come around.” His collar sat open at the throat. Dark marks showed above it. I looked at them, then at him. He seemed pleased that I'd noticed. “Stayed up all night fixing the proposal, didn't you?” He leaned closer. “You could have saved us both the trouble yesterday.” Winona stood a few steps behind him, wearing an expensive dress and the expression of someone whose morning had just been spoiled. Philip lowered his voice. “I only stayed with her because she was upset after what you did. Someone had to calm her down.” I adjusted my grip on the folder. “But you're here. You've brought the work.” He gave a small, approving nod. “That's what matters.” He reached toward my elbow. I moved out of reach. His smile tightened. “Don't start again. I'll come home tonight. You've earned that much.” For seven years, I'd wanted to hear him say he was coming home. Now I only wanted him to step aside. Winona joined us. “You still haven't taken the hint?” Her eyes lingered on my bandage. “After yesterday, I thought you'd have enough self-respect to stay away from him.” A nearby reporter turned. Within seconds, cameras were pointing at us. “Ms. Maxwell. Is it true you were dismissed after harassing Mr. Delgado and his girlfriend?” A microphone blocked my path. “Did the man who was supposed to hire you withdraw his offer after the livestream?” Another voice came from behind it. “Are you here to ask Mr. Delgado to take you back?” The questions grew uglier when I didn't answer. “Does professional reputation mean nothing to you?” “Or is a wealthy man worth any amount of humiliation?” Philip stood beside Winona and let them ask. I waited for a gap, stepped past the nearest microphone, and walked toward the Eastwell delegation. Their director recognized me immediately. “Ms. Maxwell.” I handed him the folder. “The final specifications, independent test results, and deployment schedule. This is the system we discussed.” He opened it. I watched his attention settle on the first table of results. “This performance figure,” he said. “You've verified it under full load?” “The supporting tests are in section three.” He turned the pages. Around us, the reporters quieted. Philip moved closer. The director looked up, then reached for my hand. “This is extraordinary.” He glanced toward another member of the selection committee and passed him the folder. “We said from the beginning that whoever secured your expertise would have the advantage.” Philip stepped forward before the man had finished speaking. “Thank you. We've worked very hard for this.” He turned toward the cameras, positioning himself beside me. “I've always believed in getting the best out of my people.” I moved away. He barely noticed. “A woman like Cora needs a firm hand,” he continued, smiling as though he were sharing useful advice. “Same as a dog. Let her think she runs the house, and nothing gets done. Remind her who's in charge, and look what she delivers.” A few strained laughs came from his delegation. The Eastwell director stopped smiling. Philip was watching the cameras. Then he spotted Craig Butler standing near the stage. His expression brightened. “Butler.” Craig turned. “Save yourself the trip next time,” Philip said. “Some contracts are out of your league.” His men stood behind him, enjoying the insult. “After today, you'll know who you have to come through on this coast.” Craig glanced at me. Then he looked back at Philip with a faint smile. “You should let him finish.” The Eastwell director stepped onto the stage. He placed the selection committee's decision on the podium and adjusted the microphone. Philip straightened his jacket. He was still smiling when the announcement began. By the time the director finished reading the winning company's name, every trace of color had left his face.