Of course I would run into her in a pop-up store with her shirt pulled up and stuck around her head. Of course I would walk in on her like that. And, of course I took more than one glance at her nearly bare chest. She might no longer be my employee, but I felt as guilty as ever looking at her the way I did.

"Hello, Jane," I said to her after welcoming Kat back from her trip. For a moment I thought I had turned Jane to ash. I smiled inwardly at her response. I hadn't meant for my tone to be what it was—seductive. It was only mild, at that. However, Jane and I walked a tightrope with each other. What others might not hear immediately in my tone was easily picked up by her discerning ears.

I left the three friends in the changing room and found myself irritated when the clerk insisted on calling me 'Mrs. Carlyle.' I had never been annoyed with the title before, but ever since my husband balked at my choosing to tell the story of my sexual assault and left me to deal with it on my own, I had this thought in the recesses of my mind that said he didn't deserve my respecting a title that reflected his relationship to me.

By the time I was sitting in the town car, I had put away the thought of Jane's skin and was firmly ensconced in thoughts of my marriage.

How could I have spent twenty years married to a man who didn't respect me enough to support my decision to carry the very weights that ended up lifting a burden I didn't know I still carried? How had he thought it was appropriate to berate me for that choice? I never thought to ask his permission because it was not his permission to give. Yes, I should have given him a heads up. That's not what our standoff was about. Would Ian ever see it my way? I suspect not. The thing is, Ian and I hadn't been seeing things the same way for a while. A very long while.

"Ms. Carlyle?" Ricky's voice broke through and I blushed, not knowing how long he may have been waiting for me to give him instructions on where to drive. His choosing to call me 'Ms.' was welcome.

"To the office," I nodded to him. "I apologize for keeping you waiting."

"No, no. You look like a woman with a lot on her mind. That calls for waiting."

I was always grateful for her driver's patience and kindness. While I didn't make eye contact via the rearview mirror while we drove, I made a point of looking him in the eye and sincerely thanking him when we arrived and he got out to open my door.

###

For no longer being my employee, I wasn't anticipating seeing Jane twice in one week. It shouldn't have surprised me that she was at the latest Scarlet party, though. Where Sutton and Kat were, there would be Jane. It was a given.

I truly had wanted to know about her new vertical at Incite. I didn't realize that in asking about it, she would become the rambling, bumbling mess she had been in our early days working together.

"Jane, this isn't a pitch meeting…" I reminded her with a slight smile. "I was sad to see you leave Scarlet."

She looked sad. Was she regretting the decision to leave Scarlet? Did she feel as if she had been a fool in doing so? Surely, she didn't feel foolish for having left me. Regretful? I couldn't tell.

Her new editor is as far from me as a fellow female editor could be. She's brash and ruthless. She doesn't care what she has to do to make her online magazine succeed. But more than anything she isn't gentle when needed. Jane needs that from her editor from time to time.

We had run into each other at the bar. I wasn't blind to the fact that she was appraising my dress and perhaps more than the dress. I also noticed her looking around and I wondered if she wasn't looking for Ian. He wasn't with me. I wasn't sure if he would ever attend another event with me. That was none of her concern despite my wanting to tell her about it. My wanting to confide in her scared me. I took the coward's way out. I told her it appeared moving to Incite was the right decision and I threw back my scotch and left the glass and Jane there.

###

I watched her on New York 14 with rapt attention. Despite knowing how furious I would be if I had been her editor at Incite, I found myself full of pride for Jane. Something I knew about her from the moment she interviewed with me as an intern was that she has a strong set of values and, though not rigid, she would not bend to much that might challenge or threaten them. As a writer, I knew her to be ethical. What she was saying on television was not at odds with who she was in print. I smiled at what I was seeing.

As Jane's television appearance could attest, her editor is not in the habit of talking to her writers about potential problems, instead tweaking the articles herself before publishing. I knew from years of being an editor that you had to step back and let your writers make the corrections even when you didn't see eye to eye.

Jane and I discussed many issues until we couldn't say another word on the matter. I would have never published something without her knowledge.

Ironically, the following day Sutton asked me why I didn't write anymore. I found myself trying to remember when I had last written something. Beyond emails to board members, advertisers and my own staff, I didn't write anymore. This needed to be fixed. The strongest editors are good writers themselves. How could I be at the top of my profession without remembering that? I decided after speaking with Sutton that I would return to writing the monthly letter from the editor in Scarlet. I couldn't even remember why that staple had gone from the magazine.

Would returning to writing myself help me better understand a certain writer?

###

It shouldn't have surprised me to find that Jane had landed on my schedule.

Perhaps I shouldn't have begun the conversation by pointing out that I watched her on NY14 because she immediately appeared physically ill. My only option was to point out the truth: "Victoria doesn't know who she has lost."

Did I know what I had lost? Yes, absolutely.

"An editor is supposed to support their staff not exploit them," I told her.

"I took you for granted," she said to me, trying to remain stoic and professional. "I took for granted how special Scarlet is… it wasn't just a job, it was home. I left without truly understanding how lucky I was."

The pause between her saying she had taken me for granted and then Scarlet narrowed my vision as I looked at her to determine if this was only about the job.

My heart sunk when she asked for her job back. I knew my budget inside out and I knew her position no longer existed. I told her I could probably get the money; I also told her I wasn't sure that was the best thing for her right now.

Did I mean for her personally or professionally? Or did I mean for me? We had been so close and my heart broke when she left Scarlet. Distance might be wise. Distance until, at the very least, I could figure out my own feelings and return to trusting my gut.

"You have some growing up to do, you need to live in this failure. You can't be afraid of it."

Maybe I shouldn't have said that. Those latter points could easily be turned around on me and the failure that was my marriage. She became defensive and rightfully so.

"You just lost your job and you want to feel safe. So, you think if I fix this everything will get right back on track," I said to her. Oh, it sunk in. I make her feel safe.

I could feel the hurt I had inflicted—her face was set deep with it. While I truly believed that Jane needed to taste failure to be a better writer, I could see that she was floundering and I wanted nothing more than to gather her in my arms and assure her that everything would work out. I couldn't do that, though. It wouldn't be good for her progression and Safford had eliminated that funding line.

"I believe in you, Jane."

"Thank you for taking the time," she said as I had to end our talk to go to a meeting.

It was strained. We were strained. I wanted to walk it back. I wanted to sit on the couch with her, share a drink and start again. I couldn't. When she thanked me for taking the time, I nearly burst out that I was wrong, that she should come back to Scarlet.

As I made my way to my meeting, I reflected on something I felt simmering inside me. I had come to think of Jane in a way I never had any other employee. Yes, it was because of how good she had been to me since I told my story—it was much, much deeper than that. I trusted her implicitly. I knew if I ever needed her, she would be there. But I also knew it to be problematic that I was heartbroken when she left for Incite. Not the editor-in-chief of a magazine that had lost its best writer. Me. Jacqueline Carlyle—the woman behind the magazine and every mask I wore. The very woman who had come to rely so heavily on Jane and regularly seek her out, was devastated by her departure. I felt terrible for thinking it was better she go all because I was feeling something for her. That and the thought of my marriage which clearly was a secondary concern. I knew it hadn't always been secondary to Scarlet, but now Ian was secondary to a young woman whom I would never have any sort of relationship with aside from mentor and, hopefully, friend.

When I saw the hurt in Jane's eyes in my office, I knew that if I had said yes and brought her back, I would end up hurting her eventually. Me. Not Scarlet's editor-in-chief.

To be continued…