Chapter 3 - THE COMPANY WE BUILT TOGETHER
My name is Katherine Bennett.
Thirty-two years old.
Co-founder and chief operating officer of Bennett-Hayes Hospitality Group.
Ryan Hayes was my husband.
For four days.
And my business partner for six years.
We met when I was twenty-six.
I worked in hotel operations.
Ryan worked in sales.
He was charming.
Ambitious.
And extraordinarily good at convincing people to believe in ideas that didn't exist yet.
I was good at making those ideas real.
Together, we built a hospitality consulting firm.
At first, we worked from a rented office above a bakery.
Two desks.
One printer.
And a coffee machine that leaked every third cup.
Ryan found clients.
I managed projects.
We worked eighteen-hour days.
Sometimes we slept on the office sofa.
Sometimes we ate dinner from vending machines.
And sometimes Ryan looked at me across a table covered in spreadsheets and said:
“One day, we're going to be rich.”
I would laugh.
“Can we pay the electric bill first?”
He loved that joke.
For years, we were happy.
Then the company grew.
We hired employees.
Opened offices.
Signed contracts with luxury hotels.
And brought Mallory Keene into the business.
Mallory had known Ryan since childhood.
She was smart.
Confident.
Excellent with clients.
I liked her.
At first.
Then she began inserting herself into everything.
Our meetings.
Our vacations.
Our dinners.
She called Ryan late at night.
Sent him private jokes.
And referred to me as “the operations department” when speaking to clients.
Ryan laughed.
I didn't.
When I objected, he told me I was being sensitive.
Eventually, I stopped objecting.
Because every argument ended the same way.
Ryan defended Mallory.
I apologized.
And nothing changed.
Now, sitting alone in a Paris airport lounge, I finally understood how much of myself I had surrendered to keep the peace.
My phone vibrated.
Ryan.
Again.
I ignored it.
Then a message appeared.
KATHERINE, PLEASE COME BACK.
I stared at the screen.
Then typed:
To what?
His reply came immediately.
TO OUR MARRIAGE.
I closed my eyes.
Four days.
It had taken him four days to make me feel like a stranger in my own honeymoon.
I typed:
May you like
You should have thought about that before you left dinner.
Then I boarded my flight.
