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“Then how come you hate him?” he asks.
“I don’t hate him,” I protest. “I was just raised to stay far away from him, I guess.” I don’t really know how else to explain it to him—or how to explain why it’s okay for him to like him but not me. So instead, I say, “I don’t want to do that to you, baby. I don’t think it’s fair.”
“Okay,” he mumbles, but I get the feeling he doesn’t really buy into what I’m selling him.
Lincoln is gone when we get back home, and I assume he left shortly after we did.
And it’s as we finish the Minions movie that I realize I never replied to Rivera’s text last night. Instead of giving him the satisfaction, I ignore him.
It feels safer that way.
But that feeling of safety is just an illusion because Monday morning rolls around again, and I make it to the conference room for our meeting first.
Rivera makes it in second.
I don’t want to be alone with him, yet here we are.
“You never responded to my text,” he says quietly.
“You pinned me up against a wall and very nearly assaulted me,” I retort. “I don’t feel like I owe you a damn thing.”
He presses his lips together and shakes his head a little. “Oh come on, Bailey. Assault? Hardly.”
“Says every predator ever.”
“Predator?” he repeats. “Now you’re just grasping at straws.”
“Am I? Or did you cross a line you shouldn’t have?”
He doesn’t look nervous by my tone even though he should. Instead, he issues more threats. “What are you going to do about it? Because I still have those pictures, and I’m not afraid to use them.”
“Go ahead,” I say flippantly, calling his bluff.
He looks surprised by my words. “I’ll get them to Marcus today, then.”
“Okay. Go ahead. And I’ll march straight up to HR to let them know how you’re stalking me, taking photos of me without my consent, and had me pinned up against a wall while hitting on me at a professional event.”
“Your word against mine,” he says smugly.
I stare at him pointedly even though just the sight of him is making my skin crawl and my stomach knot up.
The door opens and Sanders walks in with Marcus, effectively ending our conversation as the room fills with the rest of our sports staff.
The meeting gets underway, but I don’t miss the dirty looks Rivera continues to shoot in my direction.
God, I hate that fucker. But two can play his little game, and if he’s going to continue to threaten to expose the pictures of Lincoln and me, well, I have shit on him, too, including a screenshot of the text he sent me last night.
He’s not as smart as he thinks he is, and I’m not about to let him win this little game.
Marcus hands out our assignments, and when the meeting is over, he asks me to stay behind.
Rivera raises his brows as if to say this only confirms that I’m sleeping with Marcus, which…whatever. I can’t change his mind about that any more than I can every other person who thinks it regardless of whether it’s true. Marcus is married and has four kids. He’s a dedicated family man, and he wouldn’t stray on his wife, but none of that enters the discussion when we’re discussing women in sports reporting.
Once the room clears, Marcus shuts the door and perches on the edge of the table. He folds his hands together in front of him and turns toward me. “Talk to me about that very public fight on Saturday at the team event.”
I clear my throat.
Maybe I should just tell him. I really believe he’s someone I can trust, and telling him might help me get ahead of any potential issues with Rivera.
