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“Liz! Where are you going?!”
All the air flees my lungs, like the molecules would also rather be anywhere other than here.
I turn slowly, hoping beyond hope that I didn’t hear correctly.
Because not only am I busted, but it was Rhett who called my name.
My disbelief is dashed in an instant. Rhett stands there with Miranda and both of them are looking at me, Rhett expectantly and Miranda with barely disguised dislike.
“No, no,” Rhett says. “You can’t get out of this. Come here.”
What the fuck.
I approach them on stiff legs, wondering vaguely if I’ve slipped into a coma.
“Now,” Rhett says curtly, “apologize for how you acted earlier.”
His words splash over me like a glass of ice water, and I jolt out of my daze. This is definitely not a dream. But I’m glad it’s not. Because when I beat Rhett like a meringue I want him to feel it.
Now is not that moment however. Now I have to quell my boiling fury, paste a look of apology on my face, and bide my time.
I turn to Miranda. One blonde eyebrow arches in victory.
“I’m sorry, Miranda,” I say. I’m impressed by how genuine I sound despite being moments from murdering them both.
Rhett claps his hands together so hard I jump. “Great!” he says jovially. “I hope that and my own apologies are enough. Abrasive demands are not how I run my business. In fact, I try to maintain an air of respect from the top of the chain down, and,” he directs to me, “that includes how we treat other people. You should know this by now, Liz.”
The amount of bullshit Rhett just dumped on both of us is truly mind-boggling. Despite my anger, I again can’t help but wonder how he hasn’t managed to succeed at the bank. For all his claims of superiority, when it comes down to it, he’s just as phony as the rest of us.
“Yes, sir,” I say, realizing he’s waiting for confirmation of his “values”. “I’m sorry, sir.”
I’m slipping into the role now, comforted by the fact that at some point Rhett will have to leave the protection of this stage.
“You’re completely right,” I add, just to make it all the more sugary.
“We all know that mix-ups happen,” he waxes on, “and as great as my mother is, she does sometimes make mistakes. But that’s not Ms. Lee’s fault. In fact, the only thing she’s at fault for is setting up this magnificent party!”
“Oh, I don’t know about— Lots of people are—” Miranda trips over herself, blushing and fully falling for the act. I’m merely a smug afterthought to her now. She’s under Rhett’s thumb and I can’t even imagine what he could have said to her in the five minutes they’ve been talking to make her act like she’s caught in some kind of hot billionaire tractor beam.
Why can’t I get smiley, charming Rhett?!
Oh, right. Because I don’t have anything he wants.
I paste a toothy, apologetic smile on my face as Rhett wraps up with her, a mental picture of the Waltons’ inevitable rage as the catharsis to my anger, and before I know it, I’m following Rhett back across the conference room.
Actually, check that.
I’m following a dead man across the conference room.
The moment we get into the hall, he turns with an utterly too gleeful smile. “I think we sold it,” he says.
“You. Are. Such. An. Asshole.” I growl, advancing on him with every word.
He, wisely, backs up a step, but then he stands his ground. I thrust my face into his, standing on tiptoes until our noses are inches apart.
“Why the hell did you do that?” I demand.
“I had to, sweetheart,” he says. “She recognized me. I needed a reason to be there.”
