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What was wrong with me? What was wrong with him?

Finley had scared me once—that look in his eyes in the hallway, the hatred I hadn’t seen coming. But this was different. This wasn’t hatred. I didn’t have a word for what it was and that was somehow worse.

I found the bathroom and locked the cubicle behind me. Pressed the toilet seat down and sat on it and focused on breathing.

Slow. Steady. One breath at a time.

He’s an animal.The voice was quieter now, but certain.Territorial. A destroyer.

I stared at the pale grey cubicle door.

Kill or be killed.

I pressed my fingertips to my temples and pushed in, trying to physically silence whatever was happening inside my skull.

I waited.

And waited.

Then stopped.

The voice had gone. Just—gone. Like something that had said its piece and retreated.

The bathroom door squeaked open.

“Nika.” Francis, whispering.“He’s waiting.”

I stood. Flushed the toilet. Stood at the door for a moment and let one thought land cleanly before I opened it.

No one was going to make me feel less again. Not my ex. Not my colleagues.

And not this CEO.

I slid the bolt back harder than necessary.

Francis was watching me through the mirror as I washed my hands, the question written all over her face. I didn’t look back at her reflection. She was dying to ask and I had no answers, so I kept my eyes on my own hands and said nothing.

My mind forged ahead as I dried my hands.

I wouldn’t be running away with my tail between my legs.

That was the old me.

“Let’s get this over with,” I said to Francis.

??????

“…and this is where the current problem lies,” I said, completing my final statement.

I still hadn’t looked at him. All throughout the presentation I could feel his eyes on me. Steady. Unmoving. Like a weight pressed against the side of my face.

“If you have any issues, take them up with Andy. All this is above my pay grade,” I said stiffly.

“Andy?” he asked, while I busied myself with my laptop.

“Andrew.”

“And what’s your job title?”