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“We well,” I say, leaning as far over as I can to kiss her on the mouth. I give her my own deep, long kiss. “I promise you that much. As your boss. Your boyfriend.” And hopefully someday soon, your husband.
As Melissa begins to drive us on our path toward the office, and to the ultimate, final showdown, I make a vow to myself. That if I live through this, come out of this richer and stronger for my own self and my career, that’s exactly what I’m going to do. I’m going to ask her to marry me, and then I’m going to tell my dad he can sell my car and all my stuff.
Who needs any of that shit when you have a wife like Melissa at your side?
After a tense ride to the office, one in which my mind obsesses over what I’m going to say, what evidence I’m going to show first, and what the hell I’m going to do if Vanacore is there in front of me, and starts — or tries to start some shit. If she tries to ruin my career right then and there, I’m not sure exactly what I’m going to do, but I am sure that I’m not going to let her do that. I’m also sure that Kane, Ashton, and whomever else has been brought into this, I’m quite sure they’re not going to let her get away with much of that anymore, either. Not if they found enough to finally call me in. I’m probably going to be the final nail in her coffin. The horizon that her sun sets over.
As I follow Melissa out of the elevator, we both head through the top floor, ignoring Isabella’s greetings and questions to us, we end up in front of one of the conference rooms. There, Melissa hugs me. She nuzzles me a bit, saying, “It’ll be all right, my love. Now is your chance to get her like you wanted to. Take her down, so don’t be afraid. I’m right here with you through the whole thing.”
“I know,” I murmur, lightly lacing my fingers in hers. “Thank you. Thank you for everything.”
“Anything for you, my boss,” she says. What she says next, it sounds like, “my dear husband,” but I can’t be sure.
I don’t have time to ask her, either. The doors open to the conference room that Melissa chose for us, and both of us step into the eerily-dark room. The air is thick here, weighed down by anticipation and dread. And not just for me. Everyone’s already inside, waiting. And by everyone, I mean everyone: Kane, Ashton, Mrs. Smith, Charlotte, Jake, Reese, and the person I hate to see most of all, Vanacore.
As she sees me walk into the room, there’s nothing kind of out her eyes anymore. She has no love there, just the vicious, unending desire to destroy me.
Chapter Sixty-Five
Melissa
Vanacore’s eyes eat away at Tommy and me like acid as we enter the conference room, find seats as far away from her as possible, and prepare ourselves to eject this demon from our little slice of heaven on earth. I choose the seats across from Reese as she looks softer and more protective than any of the men in the room. Make no mistake; however: she also looks like she’s ready to dispatch Vanacore into the netherworld as well. She’s just not as outwardly disappointed.
Reese’s actually the first one to speak. She brushes a piece of her long, honey-blonde hair back. “We’re here today to finalize the validity of the accusations leveled against Joan Vanacore by Tommy Radner and Melissa Star.” Reese pauses, looking at us both. “Melissa’s charges of assault in the bathroom have already been supported by evidence.”
Here, Tommy gives me a look of shock and horror and of anger and confusion, and I know he’s going to give me an earful about it later.
“Why the hell didn’t you tell me?” screams across his face, and I duck my head in front of it.
“But your charges. Ones of sexual misconduct, sexual harassment, and, most recently, sexual assault, those have been somewhat substantiated by Melissa, but we need your testimony, Tommy. Any evidence you can provide to us to make the final verdict on this.” Here, Reese shoots Vanacore a look of death.
She gives her one right back but doesn’t say anything. Somehow, she manages to have some restraint today. Maybe because she knows her verbal and physical assault on me a few days ago only got her in hotter water, not less.
“I have all the evidence you need,” answers Tommy numbly. “Everything is there.” As he speaks, I see him opening a variety of files on his phone. The first is a notepad application. “Here are some notes of the various sexual advances, their time, their date, and content.” Reese reads it over, getting both paler and darker around the edges as she goes. “Thank you, Tommy,” she says, passing it back to Charlotte to look at. “Can you send all of that to me, and the rest of the partners assembled here?”
