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“Tommy,” says Vanacore, rubbing the front of her pants with one hand, and trying to stop my backward motion with the other, “you’ve got to take this a bit further with me if you want to get paid properly for the end of your week.” She murmurs this like it’s the sexiest, most enthralling pick-up line she’s ever used. “You enjoyed the kiss, so why not go a little further?” Part of this rings like an offer, the other a demand.
I jump up out of my seat, move past her, thankful for once that I’m as big and bulky as I am. It allows me to make room for myself when someone’s trying to squeeze me out or crowd me like Vanacore’s is doing.
As I make it to the door, she barks out my name. I don’t turn around, so she continues, “You’ll get a paycheck this time, but it’s going to be slightly altered.”
In my head, I know she can’t do this. She can’t legally stiff me on hours actually worked, especially since those were put in the “billable” hours section, but she still has to sign off on them. And I have a feeling she’s not going to sign off on a few extra I put in yesterday. I don’t like this kind of abuse of power, but, as if she can hear exactly what I’m thinking — as if some other person in her life has accused her of it before — she says, “You’ll get out of the situation this time, but starting next week you’re going to behave a little better. Do your work more thoroughly, or I will get you demoted.”
I swallow nervously at this. Either way, I’m fucked. She’s just told me I am, and while I know I could go to HR about this, I don’t. I don’t want the first promotion I got to be sullied in this way. Especially not after all the work I’ve put in to get here.
“Goodnight, ma’am,” I say. “See you on Monday.”
Vanacore doesn’t reply to that. Instead, she says, like a threat, like a sin I’ll never live down, “You enjoyed kissing me, Tommy. I’m not going to let it stop there.”
I let those words hang in the air as I close the door on them in the next second.
As I make my way down the hall, I start to have my delayed panic attack. I start to breathe and gasp heavily, though, for once, it has nothing to do with my extra weight. Tears and sweat start to flow next, and as I get on the elevator, I am a hurricane of confused, terrified feelings.
Why did I like it? Why did I let her keep kissing me like that? Why did I let her do that to me at all? Why couldn’t I get away? Why didn’t I? Why can’t I do anything to her once she looks at me that way? Talks to me that way?
I wipe at my tears and sweat vigorously, fearing being joined in the elevator at any moment.
How is she doing that to me? Is she some sort of sorcerer? Some sort of vampire?
My heart is pounding, but I don’t know from what. From fear, obviously. But there’s something else, adrenaline and horror, that I just can’t make sense of. I just can’t accept or reject it.
How do I stop her? Can I? And what do I do come Monday, when she expects me to do all of that for her?
I don’t have any answers, and I’m not likely to get any.
But what I do have is a friendly face. An ally. Melissa.
But as I’ve done all week, I don’t stop for her. I don’t wait, even when she shouts after me. She’s just seen the worry and fear covering my face as I run past her and out toward my car.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Melissa
It’s Friday, almost the end of the workday, and the workweek. Over the last couple of days, I’ve made good on my promise to Dennis to get him on something. I’ve done research on my own, as well as talked with Kane, about possible charges or suits I could file on my ex-boyfriend. We’ve also talked about how to negate any conflict of interest that there might be, considering I work for the company I’m seeking representation from.
Kane’s promised me he’ll look into it and get back to me, and I’ve been so preoccupied I’ve had to be satisfied with that much. It’s been enough to get me to actually move Dennis’s picture back a little from its place of honor. Though it’s not completely gone from the desk, it’s not as front and center as it used to be. Which is an odd metaphor for what’s going on in my heart at the moment.
And now, I’m just sitting here finishing up the last few minutes of my day. Isabella’s decided to go home early, and I let her, considering that I ditched out early last Friday.
