Page 133 of When There Was You
“You bitch!” he hisses.
I clamber to my feet, dodging his flailing arm. Don staggers in my direction. Clenching my fist like Butch taught me, I assume the stance I’ve practiced for months and punch his jaw as hard as fucking possible.
Don reels, eyes flying wide, and drops to his knees.
My hand stings like hell and I debate whether to throw another. “Fuck you, you predatory asshole.” I turn on my heel and reach for the door.
“You’re fired,” he rasps. “And you’rethroughin this industry. Should’ve played ball, you stupid cunt.”
“You’re pathetic.” With a final backward glance, I rip open the door with enough force it nearly flies off the hinges.
Adrenaline rampages through me as I stalk past the empty desk where Don’s secretary greeted me fifteen minutes ago. My eyes dart like a wild animal as I continue down the hall and into the sea of cubicles, the roaring in my ears eclipsing thought. Focus. I need to focus.
Clean out your office.
I chuck essentials from my desk and shelves into a canvasbag. Souvenirs from companies I’ve profiled. A paperweight Emmy made me. My movements are jerky, my thoughts careening all over the place.
Leave the building.
I stride to the elevators, avoiding curious stares, desperate to flee. I have no idea what Don’s capable of anymore. Will he sic security on me after spewing lies? There were no witnesses. The only potential for that would be his secretary—and she was conveniently, conspicuously absent. The elevator arrives, and I scurry inside, depressing the button for the garage a dozen times until the doors close, fervently hoping no one else gets on.
Get to your car.
Full-body trembling hits once I’m in my Toyota, but I manage to start the ignition, reverse out of my parking spot, and screech out of the garage…for the last time. I’ve beenfired. The absolute nerve of that fucking asshole. Fresh anger blazes a path from head to toe. I floor the gas, racing recklessly through the streets.
Butch.
He’s the only person in the world I want.Need. I veer away from my apartment and head south.
“FUUUUUCK!” I scream, pummeling the padded seat next to me. My hand vibrates, stinging from that punch. I’ll take pain in exchange for the satisfaction of hitting Don—and hurting him—any day of the year. I hope I bruised his dick.
What a motherfucker. Loser. Douchefuckhole.
And he’s going to get away with it. How many times has he already?How is this right?
It’s egregious. Unfair. It must be illegal. But what recourse do I have…really? It’s my word against hisagain. If anything,hemight press charges. For assault? Or is it battery? Both? Technically that may be accurate, but what ofhisdespicable actions? Attempted forced oral, strangulation, coercion, manipulation. What’s considered rape?
A wave of revulsion ripples through me, what could have happened…what nearly transgressed. Watch me go to jail and Don live to fuck another employee. I bark out a sarcastic laugh. What a fucking joke.
It’s not like I want my job back. I can’t—won’t—work there ever again. And how did he know?—
It doesn’t fucking matter. Can he blackball me industry wide…is that even possible? Is he going to ruin my life?
With a sinking realization, I start to understand I blew it. I should have screamed at the top of my lungs, not slunk away out of fear just because Don ordered me to leave. Now he can spin this story any way he wants. He’s just the type to lie his ass off…say I’m crazy, or a nightmare to work with, or thatIcame ontohimand then went ballistic when he refused my advances.
“Fuck. Fuck. Fuuuuuuck!”
As the hopelessness of my situation invades, my fury and ire recede liked scared rodents. A sob catches in my throat…followed by a deluge of tears. The desperate, alien sound of my keening fills the car and my chest heaves as hyperventilation nears. I steer through the blur coating my eyes and soul, unsure how to deal with it all.
Butch.
I cling to that name, and the waterfall emanating from my eyes slows.Pull yourself together.He will help me sort this out. He loves me…and he’s there for me.
But I haven’t said one word about my problems with Don, and I have no idea if Butch will understand my reasons why.
Sixty-Four
As much as I don’t want to be seen by anyone other than Butch, he’s somewhere inside Hamilton Restorations. I inhale a deep breath and withtremulous fingers, push through the main door.
