Page 100 of When There Was You
He exits the banquet room into the expansive bar, leading me to the darkest corner.
“This is better,” he says with a smile, then holds out his glass. “Cheers.”
“Cheers,” I reply, politely tapping my drink with his as he clearly expects.
His eyes pin mine, his expression turning wolfish. “I thought I’d hear from you by now.”
I raise my brows.
“About the mentorship offer.” He winks.
Those fucking winks.
He moves closer, and one of his arms snakes around my waist to pull my head near his mouth. “I’m a powerful ally, Jacqueline. And powerful…in other ways as well. I believe you’d find it a very satisfying experience.”
My heart races, fear and disgust rioting behind my sternum. I balk, but his vise grip holds me hostage.
“You scratch my back, and I’ll scratch yours, if you catch my drift.” His breath reeks of alcohol. “For now, how about a friendly holiday kiss?”
I recoil as his lips graze my cheek.
He chuckles, releasing me. “Playing hard to get? You have no idea how much I love that game. And how patient a man I am.”
He eyes me hungrily, and it reminds me of a hyena circling a fresh kill on one of those old episodes ofMutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom. I shrink, wondering how I can continue working atVirginia Nowif this is my future. If there’s going to come a day when he takes instead of asks. Or fires me without cause other than his warped expectations that I acquiesce to his request—demand—for sexual favors.
His raises his glass. “Relax. It’s just a bit of fun.” His lascivious grin creases the corner of his mouth.
For whom?My stomach roils.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to the party, make the rounds. Merry Christmas.” He winks, his palm grazing my ass with the barest of touches through my skirt.
He doesn’t wait for a response before striding off, leaving me with my pulse pounding in my ears. I slam my drink on the table with such force the liquid sloshes out, splashing my hand. Without a word to anyone, I bolt outside and back to my car.
My thoughts spin. What are my rights? How has Donincriminated himself? Should I be logging all of his comments somewhere? Can I report him? How…when he’s the publisher where the buck fucking stops? Or damn close. There is a parent company but would they even believe me if it’s my word against his?Fuck.How can I deal with this? Protect myself? Will I have to quit my job?
By the time I make it to my Toyota, my breathing’s so ragged, I strain for air. My keys clang to the pavement. My heart races as I scan the area, my nerves threatening to snap out of my skin.
Get in the car. Get in the car. Get in the car.
I finally slide into the driver’s seat, lock the door, and speed off. I clutch the steering wheel so hard my knuckles whiten. Adrenaline tears through my body, undiluted rage throbbing within. I can’t affordnotto figure this out. Don made it perfectly clear he’s looking forward to the chase and has every intention of reigning victorious. He’s sat on his throne, unchecked, for a decade. How many victims have bowed to his harassment? How many were unceremoniously canned for resisting? How many have cried themselves to sleep feeling cornered, helpless, and alone?
I make it to my building’s garage. Pulling my purse to my chest, I make a mad dash for the elevator, relieved when it’s empty and hauling me to my floor. With trembling hands, I open my apartment door and quickly lock it behind me. My forehead slumps against it as I steady my breathing.
There’s only one person I long for right now.Butch.I desperately want to tell him about my slimy boss, ask his advice, see if I’m crazy…
But I can’t. His father has a longstanding relationship with Don, and Butch would probably want to kill the motherfucker for doing this to me. No matter how I dissect it, there are consequences at stake, so I can’t—won’t—involve the Hamiltons.
Not telling Butch seems wrong—like a lie—but I don’t see an alternative. I sink into my couch, cloaked in the familiar loneliness I’ve fought against my entire life. Regardless of how hard I fight, it finds me again and again, returning like a boomerang.
I’m in this by myself. I have no one else to turn to.
Fifty-One
The office closes early Christmas Eve, which allows me to drive to Butch’s in daylight. My car’s packed with presents and enough clothing to hang out until Sunday—if I choose. An undercurrent of excitement hums under my skin. It’s my first Christmas truly on my own, and I have zero desire to reminisce or dwell on the past. Instead, I’m warmed by the idea of spending it here in Virginia with this close-knit family who’ve already endeared themselves to me.
I’m not even parked when Mr. Hot Lumberjack emerges from the cabin with a huge grin lighting up his rugged good looks.
He pulls me into his arms and off the driveway, searing me with a kiss before uttering one word.
