Making Home with You

by Claire Raye

  “What the…” Andrew starts, muttering under his breath. He looks at Joe and then at me, his eyes narrow and then he points a finger at me. “Sarah, you’re here for a meeting. This is so un….”

  “Hey, man,” Joe jumps in cutting him off. “Joe Callahan,” he says, reaching a hand out to Andrew. “Sorry to interrupt your meeting, but I promise I won’t be a bother. I was supposed to meet up with Sarah on Friday to pick something up. Got tied up at work, you know how it is.” Joe casually shrugs his shoulders and begins to follow Andrew toward our offices.

  Andrew has yet to acknowledge Joe, not even when he reached out to shake his hand, but Joe keeps talking. “Just got off shift and when Sarah told me she had an early morning meeting, I figured now was as good of a time as any.”

  It’s amazing to me how nonchalantly Joe is acting, like he has no idea that Andrew is a complete and total douchebag.

  When we reach our offices, Andrew turns around, ignoring Joe and shooting daggers at me, and says, “We’ll meet later, Sarah.” And he slams his door behind him.

  I walk into my office and before I can reach our adjoining door, Andrew slams that too.

  “I’d say that went well,” Joe laughs, smiling at me. “I’ll stick around until the office starts to fill up and then I’ll head out.”

  Joe sits down at one of the chairs opposite my desk, and I begin to ready myself for the day. As much as Joe likes to think his presence has taken care of things, I know differently.

  I’m fucked. Andrew is going to be livid, and my imagination is a swirling mess of the nightmarish things that are still to come.

  I can’t ask Joe to stay even though I really want to, and the more I think about it, the more thought I’ve given to his comment about rules being made to be broken.

  There has to be another woman in this office who isn’t so fond of Andrew’s disgusting habit of intimidating women.

  I just have to find her.

  Several hours have passed since my arrival at the office with Joe and while he has long since left, I still have yet to hear from Andrew. That is until my phone rings and I look down to see his number.

  “Yes, Andrew,” I say in the way of a greeting, something I’m sure will piss him off.

  “I need you in my office now,” he barks and I can hear him through the wall.

  The door that connects our offices is still closed and the damn thing doesn’t lock, because if it did, I’d be over there locking that fucker and hightailing it out of here.

  I have to psych myself up to go into his office, but I can do this. I’m not some weak twit who will do anything he asks to keep my job, much less land a promotion.

  With my hand on the door handle, I take in a deep breath, once again reviewing how to escape an attacker in my head.

  I step into Andrew’s office and there’s a woman just now straightening her skirt and brushing off her knees, and then she tucks her hair behind her ears. He smiles at her and she giggles a little. When she turns toward me I recognize her as another assistant, and when we make eye contact, her smile drops instantly.

  Andrew stands and begins to zip up his pants and I am absolutely fucking mortified, and I look away.

  This woman was just on her knees giving my boss a blowjob in the office next to me, in the office adjacent to the hallway that’s currently filled with people, at his place of fucking employment.

  I want to throw up, and to make matters worse; he walks over and grabs her ass, and kisses her hard before insisting she leave without touching him again.

  “So do you just fuck anyone in uniform then?” Andrew asks abruptly and the door to his office hasn’t even closed yet.

  I owe him nothing. Not an explanation, not a reason, nothing. My personal life is none of his business, but clearly he wants me to know exactly what he’s been up to.

  I feel my mouth drop open at his boldness, and I attempt to hide my shock, by again, turning away from him.

  “You going to answer me?” he demands and I can feel the vomit burn in my throat, but I try my best remain calm.

  “Funny because I thought that was a rhetorical question. That it didn’t need answering.”

  “Don’t be fucking smart with me, Sarah. You fucking set me up today and I don’t like it.”

  He tugs a hand through his hair and lets out an exasperated sigh. I watch him, take in his body language. I know I’m getting to him and he hates every minute of it.

  “That was supposed to be you on your knees in my office today,” he spits out, not even bothering to hide his intentions. “But you fucked up, and I just gave your promotion to a compliant girl who took my dick like a champ.”

  I’ve never been more repulsed by someone in my life. Every word that slides from his lips is done with the intent to offend and disgust and belittle.

  He takes a step closer to me and my entire body tenses in response. I can feel the tears of anger pool in my eyes and I stop breathing.

  But he doesn’t read my body language and continues toward me.

  “I swear to fucking god if you touch me I will scream so loud everyone in this office will hear,” I hiss, my teeth clenched so tightly I can hear my pulse in my ears.

  He laughs loudly and it echoes in his sparsely decorated office, and he takes in my words for a moment, speaking slowly as if that will help what he says sink in.

  “You think I force myself on these women,” he says and his words are hardly a question. “That I make them do something they don’t want. We both want it. It’s a mutual exchange, a business transaction. It’s something we’ve all grown to understand and while you don’t right now, you will eventually become compliant too.”

  “I won’t,” I insist and I know I should just shut up because the more I talk the more he gets turned on by my inability to submit to him.

  This has become a game to him and I am his latest conquest.

  “I won’t fire you, Sarah and you won’t quit, so eventually I’ll win. And when your perfect pink mouth is wrapped around my dick I’ll remind you of this conversation.”

  I can’t listen to him anymore, my stomach churning with bile as I exit his office and find a small bit of solace behind my own desk.

  The tears come fast but silent as I brush them away with my trembling hand, and all I keep thinking is that no job is worth this. No job is worth risking my safety, my sanity or my self-esteem, and I decide I’m going to quit.

  But I don’t, because I’m hit with a sudden realization that if I leave, some other girl falls into my place and this grotesque cycle continues. I won’t be the reason this happens to someone else.

  I’m going to be the reason it doesn’t.

  I think back to Lauren, the polished sales girl with the designer wardrobe and fat paycheck. The one who advised me to just let Andrew have his way with me, but fuck her. I’m not that girl and the money and the status and the title mean nothing to me if I didn’t earn it.

  But as I sit here thinking about Lauren and her unearned high-level position, I recall the tiny blonde in Andrew’s office a few weeks back. Her face is one I’d recognize anywhere because as I watched her squirm out of Andrew’s grip, the fear in her eyes was tangible. It’s something that is burned into my brain because her face is exactly what I imagine mine looks like when confronted with Andrew.

  I have no idea who she is or what division she works for, but I will find her.

  And for the rest of the day, that’s exactly what I do.

  It takes me nearly four and half hours to find her, but when I do I slam my hands down on my desk and shout out a loud “yes”, hoping that slimy dildo hears me.

  I used the company’s directory and literally clicked on every single name, in every single department of a massive corporation until I found her.

  Eliza Anderson.

  She’s an admin in the billing and accounting department. She has a degree in accounting from the College of the Holy Cross and right now, des
pite my complete lack of religious upbringing, I’m praying like fuck that her Catholic lifestyle isn’t the only reason she won’t blow Andrew.

  I need someone on my side, someone who sees him for exactly what he is: a manipulative, power-hungry, self-absorbed pervert.

  And as much as I hate this fucker, I hate to call him a rapist because that means it’s gone far beyond just harassing.

  I make a memory of her floor and head immediately to the elevators, passing Andrew’s office with its tightly drawn blinds and dim lights and I wonder if he’s got some other poor unsuspecting new girl in there with him.

  The elevator doors swing open on the twenty-second floor and I walk right up to the admin sitting at the front desk.

  “Can I help you?” she asks, her tone bored and slightly unwelcoming.

  “I’m looking for Eliza Anderson,” I say, glancing around and leaning to see the numbers on the doors in the hallway to the right of me.

  “You’ll have to give me a second, I’m just a temp.” She then pulls out a list of employees and runs her finger up and down, and I shake my head, letting out an annoyed huff.

  Her last name is Anderson and the list in alphabetical order. Fuck me, it’s no wonder she’s just a temp.

  I lean over the desk and point to Eliza’s name on the list, sliding my finger to her office number.

  “One-ten,” I say not waiting for the temp to give me the number and I start down the corridor without even thanking her.

  The office directory didn’t have a number listed for her and a part of me wonders if she was just placed in a cubicle prior to landing a legit office space. Maybe Andrew already got to her and she’s sitting in her plush new office not giving a shit that she had to suck his dick to get there.

  When I reach her office, I rap gently on the door and a voice calls for me to come in, and when I do I’m more disappointed than I ever thought. The high I felt just moments earlier comes crashing down and I feel like my legs won’t be able to keep me standing.

  The woman behind the desk is not Eliza.

  “I… I…I’m sorry,” I stutter out. “I’m looking for Eliza Anderson.”

  “Oh, this used to be her office. She quit last week. I’m just filling in,” the woman says, shrugging her shoulders.

  “Do you know where I can find her?” I ask, desperate, my words coming out in a breathy rush.

  “No, sorry, I don’t. Maybe check with the front desk.”

  She looks back at her computer screen and says nothing more to me despite the fact that I stand in her office for an uncomfortably long few seconds.

  The front desk admin is no help either, but like hell if I’m giving up now. There are other ways to find her.

  I do just that until I walk out the door at five-thirty.

  Chapter Twenty

  Finn

  I must watch the video a dozen times by the time I finally stop for lunch. Not because I’m somehow getting off on watching a secret movie of me fucking my girlfriend, but because I’m trying to figure out if I can prove who it’s from and whether it’s something I want to report.

  Even though I know it has to have come from Carla, there’s no way I can prove it. It’s a blocked number and the video itself has no sound and gives no clue as to who’s standing on the other side of the camera.

  And while I know the BCI has the resources to investigate this, I’m not really sure I want Detective Greenwood or any of the other people investigating these allegations to see it. In fact, I know I fucking don’t. How could I possibly be okay with strangers seeing my girlfriend like this? This sort of thing is private and while I couldn’t care less about me, I definitely don’t want to expose Sarah to all the shit that could come from people seeing her like this.

  But I can’t keep it and do my own investigation into where it came from either. For one thing, I’m off the case. For another, because it’s an unknown number, I’d have to submit a formal request in order to access the records. And a formal request means I’m interfering, which likely means I get my ass kicked, possibly suspended, for not staying out of the investigation like I was told to.

  I should just report it to Detective Greenwood, I know that. But I can’t. I can’t do that to her.

  “Fucking hell,” I mutter as I grab my jacket and walk out of my office. “I’m taking lunch,” I call to Mavis as I walk past the reception. “I’ll be back in an hour.”

  I don’t catch whatever she says in return as the station door closes behind me. I don’t bother with my car, instead walking down Main Street toward the only safe haven it feels like I have left in this town. Christ, not even my own house is private anymore.

  I walk into O’Loughlin’s and take a seat at our usual spot while Beck finishes serving some customers before wandering over.

  “Hey,” he says. “You okay, you look a bit stressed out?”

  I shrug. “Pissed off more like it,” I admit. “Can you get me a coke, please?”

  “Sure,” Beck replies. “Shot of bourbon in it?”

  “Fuck, I wish,” I say, scrubbing a hand down my face. I could definitely use a drink right now.

  Beck grabs me my coke and walks over, putting it in front of me before asking, “You want the usual for lunch?” I nod and watch as he wanders back to place my order. After he’s done, he comes back, leans against the bar, arms crossed over his chest and says, “Okay, talk to me.”

  I take a long sip of coke, replacing the glass on the counter before looking up at him. “I had a minor run-in with Carla last night,” I start, even knowing that’s the least of my worries right now.

  “Shit. Where? What happened?” he asks, straightening a little.

  “At the grocery store,” I say. “She saw me, came running over and then proceeded to act as though nothing was going on between us. Like she hadn’t filed a report or made any of these bullshit allegations or anything.”

  “Fuck,” Beck says, letting out a long exhale. “What the fuck is wrong with that woman?”

  I shrug. “I don’t know. I mean, I always found it weird that she was so strangely obsessed with me, but to make up these lies? To file an actual police report and then act like nothing has happened? It’s fucking crazy.”

  “Ah, yeah,” Beck says. “Just like she is. God, she probably drew that cock on the side of her restaurant herself, just so she could get you investigating it.”

  I nod once. “Yeah, the thought crossed my mind too,” I admit.

  “What are you going to do?” Beck asks. “I’m assuming you’ll tell Greenwood about it?”

  “Yeah,” I reply, scrubbing a hand through my hair. “I will. There’s more though, and it’s worse.”

  Beck doesn’t say anything at first, instead calling out to one of the other staff members, asking them to take care of things for a bit before he moves around the bar and takes a seat on the stool next to me.

  “Finn,” he starts, his tone serious as he briefly puts a hand on my arm. “What’s happened?”

  I glance sideways at him, wondering how in the hell I’ve found myself in this situation. Not just this whole mess with Carla, although it’s clearly up there as one of the worst things to ever happen to me. But this coming to Beck for advice, for help on what to do.

  I wasn’t even consciously aware that’s what I was doing when I left the station and walked in here just now. All I knew is I needed somewhere safe, somewhere that I had no chance of running into Carla or anyone else who thought I’d done the things she said I’d done.

  It was pretty obvious by now, if you came into O’Loughlin’s, you believed my side of the rumors that were currently circulating around town. And while most people had no clue as to the full story, it was reassuring to know so many people were still on my side. A relief to know I wasn’t killing Beck and Ryan’s careers in addition to my own.

  “Talk to me,” he says, when I still don’t say anything.

  His words are enough though, bec
ause even though it’s been years since either of us has had to confide in each other about something serious, I know my brother means it when he says he wants to help.

  Back when we were kids, it was mostly always him coming to me. A younger brother seeking advice from the older brother who had been there and done all of it years before him. And even though back then, most of that serious talk revolved around girls or school or whatever, I know it didn’t diminish the trust he had in me.

  The trust I knew I could place in him in return.

  “I got a text this morning,” I start, as a wave of exhaustion once again sinks over me. “It had a video embedded in it,” I continue, my eyes on the wooden bar, a finger tracing the grain line. “Somebody had filmed me through my living room window last Friday night.”

  “What?” Beck asks, body tensing beside me. “What the fuck?”

  I glance at him, an eyebrow raised. “That’s not even the worst part,” I tell him.

  “Oh shit,” Beck says, as though he already knows. “Please don’t tell me…?”

  “Yeah, was kind of a compromising position,” I admit. “And yes, it includes Sarah.”

  “Fuck’s sake,” Beck says and I can hear the frustration and anger in his voice. “That woman will stop at nothing,” he adds. “Have you reported it?”

  I shake my head.

  “Finn, fuck, why not?” he asks, turning so he’s facing me now. “You gotta tell that Greenwood guy,” he continues. “This is exactly the kind of shit they need to hear about, so they can use it to end this mess.”

  I nod. “I know, Beck,” I say. “Seriously, I know, but I just can’t do that to Sarah,” I tell him. “I can’t expose her like that, okay? They’re gonna want the video.”

  “Jesus Christ,” Beck says, exhaling hard. “Please tell me she was at least stupid enough to send it from her phone?” he asks, a hopeful look on his face.

  “No, of course not,” I tell him. “That would be far too easy.”