Can't Buy My Love: Billionaire and Virgin Romance Collection

by Jamie Knight

  The elevator comes, and both Melissa and I step onto it. As we do, Melissa brushes my hand with one of hers.

  “Going to be all right?”

  She asks this softly, the same way my mother used to when she was alive.

  I nod, not trusting myself to say anything. If I do, I might just start crying and not be able to stop.

  “I’m sorry,” she says again and pushes the button for the top floor. She readjusts the box under one arm. “I saw them shove you. I heard more than enough of what they said, too. I’m going to get them on as many infractions as I can, Tommy. I’m going to do that the minute I get you settled in your office. Unless you want to come with me before going back to Ms. Vanacore?”

  I shake my head. The last thing I need to do right now is relive my assault. I also know that if I come with her, I’m going to be required to report the assault, and I don’t want to do that.

  That means criminal charges, which is even worse damage to our reputation. Especially to big companies, which are seen by the general public as havens or examples of irreproachable human behavior, not a den and cesspool for the exact opposite.

  Melissa doesn’t say anything. She just hums. She sighs, starting to tap one of her feet.

  Just as the elevator is almost to the top floor, she says again, “I’m sorry, Tommy. I really am. This shouldn’t have happened, and it won’t happen again, after what I’m about to do and tell Reese, and then Kane or Ashton — whomever else I need to tell to get those worms gone. Try not to focus on it, okay?”

  The elevator slows about to stop.

  “Okay.”

  “Just remember, they went low, and you’re going to higher than they can even dream of going.”

  I nod my head, trying to acknowledge what she’s saying even though it’s still all a blur. I walk out of the elevator, still shaking and feeling hot, as Melissa hands me my box of items from my desk.

  I hold it like an orphan with a blanket, confused and empty. Melissa smiles. This smile is protective and vicious and not for me.

  “Don’t worry, Tommy. I’ll get them. I’ll make sure they don’t bug you anymore.” With that, she shifts back to her pleasant, soft self. She waves cutely at me. “Bye!”

  Then the elevator door shuts and the elevator itself continues on its journey to HR.

  Numbly, I head down the hall toward the new legal section of the top floor and Ms. Vanacore’s office. As I do, I get a look at one of the fancy clocks on the wall.

  It’s not even a minute past eight-thirty in the morning, and already I’ve been through the wringer.

  It’s not even more than one day into my new job, and I feel like shit.

  I just hope I can get work done today. If not, I won’t just have my ex-coworkers dogging me, I’ll have Ms. Vanacore breathing down my neck, and that’s the last thing I need. Especially if I want to keep this job beyond the end of the week.

  Chapter Sixteen - Melissa

  My short trip in the elevator up to the sixth floor, where HR conducts all their business, provides me with time to plan and time to choose my words wisely. It also gives me time to cool and mold my temper into something useful for Tommy and for me.

  When the elevator lands on the floor with HR, and a few empty offices set aside for further mergers, I get off and stroll toward my destiny for the day — speaking with Charlotte, the new head of HR, about what I witnessed down on the legal aids’ floor.

  Just my luck, Charlotte’s there in her office when I arrive. As always, she’s already hard at work. Even bright and early in the morning, she’s already engrossed in her newest project and her pile of files and papers on her desk. I knock politely on the side of her door. When she sees me, she’s surprised, then instantly concerned, as I’m never in her neck of the woods.

  “Melissa?” Her eyebrows pinch, and she stands up from her desk chair. “What are you doing here? Why so early?”

  I shut the door to her office before speaking.

  “There was an incident down on the legal aids’ floor.”

  “When?”

  I love Charlotte. And it’s moments like this that make me love her. She truly is the best HR person Kane has ever hired. She is protective and responsive. I hear as much in her voice.

  I turn to her fully.

  “Just now.”

  Without breaking eye contact with me, she grabs her legal pad and a pen. She begins to write something on it.

  “What kind of incident?”

  “Bullying and assault,” I answer, my voice burning around the edges.

  Charlotte startles back. She bugs her eyes out and clears her throat.

  “Excuse me? Melissa, did you say ‘assault’?”

  I nod.

  “I did. I happened to wander down to the legal aids’ floor this morning because I’d offered to help a man by the name of Tommy Radner.”

  “Yes, I know him. I helped promote him yesterday for a job with Ms. Vanacore,” says Charlotte, like she’s afraid of what else I have to say about him.

  She clutches her pen and paper a bit tighter.

  “What happened with him?”

  “It’s not what happened with him. It’s what happened to him.”

  My voice breaks a bit, but I force myself to save my emotions for later when I have time to have them with a glass of wine and a bit of chocolate.

  “He was verbally and physically harassed by other legal aids on the floor for being promoted to a new job.”

  I pause, watching my words sink into Charlotte.

  They change her face like color change paint underwater. Except here, the results aren’t what I would call beautiful. They are ugly, and they twist her usually beautiful, and fiery pixie features dark and brooding.

  “They insinuated that he got the job because of sexual favors and then proceeded to physically assault him. They tormented him and the box of possessions he had come to collect from his cubicle.”

  Charlotte flinches, looking pale.

  “These are serious accusations, Melissa.” She pauses, making further notes. “Around what time was this?”

  “About ten or fifteen minutes ago,” I say.

  In response to this, she writes something down, underlines it, and then boxes it in.

  “I hate to ask for this, Melissa, but do you have any further proof of this? Who was involved, and in what capacity?”

  She sighs unhappily.

  “I hate to sound like I don’t take your word for it, but…”

  “You need evidence,” I supply for her.

  She nods.

  “I understand. These kinds of allegations can be made up. They can be falsified, so of course, you need proof.”

  I dig out my phone, which has been burning a hole in my skirt pocket since I put it back in there before coming to Tommy’s actual rescue. I had decided to take some video of the altercation, and now I’m glad I did. Now I don’t feel so bad for taking the few extra minutes before coming to his aide.

  “Which I have. I have some video of a part of the altercation,” I say, keying into my phone and pulling up the video.

  I pass her the phone but don’t dare to start the clip.

  Charlotte, true to her mama bear persona, straightens her shoulders schools her face together before hitting play on the video. The clip starts with Simon Grizzle, a guy with a crewcut and an atrociously fake tan, calling attention to Tommy. He gets the whole office to pay attention as he lays out his theory out about how Tommy got his new position.

  Charlotte grimaces at the first horrible string of words. She continues to look troubled and angered by what she hears and sees next — the sheer depth of their cruelty.

  “Oh, my God,” she breathes.

  I can only guess she’s just seen the part where he gets pushed onto the ground, and his possessions kicked from him.

  “Oh, my God, this is horrible!”

  She’s just heard a male and female associate i
nsult and assault Tommy with words and she’s also seen them do it with physical actions.

  “This is not okay! Not okay at all,” she says, stopping the clip early.

  That’s something I’m quietly grateful for, as it’s hard to have to relive this incident when it’s so fresh and loud in my soul.

  She hands me back my phone, asking, “Can you tell me of anyone else who may have been involved? Can you tell me anything about what they said or did?”

  “Yes,” I say, “I can. I can tell you as much as you need to know, but I don’t have any more video to back it up.”

  “That’s fine.” She holds my eyes with hers briefly. “I may need to borrow your phone or get the clip off of it. Maybe with Reese’s help,” she muses to herself, then looks up at me. “Reese, I mean, Mrs. McKenzie has been kind enough to help me with the technology around here. I’m a bit slow with computers.”

  I nod, understanding. She stops this line of thinking to address me about the incident again.

  “Tell me whatever you can tell me and that I’m going to take this to Kane and the rest of the partners. They need to hear of this. While I am planning to immediately have those involved expelled from this company and barred from ever working at another company in Manhattan again, I have to run through procedure.”

  She sighs, sounding and looking as exasperated as I would in her position. The procedure is done to keep everybody safe, but here it feels like it’s just doing more injury and allowing more time to pass for more ugly things to well up.

  After we finish, for a moment, she doesn’t say anything. She just leans against her desk with her head in her hands. She’s massaging her temples, and I have to keep from massaging mine. They are beginning to feel tense and tender.

  When she addresses me again, hollowness pervades in her voice and eyes.

  “Thank you for bringing this horrible incident to my attention, Melissa. Please rest assured that we will take this seriously. This company supports its employees in any and all circumstances. We value diversity and will make sure that anyone who works for us who bullies others will no longer have a place with us.”

  Her expression hardens.

  “I’ll be in touch with you in a little bit. I’ll call up to your desk when I need your phone, and we’ll go from there. Okay?”

  Already, she’s moving a mile a minute. Making notes and plans of who she’s going to talk to first.

  “Okay,” I agree.

  I put my phone back into my skirt pocket, feeling empty or spent.

  “I’ll be in touch, Melissa,” Charlotte says again as I walk toward her door and open it.

  “I know,” I say, my thoughts wandering to Tommy. Whether he’ll tell his boss what happened or not. Whether Vanacore will find out about it as a matter of course, as a result of me coming to Charlotte or not.

  As I think these thoughts, I’m not sure how I feel about them. All I hope is that Tommy can get some work done today. I hope he is able to focus on something other than the fear and anger, probably running rampant in him. The shadowy beast I saw getting ready to jump out at his attackers.

  But unlike with the others, I wasn’t afraid. I wanted to pet that monster. Feed and love him, take him away from his tormentors, even if he was angry and wild.

  “I’ll make sure they get what’s coming to them,” Charlotte promises.

  That makes two of us, I think, and walk back toward the elevator.

  It’s just after nine a.m., and already I’m ready to go to war. I’m ready to fight for Tommy, even if that means I have to chuck those assholes out on the curb myself and make sure they never get a job in the city of Manhattan again.

  Why stop at Manhattan? I muse darkly, getting on the elevator and riding up to the top. Why not make it the whole United States? Why not make it impossible for them to put food in their mouths anywhere in this country?

  I shiver at these thoughts, feeling both frightened and excited by the possibility.

  They deserve nothing less. They shouldn’t be allowed to hide behind their masks like that. Bullies should be hunted down and dealt with. Not fed and praised. Not while good people like Tommy get made into the sacrificial lamb.

  Chapter Seventeen - Tommy

  After my torture that took place in the office for legal aides, I spend the rest of the day as far away from there as I possibly can. I immerse myself in my office working diligently on case notes, dictation, and uploading audio files from various lawyer-client meetings Ms. Vanacore has managed to rack up in the short time she’s been here.

  I don’t even bother to break for lunch. I just work straight through, knowing I don’t want to take a chance of seeing or hearing anyone from the legal assistants’ floor. Especially if Melissa has made good on her promise and gotten them all in trouble with HR.

  My former coworkers will be shipped out unceremoniously, and with being the kind of people they are, they would not pass up an opportunity to pay me back.

  Ms. Vanacore stops me just before two o’clock. She comes over and touches my shoulder.

  “Going to take a lunch break at all, son?” she asks.

  Her tone is warm and sounds concerned. When I meet her eyes, I immediately wish I hadn’t. She’s soaking me in, searching for something.

  “You’ve been working steadily ever since you came to my office from getting your things on the legal assistants’ floor. Is everything okay, Tommy?”

  Quickly, I move my eyes away from hers.

  “Yes.” I scoot away from my desk a bit, trying to find something to busy my hands with. “Yes, ma’am. Everything’s fine.”

  There is a heavy, silky pause between us.

  “You didn’t run into any trouble down there, did you, son?”

  There’s another pause, but this one isn’t nearly as long.

  It’s for the show of it, and nothing more.

  “If you did. If anything at all happened that was uncalled for, you can tell me.” The hand on my shoulder grips a bit more tightly. The touch is still warm, but it’s quickly turning hot. “Taking you under my wing is not something I take lightly. If anything happened, it’s my responsibility — my duty — to do something about it. To protect you if necessary.”

  I feel like shouldering her hand off me, but I don’t. With her touching me the way she is, it feels like she’s my mother — old, wise, well-meaning, and not to be sloughed off for any reason.

  To my silence, Ms. Vanacore says, “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to accompany you this morning like I promised, Tommy.”

  She takes another pause and a breath in. This one shakes a bit. I’m not sure what she is feeling.

  Anger? Sorrow? Frustration? Fear? It could be one.

  It could be none of those things. It could be all of them.

  Whatever it is, it sounds like an emotional soup, all stirred up just for me.

  “Are you sure nothing untoward happened while you are down there?”

  I move my eyes back to hers before I have time to question whether that’s wise or not. It’s like I’m not even in control of my body when I do.

  It’s like there’s some spell on me that says, “Tommy, look at her. Look at her when she’s talking to you, and don’t you dare look away.”

  Again, her gray-blue eyes study me. They dial in on me, seeming to pull some secret from my body or some vital bit of information from my soul. I feel her pocket it somewhere and put it away to use later.

  “Nothing happened, ma’am,” I manage to say.

  Ms. Vanacore smiles. She gives me a look that puts a chill down my spine. It seems to say, Good boy. That’s the right answer. That’s the way we properly handle things.

  “Nothing at all?” she asks.

  “No. Nothing,” I say, over the noise that’s started in my head – the images and words on replay from the legal aids’ floor. Men and women saying I fucked her to get this job. That I and my “kind” don’t deserve to be employed in a place l
ike this. That we don’t deserve to be seen or heard from.

  “Still not going to take a lunch break?”

  The way Ms. Vanacore asks this, it’s like she’s got other plans in mind already. Like she’s hoping I’ll say no, so she can suggest something else.

  I shake my head.

  “Not hungry,” I say.

  Whatever Ms. Vanacore was planning, I just squashed it.

  She frowns and says, “Well, that’s too bad. I was going to offer to pay for you to order in some lunch or something.”

  To her honest look of disappointment, I say, “I really appreciate it, Ms. Vanacore, ma’am, but I’d rather continue working.”

  Ms. Vanacore throws up her hands. She looks more irritated than warm.

  “Fine. Whatever you want to do, boy, just don’t come crying later, saying I didn’t give you any breaks.”

  With that, she leaves my part of her office and goes to sit at her desk. I hear her ploof into her computer chair and pull some big, fat files in front of her.

  The moment she’s out of sight, I rub my temples. A headache just started spontaneously. Partially in response to Ms. Vanacore’s 180-turnaround, but more so to the earlier abuse I suffered — the words and accusations that were thrown at me, being pushed to the ground, and told to get on my knees.

  I have bruises there and other places, as well. Though I’m planning to keep them hidden in my frumpy, big suit, where I hide all the rest of my scars and injuries.

  For a while, I just sit there staring.

  But then, like Melissa is my personal guardian angel, memories of her float in. Instead of all the hateful comments in my head, I now hear all of her encouragement and her love toward me. The way she pulled me out of there like she really was an angel pulling me from hell.

  Don’t let them get to you, Tommy. Don’t let them hurt you anymore. I took care of them, just for you.

  I imagine her saying this, smiling, and gesturing at me with a flourish.

  And I’ll take care of any more people who try to harm you.

  My thoughts wander to Ms. Vanacore, and her short way of dealing with me when I shut down her office for help, and for getting me lunch.