by JA Huss
It’s not because of Mac, I tell myself. It’s not.
But as soon as I walk through the door and into the seven-story building, I find myself looking up. All the way up to the top floor.
I don’t see the multi-colored picnic tables filled with people leaning over laptops and chatting over coffee with co-workers. Or the six-story waterfall surrounded by palm trees. Or the monstrous slides twisting their way down the center of the lobby.
Just the tippy top of this world where Mac exists. I get in one of the glass-walled elevators and take in the scenery as we ascend. I’ve never paid much attention to the building while on the elevator before. Usually when I come up here it’s for a meeting I’d rather not be at. But now… this is my new world.
Well, for another week, anyway. I’m still quitting.
But it’s nice while it lasts. I really have to hand it to Stonewall Senior. He made Stonewall Entertainment a very nice place to work. And even though I didn’t enjoy many of the perks over the years since I was out at the airport, I appreciate the fact that he went to so much trouble to make work pleasant for his employees.
I probably could've walked up faster, that’s how long it takes to stop at every floor, but then I’d be all sweaty and out of breath when I saw Mac. So I stand patiently as people get on and off, and when we finally do reach the seventh floor, it’s just me getting off.
I smile at Stephanie as I approach the corner offices and she nods as she talks on the phone. Mac’s door is closed, but mine isn’t. So that’s where I go.
My office is bright and cheery. I absolutely love it. It’s so me. How did he know what style furniture I like? The white writing desk has an antique finish that complements the shabby chic feel of the place. I drop my purse on the desk and sink into the leather chair. It’s not as big as Mac’s, but it’s far better suited to a woman and this office. And it feels wonderful on my back.
I have to shake my head a little as I picture my old office down at the airport. The metal desk, the creaky chair. I never spent much time down there because it just wasn’t a place you wanted to be. Walking guests around campus was better than being in that depressing space all day.
A knock at my door pulls me back to attention and my heart flutters for a moment as I call out a cheery, “Come in!”
Mac opens the door connecting our office, walks in, closes it, and then takes a seat in one of the two chairs in front of my desk. He crosses a foot over his knee and leans back, looking a little blasé and cool as he folds his hands in his lap.
And even though I’m the one sitting behind the desk and he is the one sitting in front of it, I suddenly feel like I’ve been called to the principal’s office. “Um,” I say. “Is everything OK?”
He smiles, but it’s not the charming smile I’ve come to expect from Mac. “How was your weekend?” he asks.
“It was nice,” I say, immediately suspicious. “How was yours?”
“Oh,” he says, picking a piece of lint off his light gray suit and then smoothing the fabric with a brushing motion. “Slightly boring.”
I’m relieved. “So you didn’t take anyone else out in my place?” I ask, hinting around for answers.
“No,” he says. “Nope. Sure didn’t. Just sat at home in my apartment. Looking out the window. Talked to an old friend last night though. That was enlightening.”
“Oh,” I say, getting another very weird vibe from him. “Did you learn something new?” His silence is making me uncomfortable. It’s making me feel like I did something wrong.
“I did. In fact, my friend said he was in Vegas this weekend. Were you in Vegas this weekend, Ellie?”
I shake my head with a smile. “Nope. I sure wasn’t.”
“Well, that’s interesting. Because my friend said he saw Andrew Manco there demonstrating some tech thing at a conference.”
Shit. “Mac, I never said—”
“I realize that,” he interrupts. “I absolutely realize that, Ellie. You never said it, you never confirmed it, I was the one who made up the weekend with Andrew. So not that I give a fuck anymore, but who were you with this weekend?”
Not that I give a fuck anymore? What the hell is that? His tone has turned hostile and I squirm in my chair a little. “I wasn’t with anyone. I was just at home alone.”
“So you lied to me.” His manner is clipped and quick.
“I didn’t—”
“You did,” he says, almost growling the words. “And you know what, Ellie? Whatever the reason was that you didn’t want to see me this weekend, I would’ve been OK with it if it had been the truth. But I can’t deal with liars. I’ve had a lot of experience with lies in my life and I don’t put up with it. Not even small ones. So whatever your reason was for lying to me, I don’t care. I’m only in your office to give you this.”
He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a small gift wrapped in white paper and tied up with a pink satin ribbon. He places it on the desk and pushes it away from him with one finger. Like it’s toxic and he doesn’t want to touch it.
“Do whatever you want with it,” Mac says. “I’m done.”
He gets up, buttons his suit coat, walks through the connecting door, and then looks over his shoulder at me and says, “I want every business contact you have on that computer before you leave at the end of the day. And before this week is over, you will have brought Jennifer up to speed on your schedule and how you run things so that next week you can introduce her to all our past, present, and future guests as the most competent person to take over your job. I wish you much success, Miss Hatcher. Perhaps we’ll see each other again, but I doubt it.”
He pulls the door closed behind him and there’s the tell-tale sound of a deadbolt lock clicking into place. A deadbolt that was not even there last week.
I just stare at that door. For whole minutes. Wondering just what the hell happened. He’s mad at me for telling him the equivalent of, “I can’t go out because I have to wash my hair?”
Seriously?
I’m not the one who made up that story about Andrew. He was. I didn’t confirm or deny. So how is it my fault that he conjured up some non-existent sexy weekend between Andrew and me?
I can’t even.
And what the hell is this gift he left? I pick it up. The box is small. Only a little larger than a deck of cards. I pull on the pink satin ribbon and it falls apart, then carefully unwrap the thick white paper and remove the lid off the box.
Inside is a phone.
With a sticky note on it that says, You need professional help.
My jaw drops as I flick the screen to life and realize it’s Heath’s phone. My delusional message stream with Heath is open when it comes to life. All the things that never happened between us are on display.
The dream house, the fake interior design, the babies I imagined us having, the puppy I envisioned romping around our suburban farm, the Pinterest board links and screenshots.
All of it.
I click the links to the Pinterest board for my office gossip stuff just to see if he did have access, and nope. It says page not found.
So who the hell is he to lecture me about lying when he used that lie to blackmail me last week?
I am fuming mad.
But there is no way I will even give him the satisfaction of trying to explain my point of view.
Fuck him.
Just fuck him.
Chapter Twenty-One - Ellie
I have a ton of guests on Mondays, so I am out of my office the entire day flitting back and forth between the airport and the studios with them as I try to do my job to the best of my ability after having McAllister Stonewall literally fuck me in the ass and hand me my walking papers.
I’m so humiliated. Again.
By the time I get back to my office on the seventh floor of the Atrium, it’s past six and I still have to transfer my contacts into the new office computer before I leave.
There is no way I’m going to give McAllister Stonewall t
he satisfaction of reaming me a new one tomorrow morning as well. No way.
The next morning Mr. Stonewall’s office door is open and the lights are still off when I get in. I have one hour to talk with Jennifer about my duties before I have to be back at the tarmac for guests, so I set my things down and go looking for her.
“Knock, knock,” I say at her open door. She’s busy shuffling papers and squinting at her laptop screen.
“Oh, hi, Ellie!” she says brightly. “What’s up?”
“Well, Mr. Stonewall wants me to go over all my job duties with you this week. It’s pretty busy, but I have about an hour right now to get started if you have time?”
“Oh, sure. My stuff can wait.” She pushes back from her desk and walks over to me. “Let’s go.”
We walk back to my corner of the floor in silence. I am acutely aware of everyone looking at me. Did Mac tell them something? Did he tell them we were… screwing around last week? Or maybe they are still picturing me as I ran out of the conference room last Wednesday screaming the word ‘tampon?’
Jesus Christ. Get me out of here.
Jennifer closes my office door behind her once we get there and I take a seat at my desk, pointing to the chair in front. “You can bring that around so you can see what I’m doing if you want.”
Jennifer smiles as she drags the pretty chair around to my side, then takes a seat and crosses her legs. “I’m sorry, you know.”
“Sorry for what?” I ask, trying to concentrate on bringing up my scheduling program on my laptop.
“Whatever he did. I mean, it was pretty obvious that the two of you hit it off last week and now it’s pretty obvious that he’s not speaking to you. So I’m sorry. Office romances, right? It’s difficult. Especially when you’re dating your boss.”
“Oh,” I say, trying to sound nonchalant. “We weren’t dating.”
“Well,” Jennifer says. “OK. But you were doing something. Ellen told me she caught you two in the stairs right after your completely hilarious exit from the meeting. I have to say, Ellie, that was epic. Best scene ever in all my twenty years in Corporate America.” Jennifer laughs, and I don’t think it’s a making-fun laugh either. I think she really did get a kick out of my meltdown.
I’m not sure how I feel about that.
“I hear you wrote a book?” Jennifer says.
“Let’s just try to concentrate on work, OK, Jennifer?” I smile at her, but it’s forced. I want to rip her hair out right now.
“Sorry,” Jennifer says. “I’m not trying to be mean. I had a few office affairs in my time as well. In fact, Joe and I got married last year.”
“Joe? Joe Fuller in accounting?” I’ve seen them together a lot, and I figured it was another one of her flings. But married?
“Yeah, he’s not as flashy as Doug over in Studio Eleven production, but he’s perfect for me. And I guess that’s all that matters.”
I stare at my screen, quiet for a few seconds. “Everyone knows?” I ask, looking over at her.
She nods with a sympathetic smile. “Everyone. It was pretty apparent that you two had chemistry. And for what it’s worth, I think everyone feels bad that it didn’t last.” She huffs out a small laugh. “Well, except Ellen, I think. She’s got some grand delusion that she and McAllister Stonewall are meant to be together.”
“Ellen?” I roll my eyes. She’s like ten years older than him.
“Just ignore her.” Jennifer places a hand on my shoulder. “And don’t tell her any details. I’ve been working with her for many years and she’s a conniving bitch. She will spread rumors faster than you can blink. She outed me once too. But that was with Joe, and we were already engaged, so no one cared. Besides, Joe and I are in completely different departments.”
“Yeah,” I say. “How did I not know any of this?”
Jennifer shrugs. “You’ve been down at the airport for what? Seven years? How would you know anything?”
“True. I have to admit, I kind of like it up here. It’s nice to be around people. In all the hustle and bustle.”
“Sucks that you’re leaving. You could always change your mind, you know. Even if McAllister doesn’t want you here, Stonewall Senior will.”
“No,” I say, sighing out the word. “I did write a book and I’m going to publish it one of these days. That’s why I’m leaving. I just need to move on, you know? I’ve been here since college. It’s time.”
“Well, I don’t want your job, Ellie. Mr. Stonewall told me to fill in for you, but I honestly don’t know how I can. I have my job too. And maybe it’s not as exciting as what you do, but I like it. I’m used to it. And I’m good at it. I’m going to mess up everything when you leave.”
“No, you won’t,” I say, smiling. “I’ll show you everything. And if you have time this week, I’ll even let you come with me.”
“That would be great,” Jennifer says. “I’ll make some time.”
Jennifer does accompany me, and I do get all the scheduling information to her before the week is over. But even though I’ve accomplished everything Mac told me to this week, I feel let down.
It’s Friday morning and this is the first day Mac even came into the office. I can hear him talking on the phone in his office right now. It’s killing me.
I want nothing more than to burst in there and tell him off.
In fact, I’ve envisioned it all week. I picture myself walking in there, slamming that connecting door, and just laying into him.
And then I completely lose touch with reality, because I picture him pushing me up against a wall and kissing me as his hand slips up my dress.
Yes. I wore a dress today even though it’s casual Friday.
The dress, in fact. The two-thousand-dollar Victoria Beckham pencil dress.
And I didn’t unzip the bottom. On purpose. I want to parade my wiggling ass around in front of him and drive him crazy. Make him wish he’d never talked to me that way. Make him beg me to take him back.
Jesus Christ. Why am I so delusional?
I look down at my desk and frown at the two phones laid out there. I’ve been dragging Heath’s phone around with me all week, unable to erase the stuff I put in there. Unable to even open up the messages and look at all the stupid, stupid things I wrote. Unable to let go of that dream.
Mac thinks I’m crazy. You need professional help. What an asshole. That really hurt. It was a harmless fantasy. And no one was supposed to see those messages. If a message says undelivered, then how the hell was I supposed to figure that they’d all send in a giant batch once the phone was turned back on?
It’s not my fault McAllister Stonewall stumbled into my fantasy uninvited.
A sharp knock on the connecting door startles me back to reality.
I stand up and say, “Come in,” in a commanding voice. Good. I want to have my say and that bastard… opens the door and walks in looking like he just finished a fashion shoot for a men’s magazine cover.
“Jennifer says you’ve been—”
“Just hold on there, Mr. Not-So-Perfect,” I yell, putting up a hand and walking around the desk. The baby steps I have to take in this tight pencil dress kind of make my flash of anger less effective, but I swallow hard and lift my head, determined to stand up for myself. “You got to say all the things to me on Monday, and now it’s my turn to say…”
My words trail off because he’s looking me up and down like he might eat me alive.
I wait for his gaze to return to my face. His cerulean-blue eyes have me in their grip and I’m suddenly chilled. My nipples perk to attention in the wake of his stare.
He does not miss this.
“Your turn to say what, Miss Hatcher?”
I clear my throat and take a deep breath. “It’s not fair. Nothing you did or said to me on Monday was fair!”
“Why are you yelling?” he asks calmly.
“I’m not yelling,” I practically yell. “But I’m angry, so I’m glad you think I am. Because you should.”
/>
“I should?” he asks.
Jesus. I sound like an idiot. “You accused me of being what? Unstable? Just because I have a healthy fantasy life? A creative imagination? A—”
“Grand delusion about my brother?” he adds in, his voice rising now as well.
“I’m not sick and I don’t need professional help! You’re the one who’s sick! You have no fantasy life beyond fucking your subordinate at work! You’re boring. Too boring for me, that’s for sure. You can’t even appreciate a dream. In fact, I feel sorry for you. Sucks to be you. So glad I’m not you!”
“Well,” he says, walking over towards me. I step back, unsure what he’s doing. But he passes by me and then slips behind my desk and takes a seat.
In my chair.
My fucking chair!
“Then I apologize about the insult. I should’ve been more professional about it.”
“Why are you sitting in my chair?”
“Why not? Does it bother you?”
“Well, yes. Yes it does. This is my office.”
“I purchased this entire office for you.”
“For me, right!” I’m still yelling. I bet Stephanie and the whole seventh floor can hear us in here. Well, me, at the very least. Ellie’s in there making another scene, they’re probably saying.
“And I wanted to take you out last weekend but you said no.”
“You were moving way too fast. Is it my fault I wanted space and you didn’t?”
“Then why lie?” He leans back in my chair, one elbow resting on the armrest, the other hand scratching his perfectly chiseled and slightly stubbled jaw. Good God, he’s handsome.
“I did not lie.”
“You led me to believe something.”
“So?”
“So I don’t like it.” He doesn’t yell, but it’s loud and it’s commanding. “And I have very good reasons for not liking it. Did you really think, after all this”—he waves to the office and then to the dress—“that I’d be a dick about you wanting to slow down?”
“Yeah,” I say. “I did.”