by Lila Monroe
“My legs were cramping up; I needed to stretch them,” I said. “Besides, sometimes you need a little mental break, you know? To keep from going stir-crazy.”
“Hmmph,” he said. “Well, I hope you’re not expecting to get paid for these ‘mental breaks.’”
Asshole. “Of course not, sir.”
“Good.” He fussed with his tie, straightening it. “Where are you at with the hygiene products, then?”
“Almost finished!” I assured him. “Just waiting to hear back from Sandra. And I’m halfway through those forms you left for me. When I’m done, if there are any projects that need taking on—”
“Everything’s already been assigned several months out,” he interrupted. “And we can’t give you anything until your schedule’s more regular, you understand? Of course, after the way things went last time, we think it’s best to take it slow, give you a nice soft ball out of the park.”
Could he be any more patronizing?
“I appreciate the consideration,” I said through gritted teeth. “But I’m sure that this family emergency will have cleared up in a month, and if you look at the numbers—”
“Advertising isn’t solely a numbers game, my dear,” he said condescendingly. “It’s an art. You need to have a feel for the client, an instinct for their point of view. A sort of Hemingway-esque ability to immediately grasp the situation. And, well, with so many CEOs being men, women just often aren’t able to bridge that gap. Not a reflection on you at all, my dear, just the truth.”
“But if you look at the actual results that that approach is getting, if you look at the way sales and share prices are tanking on the Dou—on Chad’s projects, for example—” I started to protest.
“My dear, please,” my boss said, a frown crossing his brow. He disliked it intensely whenever anyone didn’t help keep up the façade of his feminist credo, and here I’d gone on challenging him for a whole fifteen seconds. It would not stand. “Do you really think you’re helping your case by crying on my shoulder here? Now, be a good girl and go back to your office and do your work without complaining, and if it’s good enough, I’ll think about letting you try again in a year.”
And then, just like that, all my anger crystallized into a clear vision of the future. And I knew exactly what I had to do. I nodded to myself, a grin spreading over my face.
“Actually, sir, you know what I think would work better?”
“My dear, I assure you—”
“I quit.”
My words hit him like a gunshot, and I spun on my heel and strode away, savoring the memory of the stunned look on his face, still hearing his inarticulate spluttering.
I wished him all the best of luck in finding someone else who would put up with his bullshit.
Not.
The cool night air hit me like a blessing as I breezed out of the office doors. It had never felt so refreshing before, like a cool glass of water I could drink with my skin. I had never felt so alive before, so free.
Things had never been so clear.
They would never respect me. I knew that now. I had known for a long time, but I had hidden from it, unwilling to start all over again, constantly convincing myself that I could change things if I just worked a little bit harder, if I just took a little bit more shit, just for a little bit longer. But that game was over. I allowed myself a moment of grief for the opportunity I had hoped this job would be, but it didn’t hurt as much as I had thought it would. It felt more like something that had happened long ago, to an Ally that might as well have been another person.
This Ally had nothing but the future opening up before her, and it was time to start following my own advice and stop clinging to the past.
I pulled out my phone and dialed Hunter’s number. He picked up on the first ring.
“Ally, what’s up? How’s work?”
“Work’s just starting,” I said, a smile blooming on my face. “I’m on my way with some information I think you’ll find very interesting, and a whole new plan…”
Chapter Thirty-One
Persona was a restaurant that had seen other restaurants’ attempts to be fancy, and had turned up its nose at their pathetic failures.
The floors were pink marble. The chandeliers were carved from rose quartz and gilded in what I had a sneaking suspicion was real gold. Tapestries that would have been at home in a European castle hung from the walls, their lush fabric absorbing sound until it seemed as if noise itself might be some sort of nasty plebian habit that had no place here. The waiters were dressed better than most Oscar winners on the red carpet.
Naturally, I was nervous as hell.
My leg bounced up and down under the table where Hunter and I sat, and I was grateful for the luxurious floor-length red tablecloth that hid my nervous tic so well.
I couldn’t hide it from Hunter, though, who could plainly feel the vibrations from where his leg was pressed up against mine. He gave my hand a reassuring squeeze. “Relax. It’s going to work.”
“How do you know?” I demanded.
He squeezed my hand again, looking deep into my eyes. “Because you came up with it, and you’re brilliant.”
The tension eased out of my shoulders and I smiled up at him, still a bit nervous but now also warmed and touched. What had I ever done to deserve this man?
“Flatterer.”
“It’s not flattery if it’s the truth,” he said, his hand sneaking under the table to steady my knee. Heat spread from his palm, all the way up my thigh, and I knew there was no way I was misinterpreting that signal.
“Perhaps we should discuss the matter at hand in further detail at a later time,” I said primly, swatting him away from my knee. I was loathe to do so, but this meeting was important and I couldn’t risk going blind with unstoppable lust and screwing it all up. I had to be in control.
He grunted in agreement and obediently kept his hands to himself.
I let my head rest against his shoulder for a second to collect myself. It could only be for a second, though—this kind of shared peace and trust wasn’t the sort of show we were trying to put on for our guest.
Assuming he ever showed and didn’t just stand us up in a bit of final humiliation.
This was the plan: Once Chuck arrived, Hunter would offer to sell his shares, pretending to be desperate for cash and to have no knowledge of the impending buyout. He’d demand a big price, and hopefully Chuck would be so greedy for the takeover and the buyout payoff that he’d give Hunter the money—which we would then turn around and use to help Hunter start up his own company and hire at least some, and hopefully most or all, of his old employees.
The plan hinged on two things. One, Chuck being a greedy grasping pig who wouldn’t think too far into the future, which was a fairly safe bet. Two, that Hunter could swallow his pride long enough to eat crow pie for Chuck, which was somewhat more tenuous of a proposition.
“You have to let him feel like he’s won,” I reminded him, my fingers beating a staccato rhythm against the edge of my chair. “He has to feel like he’s on top of the world looking down on you, like there’s no possible way you could be considered a threat. You have to seem pathetic.”
“A tall order,” Hunter said with a smile. “But I think I can do it. All those drama classes, remember? I didn’t hang out just for the favorable gal to guy ratio. Well, I mostly did, but I still picked up a thing or two.”
“I know you did,” I said. “I’m probably just being overly anxious, but—but Chuck’s a little more obnoxious than your average drama major. He’s going to push all the buttons of yours he can find. Can you let him lord it over you and bite your tongue?”
“I think I can,” Hunter said with a reassuring smile. He squeezed my knee under the table again. “And I know I’ll do my very best.”
He leaned in towards me, and for a second I thought we were going to kiss, my lips tingling already as they parted—
“Well, well, isn’t this cozy. You didn’t have to put yourself out of pock
et, though, Hunter, I could easily have taken this to a McDonalds to help you save money.”
Chuck had arrived. Hunter and I jerked apart. Hunter stood, offered him a perfunctory handshake. “Chuck.”
“Hunter,” Chuck said with a grin that oozed malice.
Power didn’t suit Chuck. It made him simultaneously sloppy and over-the-top; his hundred-dollar haircut was fighting a losing battle to hold what wisps of hair he had together over his bald spot, his Italian silk suit was buttoned up the wrong way and happened to be entirely the wrong shade of maroon for his complexion, and while his cologne was undeniably top shelf, he’d doused himself in enough to kill anyone with even a hint of asthma.
“And Miss Bartlett,” he said with a slimy grin. “I’m so glad to see that you and Hunter have patched things up. It’s so important to keep our meal tickets satisfied, isn’t it?”
“I wouldn’t know,” I said frostily.
Chuck raised an eyebrow at my impertinence, and I backtracked hastily, the very image of someone afraid of his money-fueled wrath. “I mean, of course. Yes. You’re right.”
He gave a satisfied grin and fell into his seat, propping his feet up on the table.
It had already been quiet in Persona, but at this, the volume somehow dropped another level in disbelief.
It was so quiet you could hear a pin drop, and also the sound of the maitre’d having a heart attack.
Chuck was oblivious, though. “Shall I foot the bill? I’ve got an excellent new credit rating now that I’m essentially in charge of Knox Liquors.” He leered at me. “I wouldn’t want to take the clothes off your back, after all. Well, not figuratively, anyway. Ha!”
I could practically hear Hunter’s teeth grinding, but he just smiled—and I think the teeth-grinding added some verisimilitude, because Chuck grinned at him before looking back over to me and letting his gaze drop low enough and long enough to make it absolutely clear that he was checking out my cleavage.
I risked a glance over at Hunter. His face looked like it was only a matter of time before either his brain or the vein in his temple exploded. Don’t take the bait, don’t take the bait, don’t take the bait, I prayed silently.
“Oh, don’t worry, I don’t need to take your girl too,” Chuck said with a grin, careful to emphasize that last word. “I’m just surveying the goods. One of the perks of the business, I’m sure you remember.”
Oh sweet baby Jesus, let Hunter not kill him, I prayed.
Fortunately, we were interrupted by the waiter, wanting our drink orders. Chuck ordered a martini, and Hunter and I both said we preferred to just keep drinking water. It fit the bill of the desperate, soon-to-be-impoverished losers much, much better. Also it kept the mind strong and clear much better than alcohol could, which I just possibly may have known from my own personal experience.
“Good idea,” Chuck said. Under the table, his foot began to trace figure eights along my bare calf. It made my skin crawl, but I couldn’t retreat. “After all, we both know what Ally is like with a little liquor in her.”
Hunter ground his teeth so hard I was pretty sure he would be financing his dentist’s next vacation single-handedly. “Let’s stick to the business at hand, Chuck. Please,” he added with just the right mix of shame and desperation.
Chuck took the bait. “Well,” he said. “When you put it like that.”
His foot traced a little higher up my leg.
We had him right where we wanted him.
Now we just had to get through another hour of this.
“Are you two sure you won’t have any more of this caviar? I don’t expect there’ll be very much of it in your future, you might as well take advantage of it while you can.”
“No thank you,” Hunter said with a tight smile that made him look like the victim of an unskilled plastic surgeon. “You go right on ahead.”
“Don’t mind if I do!” Chuck said, and proceeded to down the rest with a disgusting slurp.
Hunter’s and my plates were both nearly untouched. We had lost our appetites nearly forty minutes ago. Not even fine caviar, a French cheeseboard sampler adorned with a selection of organic stone fruits, steak seared to just the point of tenderness, and tiramisu light and fluffy as a cloud off St. Peter’s gates could undo the damage of having to spend time in Chuck’s hideous company.
He’d spent those last forty minutes not only displaying appalling table manners, but leering at me, putting down Hunter with not at all subtle barbs, and being so rude to the wait staff I was honestly surprised none of them had thrown a drink in his face.
At least he had stopped that thing with his foot after Hunter ‘accidentally’ stepped on his toes. He’d had to follow that up with abject apologies, and I was still worried that it might swing Chuck to deny our plea just to spite us, but I was still glad that Hunter had done it. I couldn’t have stood another second of that creep touching me without bursting into tears.
“I’m considering this plan of yours,” Chuck went on. There was a particularly large piece of steak stuck between his front teeth. I tried to ignore it. “It does have certain merits, but honestly, I’d be doing you a huge favor. I’m not sure I can stretch my charity so far.”
He was lying out his ass, of course, but we couldn’t let him know we knew that. I glanced over at Hunter when he didn’t respond immediately. His shoulders and jaw were both clenched tight; putting up with Chuck’s shit was taking a definite toll. I snuck a touch to the small of his back, and he jolted back into the moment, sparing half a second to shoot me a secret smile before his game face slid back into place.
“Of course,” he said to Chuck. “We understand completely. Take all the time you need to make your decision. Only…not too much time?”
I thought that bit of groveling at the end was a nice touch, and by the cat that ate the cream grin on Chuck’s face, he thought so too.
He opened his mouth to reply, and we waited with bated breath to see whether it would be more insults or finally, finally, finally a firm answer—
And then his phone rang.
“You don’t mind if I take this, do you?” Chuck didn’t bother to wait for our answer before picking up the phone. “Oh, hello, Senator.” He raised his voice slightly on the title, making sure everyone in the restaurant could hear exactly how important he was. “I’m so pleased to hear from you, you know you can always count on our support for your campaign. No, now’s not an inconvenient time at all.” He stood, flapped his hand at us in a little ‘wait for me’ gesture, and sauntered off to take his oh-so-terribly-critical call in private.
“I’m going to kill that fucking asshole,” Hunter said the minute he was out of hearing range.
“As long as you wait till we’ve got his money,” I joked.
“I’ll do my best.” His voice was strained.
I took a good look at him. He was wound tighter than a pocket watch, every muscle clenched like he was only barely restraining himself from launching into an attack. I could see his pulse in the vein at the side of his neck. That couldn’t be healthy.
“Okay, pep talk time,” I said, grabbing his hand and pulling him to his feet.
“Uh, okay,” he said, following my lead even as confusion wound its way through his voice. “And the pep talk can’t happen at the table because…”
“Because that table is dead to me,” I said. “Too many bad things have happened to me at that table for me to ever look at it the same way again, and I don’t want to risk this pep talk being ruined by all the terrible memories.”
“Okay…”
“Also, if we were at the table, I wouldn’t be able to do this.” With a smirk, I yanked Hunter’s arm, pulling him into the bathroom behind me. With my free hand I locked the door, while my other pulled him close enough that I could stand on my tiptoes and kiss him hard, his back pushed up against the door.
“Is this a good time for us to discuss those details you mentioned?” he asked, touching my knee as if to remind me of the heat that
had passed between us earlier.
“Why, yes,” I purred, flashing a smirk. “I believe it is an excellent time for that.”
He growled, his hands coming up around me and pressing me further into him. The bathroom was small, private, barely enough room for one person, and his tight embrace made it feel even smaller, made my heart beat so fast I thought I might forget to breathe. Oh, his lips were soft, and warm, and starving for me. Oh, to sink into his embrace, to sink into him, to never let go. I opened my mouth beneath his, and let his tongue entwine with mine, let him say without words everything he had been keeping pent up for so long. I grabbed his ass shamelessly and pressed my hips into his, grinding against him and desperately wishing our clothes would spontaneously combust.
He drew back, panting. “I’ve needed this. It’s been too long.”
I pulled him back toward me and whispered softly into his mouth, “I’ve had to use every ounce of self-control I have not to jump you tonight.” He groaned and hungrily claimed my lips again.
We finally had to break apart for air, though our hands didn’t let go of each other even as we gulped in oxygen, dizzy with the lack of it and the surplus of each other.
“I like your pep talk style,” Hunter gasped.
“I’m only just getting started,” I promised.
He raised an eyebrow. “Oh, really?”
“Seriously,” I said. “There is an actual verbal component to this conversation I had planned.” I reached up and ran my hand through his hair, straightening the mess I’d made of it. “I know this is hard on you. But you’re doing great out there.”
“Are you sure?” he asked, his eyes worried. “I feel like I’m about to burst at the seams.”
The close quarters meant I could definitely feel him bursting at one particular seam—no, no, no, I had to ignore that right now! No point in starting something I couldn’t finish. No matter how nice he smelled. No matter how long Chuck’s conversation with the senator was likely to be.
No matter how much we both wanted this, needed this, after all this time…
“The anger shows, but that’s good,” I said. “It just makes it look like the truth. After all, you’d be this angry if you were forced to do this for real, right?”