Good Pet

by Jamie Knight

  What I do see as some kind of sign, though, I don’t like. And that’s Vanacore. A lot more of her, around my neck of the woods throughout the day. While I know that it could be that she has a lot of court cases to go to, it seems like she’s making a concerted effort to pass by my desk and give me all the dirty, angry looks in the world.

  Though the partners assured me that she wouldn’t know or see anything coming until it was already on her, I’m inclined to believe Vanacore can sense the noose tightening around her neck. And she knows that I had something to do it. Why else would she give me such dark, calculating looks? Why else would she be roaming around my desk? Taking multiple times out of her day over the last few days to make sure I see her looking at me?

  The only comfort I take from any of this is knowing that Tommy isn’t here to witness the way Vanacore is with me or to have to suffer any more of this at her hands. It’s the only thing that makes me strong enough to deal with such a finely-dressed troll.

  Over the weekend, I told Tommy about giving my statement. I told him what the partners told me, and what they need from him eventually, but I haven’t told him about this. I haven’t told him about Vanacore circling around me, trying to intimidate me for the last few days since I returned to work.

  Tommy seemed stressed out enough by the fact that he might have to relive all of this over again, even if it is to bring evidence to the surface, so I don’t want to stress him out more. So, I keep my personal suffering silent. I keep it happy and non-stressful when I come home from work.

  Which, is immaculately clean, and has been ever since Tommy moved in. He’s either a very clean person, or he’s anxiety cleaning. Neither would surprise me, given what I know about the love of my life, but I’m inclined to believe that it’s the latter under these circumstances.

  Still, I want him to be as relaxed as possible, no matter the circumstances. That’s the job and the desire of any good girlfriend. He deserves nothing less from me, after such great personal risk.

  It’s now Wednesday, close to the end of the day, and for once, I don’t see Vanacore around. I don’t see her menacing me from the edges of her itinerary, and I’m happy. It means I can just focus on putting in the last hour and heading home. Maybe getting Tommy to enjoy more than cuddling with me tonight, but I’m not sure he will want to.

  I might have to wait until all of this craziness is over and done with. Some portion of it, anyway, before he’s going to be in the mood, I think, finishing up the rest of my work on the computer. I’ve just gotten a request to take some files down to the legal aids’ floor.

  I sigh heavily, getting up from my chair to go run that errand before going home. There’s no one else to do it. Isabella’s been spending a lot of time over at the hospital with a friend. I don’t blame her. They are good friends, so of course, she’d want to be there for her.

  As I take the elevator down to the legal aids’ floor and get off it, the file folder clutched tightly to me, I see the one person I didn’t want to see coming my way. Vanacore. And she looks way too happy to see me out in her waters, all alone.

  Before I can even move to get away or head down a different way, she catches up to me. She grabs me and maneuvers me into a vacant bathroom. There, she pushes me up against the wall and says, “I know it’s you causing trouble for me. I know it’s you who’s at the source of all these people coming and snooping around. Getting called in and asked about my conduct with Tommy. Having to turn over pay records, as well as things from my desk!” She shakes me around, roughing me up as she’s pressed me against the wall. “If you think you’re going to get away with suing me for improper behavior with Tommy, my protégé, you’ve got another thing coming, Mary Poppins!”

  I can see she wants to spit at me, but she refrains. Instead, she grabs my nice shirt and uses it to pull me off the wall and to her. I don’t give her the satisfaction of knowing how much she’s actually scaring me or how afraid of her I am at this moment. That’s exactly what these bully types want: to know you are scared out of your mind around them. That they can intimidate you, which is exactly what I can’t give her.

  To my strong, and passive look, she says, “No matter what you do, Melissa, I’m going to make sure to take you and Tommy down. You’re not going to get to me.” She smiles widely, like a coyote on drugs. “Whatever legal action you’re trying to do against me, I’ve already made plans to make a countersuit.”

  I know she can see the look of disgust clearly on my face. She just smiles at it.

  “I’ve explained my situation to a lawyer, how you and Tommy are actually in a relationship, and I have every plan to make you both pay for that. To spin it in just such a way so that I’m innocent, as I always am, and you two are the depraved, lying manipulators,” she says. She smiles.

  I pull her hands off me. “Only a snake would work with other snakes,” I say. I don’t know how I’m managing to sound this brave, but I am. “I don’t care what you think you’re going to do. No honest lawyer would represent you.” I braced myself, seeing that she wants to hit me, but doesn’t. “You do anything to me, any more than you’ve already done right here, right now, and you’re just going to make your charges worse.” I raise my chin, looking down at her as much as I can manage, being that she's only a little taller than I am. “You’ve already gotten physical with me and made threats. Don’t make your situation any worse.” With that, I shoved past her. “Or do. The choice is yours, but you’re not getting to me. And you’re not getting to Tommy. You’re not going to mess with him anymore. Not as long as I’m here!”

  With that, I exit the bathroom and hurry toward Cubicle Hell, where this file is destined. I leave it in the “in” basket on the biggest desk in Cubicle Hell, the one Tommy used to work at and hightail it out of there.

  I practically run for the elevator, not wanting to wait around for Vanacore to do any more than she’s already done. Once in the elevator, I get on my phone and log into my work email. From there, I send Kane an email about what just happened with Vanacore. What’s been going on in the days prior, before she confronted me and dragged me into a bathroom to intimidate me. I CC Jake and Ashton on this, as well. I throw in at Reese as well, knowing she must know something about this by now.

  I get that done just in time for the elevator to spin me back out on the ground floor. I put my phone away and quickly head to my car. As I do, a text comes in. I take a look at it as I’m hustling across the parking lot. It’s from Tommy and simply reads: Felt worried. Bad. Anxious. Please tell me you’re okay, babe.

  He felt it. He felt Vanacore getting to me.

  I get in my car, buckle up, and text him back. But not before locking all the doors in my car, in case Vanacore decides to cause me any more grief.

  I’m okay, sweetheart. Don’t worry. I’m headed home now, Tommy. Just relax and be happy. I’ll be there shortly. I feel bad for leaving him out of the loop when it comes to what Vanacore’s been doing to me. But, as I said before, I don’t want to make his life anymore hellish than it already is. Not when he’s already been through so much and is likely to go through that much more once my accusations are added, and he’s finally called in to give his evidence.

  Chapter Sixty-Four

  Tommy

  I’m on my final week of “vacation” out of the two weeks Melissa put me on. Over the last fourteen days, though, it’s been anything but a vacation. In that time, I’ve spent very little time enjoying my time off, and more time dreading what’s been going on at work without me. With Melissa. With Vanacore. With just about everything involving the charges I now know have been filed with Kane and Co., as well as probably HR at this point.

  I know its procedure. I know it’s what I was going after by trying to go after Vanacore and get her out of the company before she can do any more damage to anyone, including me. But I’m still beyond stressed about it. I have been for the last two weeks. And the only way I have felt like dealing with that stress has been to clean, organize things, g
o shopping for food, and for other household necessities. The things that Melissa shouldn’t have to do if I’m crashing at her place.

  If I’m there all day with nothing to do, the least I can do is keep her household running, keep it clean, keep food stocked in the fridge, and meals on the table, which is what I’ve been doing all week last week, and some of this week.

  I’ve started cooking in the mornings. Not just for our breakfast, but for Melissa’s lunches, and now, in the middle of the morning, I’m making plans to go to the grocery store. To go shopping for ingredients for the dinner I have planned for tonight, Kung Pow chicken with steamed broccoli, cashew nuts, carrots, and celery. One of the more exotic dishes I’ve made. One of the more complicated ones, too.

  Anything to keep my mind and body off what’s happened to me. What’s potentially happening to Melissa at work every day, while I’m not there.

  But, just as I’m ready to take my list of needed groceries, that’s been stored on my phone along with the coupons for some of the food items, my phone rings. Again, I can tell by the ring tone that it’s Dad. I don’t bother to pick up. Instead, I leave him to leave a message. As I have done for the last week and a half, anyway.

  If he wants to abuse someone, let him abuse the voicemail. It doesn’t care. It doesn’t have feelings, unlike me, I think, grabbing my wallet, my spare key to the condo, and an energy drink from the fridge. He never says anything different, so why bother with it? Those thoughts in my head, I head on foot to the nearby grocery outlet, the one grocery store within walking distance, though it’s not cheap or crappy food by any means. It’s very high brow and trendy.

  I’m wearing my comfortable shirt and pants that Melissa bought me from the first store we went to on our date. It seems like ages ago, though it was only two or three weeks ago. Melissa complimented me on them this morning. She told me that she might have to give me a very tender, very sweet, very intimate massage later. Something to relax me, and get us closer together.

  I need to try to open myself up to her. Be available for her advances. She is my girlfriend. She’s the one who saved me from getting really attacked and violated, so I really should let my guard down around her. But it’s been hard for me to do that, way harder than I ever wanted it to be, but I guess that’s what happens when you have something like that happen with your boss. A person in charge of your future. I need to at least make an effort to be available for her tonight. That’s the least a boyfriend should do. Especially a boyfriend who happens to be her boss, and the love of her life.

  Just as I’m about to walk into the parking lot of the fancy, nearby grocers, my phone rings again. Except this time, it’s Melissa. I can tell by the ring tone. The moment I hear the familiar beat, my stomach twists. My anxiety spikes. I fumble to get the phone out of my pocket, thinking, I hope nothing bad has happened! I hope she’s not calling because Vanacore did something to her! She never calls during work! Especially not outside of the lunch hour!

  I answer the call, just as it is on its last ring. “Baby? Is everything all right?”

  “Everything’s all right, Tommy,” says Melissa gently. As she’s speaking, I move out of the way of cars and shopping carts, finding a little alcove by the store that’s not being occupied at the moment, so I can talk to her. “Are you at home?”

  I plug up one ear and pressed the phone to the other, so I can hear her more clearly. “No. I’m just about to head into the grocery store to buy us some food for the dinner I’m planning to make us tonight. Why?”

  Already, I can smell the small army of essential oil diffusers that this grocery store likes to have stationed by the opening. As I’m talking, I see some skinny girls in yoga pants look at me funny. Like, “what is a fat dude doing at a health food store?” I ignore them categorically and continue to listen to Melissa, who has just started to answer my question.

  “The bigwigs and HR want to talk to you, Tommy,” he says. “They want to review any evidence you have, any statement you can give them in regards to Vanacore and her assault of you. Her abuse of power against you.”

  This makes me break out in a sweat. I feel nauseous, even though I’m in the shade. The moment I’ve been waiting for and dreading has arrived. The moment in which I have to face the music and face Vanacore, as well as my destiny. My fate to be the one to take her down or go down in flames myself.

  “Okay,” I say, knowing I’m not going to have time to head home and change into something more formal, and that I don’t care to anyway. “Can you come pick me up then?”

  “I’ll be there in twenty minutes or less,” says Melissa, and hangs up.

  I hang up, directly after, taking this moment to listen to the piece-of-shit message, my piece-of-shit dad left me. Like all the other ones, it begins with an insult. Unlike all the other ones, though, this one is filled with threats to sell my hunk-of-junk car then sell everything in my bedroom, if I’m not going to bother being at home anymore or giving him any of my money.

  I don’t care. He can sell all my stuff and then some. Though Melissa hasn’t said I could move in with her officially, I’m sure she’s been waiting for the right circumstances to ask just that.

  And when she does, I think, settling myself against the wall to wait for her, I’m going to say yes. To that, and more.

  Around twenty minutes later, just as Melissa’s promised, I see her pull into the parking lot and then pull up to the side of the grocery store, where I’m still waiting. As I head to her car, get in the passenger’s side seat, and buckle myself in, Melissa leans in and kisses me. It’s not just a quick peck on the cheek or mouth like she’s been giving me over the last few days. It’s a full on French kiss.

  There’s so much silky tongue in it that I almost lose myself to it. I almost forget what I’m about to go do. Her soft, big lips don’t hurt my flight of fancy either. I start thinking about what it would feel like to have those juicy, soft lips around my cock again, sucking me off until I cum.

  I moan, feeling my cock go a little hard.

  Melissa pulls away, rubbing at her own crotch as she does. As if the same magic is happening to her, as well. “Later,” she says. It’s mostly to herself than to me, I sure, but it works for me as well. “After all this gets settled once, and for all, we will have all the fun we want.”

  “We well,” I say, leaning as far over as I can to kiss her on the mouth. I give her my own deep, long kiss. “I promise you that much. As your boss. Your boyfriend.” And hopefully someday soon, your husband.

  As Melissa begins to drive us on our path toward the office, and to the ultimate, final showdown, I make a vow to myself. That if I live through this, come out of this richer and stronger for my own self and my career, that’s exactly what I’m going to do. I’m going to ask her to marry me, and then I’m going to tell my dad he can sell my car and all my stuff.

  Who needs any of that shit when you have a wife like Melissa at your side?

  After a tense ride to the office, one in which my mind obsesses over what I’m going to say, what evidence I’m going to show first, and what the hell I’m going to do if Vanacore is there in front of me, and starts — or tries to start some shit. If she tries to ruin my career right then and there, I’m not sure exactly what I’m going to do, but I am sure that I’m not going to let her do that. I’m also sure that Kane, Ashton, and whomever else has been brought into this, I’m quite sure they’re not going to let her get away with much of that anymore, either. Not if they found enough to finally call me in. I’m probably going to be the final nail in her coffin. The horizon that her sun sets over.

  As I follow Melissa out of the elevator, we both head through the top floor, ignoring Isabella’s greetings and questions to us, we end up in front of one of the conference rooms. There, Melissa hugs me. She nuzzles me a bit, saying, “It’ll be all right, my love. Now is your chance to get her like you wanted to. Take her down, so don’t be afraid. I’m right here with you through the whole thing.”

  �
��I know,” I murmur, lightly lacing my fingers in hers. “Thank you. Thank you for everything.”

  “Anything for you, my boss,” she says. What she says next, it sounds like, “my dear husband,” but I can’t be sure.

  I don’t have time to ask her, either. The doors open to the conference room that Melissa chose for us, and both of us step into the eerily-dark room. The air is thick here, weighed down by anticipation and dread. And not just for me. Everyone’s already inside, waiting. And by everyone, I mean everyone: Kane, Ashton, Mrs. Smith, Charlotte, Jake, Reese, and the person I hate to see most of all, Vanacore.

  As she sees me walk into the room, there’s nothing kind of out her eyes anymore. She has no love there, just the vicious, unending desire to destroy me.

  Chapter Sixty-Five

  Melissa

  Vanacore’s eyes eat away at Tommy and me like acid as we enter the conference room, find seats as far away from her as possible, and prepare ourselves to eject this demon from our little slice of heaven on earth. I choose the seats across from Reese as she looks softer and more protective than any of the men in the room. Make no mistake; however: she also looks like she’s ready to dispatch Vanacore into the netherworld as well. She’s just not as outwardly disappointed.

  Reese’s actually the first one to speak. She brushes a piece of her long, honey-blonde hair back. “We’re here today to finalize the validity of the accusations leveled against Joan Vanacore by Tommy Radner and Melissa Star.” Reese pauses, looking at us both. “Melissa’s charges of assault in the bathroom have already been supported by evidence.”

  Here, Tommy gives me a look of shock and horror and of anger and confusion, and I know he’s going to give me an earful about it later.

  “Why the hell didn’t you tell me?” screams across his face, and I duck my head in front of it.

  “But your charges. Ones of sexual misconduct, sexual harassment, and, most recently, sexual assault, those have been somewhat substantiated by Melissa, but we need your testimony, Tommy. Any evidence you can provide to us to make the final verdict on this.” Here, Reese shoots Vanacore a look of death.