by Holly Ryan
“So this is why she brought me up here,” I continue, thinking out loud. “She had this whole thing planned as soon as she saw me.”
“What? As soon as who saw you?”
“Scarlet. She offered to show me to your office when she saw me waiting downstairs. She pretended to be nice to me…” I shake my head. “I can’t believe I fell for it.”
“Scarlet? Wait a minute. How did Scarlet know who you were?”
“She heard my name,” I say, impatient with having to go into such tiny intricacies of the story. I’m uncomfortable too, now that I know the truth of what just happened here, but with each passing second I’m wanting more and more to fall into the comfort of Cohen’s strong arms.
“And you’re saying she brought you up here…why?”
“Because,” I point behind him, toward where we just came from, “I just saw something…inappropriate going on over there, in the office she sent me to. The office she told me was yours.”
His jaw relaxes, the wave of realization settling over him in the same way it did me. Except I don’t know why he would relax in response – my reaction was rage. Maybe he’s simply glad to finally be on the same wavelength as me. Or maybe I’m reading him all wrong, and his relief is actually shock.
He turns without a word and starts heading down the hall.
Okay. So I guess it’s shock.
“Wait,” I say, grabbing his arm at the elbow. “You don’t want to go back there. Trust me.” Really, I don’t want him to leave me; I also don’t want to risk seeing a side of Cohen I’ve never seen before – and that seems to be a real possibility, judging by the new look in his eyes. It looks as though a flame was lit inside them.
“Stella, I believe you. Of course I do–”
“I know that,” I say, cutting him off.
“So let me take care of this.”
“I know you need to, and I know you will. But can’t we just get out of here? I just…” My voice wavers. I was going to say I just want to get out of here, but I don’t know what I want. Cohen is right. I would love for him to take care of this, in whatever way he feels is right, but I can’t think straight enough for that right now. My equilibrium is still off.
Cohen moves in swiftly. Before I know it, he has me wrapped in his arms, my cheek pressed against the top of his chest. I curl my hand around his arm, his muscles hard and moving beneath my fingers.
“Listen to me,” he says when he pulls away. “Scarlet is… she won’t be working here after today, let’s just say that. The same goes for whoever you just saw back there.”
“That doesn’t make it much better.”
“You’re right. It doesn’t. But it’s a start.” He sighs a heady sigh, one full of angst, and I feel bad for pulling him in two different directions. “And it’s the best I can do right now.”
I know now that Cohen would never lie to me, but his last statement wasn’t exactly the truth. The way the muscles of his forearms are clenched, the way he keeps resisting looking back over his shoulder, the way he’s moved closer to me as if trying to protect me from something unseen all tell me that he’s even more upset about the situation than I am. He leaves no doubt about what he wishes he could do right now. I’m sure he has something on his mind, something better.
There’s one other thing. Something he needs to clarify for me before this can be put to rest. “Will you just tell me something?”
“Okay.”
I bite my lower lip. “How do you know Scarlet, anyway?”
The elevator finally reaches our landing. Its doors slide open in front of us, and as soon as he answers my question, I want to take Cohen’s hand, pull him out of this building and leave with him.
“Scarlet works here, that’s all. She’s nothing to me.”
“And… she’s never been anything to you? In the past, I mean.”
Cohen doesn’t answer. What he does do is press his lips together and briefly hold up his finger, as if telling me to hang on a second.
“Where are you going?” By the time I’ve asked, he’s already too far away for me to stop him.
Oh God. He is going back there, after all. I hesitate. Should I go with him?
I continue to stand still, frozen in place as he disappears, his shoulders squared to take care of business. I guess the answer to my last question about Scarlet is a resounding no.
COHEN
I breathe out as I sink into my black leather chair, bouncing back and forth a few times before coming to a rest to pump out the last of my work. The thought of meeting with Stella in a few minutes is the only thing keeping me going. Outside, a couple of our secretaries snicker together. They’re new here, but still… I hate it when they do that shit. I’ve told them before to knock it off. It’s unprofessional, not to mention unbecoming. It’s hard finding secretaries that can live up to all the strict rules we have in place, being the high-profile business that we are. I’ve been thinking of trying out someone from an agency, to see if their professionalism is more up to par, but nothing’s set in stone yet.
I finish up what needs to be done, flicking my signature over the last few sheets of the only somewhat-important papers, then rest back and stretch my arms above my head.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see a figure sweep past my office, but I pay them no mind. Normally I’d stick my head out to see who it is, because on any other day it would be someone looking for me – but by some miracle I was able to clear my schedule for the next four hours, and I’m already mentally checked out.
It’s only when the figure returns a few minutes later, this time running, that I stand at attention. I pull open my office door and step into the middle of the hallway.
“Stella?” I can’t tell if it’s her, but it looks like her from here. If it is her, she must not have heard me. I break into a jog to catch up to her. If it is her… something’s wrong.
“Stella?” I say again when I round the corner. She’s waiting at the elevator, almost more panicked than she was when I pulled her out of that bad spot at Sapphire. When I reach her, I expect her to fall into my arms, the way she always looks like she wants to; instead, she looks like she wants nothing less.
“Don’t touch me, Cohen.” I was right.
“What are you doing up here? What’s wrong?” Her look is killing me; something’s wrong, and she’s not telling me what it is.
When at last I find out, I submit to her line of questioning until it becomes unreasonable, until I’m disgusted with the next question, until it becomes something that we shouldn’t have between us, but do – because of whoever it was she saw in that office, and because of Scarlet.
Instead of answering her, I hold out a finger and turn around.
I storm past my office, peering into the next one. Its lights are off. Empty. It takes no time at all for me to reach the next office in line, the sixth one from the end, which is the one Stella described. Without bothering to look inside, I throw my hand down on the handle. The door swings open and thuds against the wall behind it. This office belongs to a recent hire, a man I haven’t yet gotten to know. A man I won’t be getting to know from here on out.
I don’t know who the woman is. She must be new here too, and she must have been hired by someone else.
The woman lets out a scream and lunges off the man’s lap, diving for her clothes. The man says, “What the–” but holds his breath the instant he recognizes me.
I hold my ground near the door. “Get out,” I say calmly.
“Oh man,” he moans as his fingers fly, wrapping his tie around his neck and buttoning up his collar. I remember his prior formality during our conversation when I hired him two weeks ago. Now, he knows that formality is pointless. “Come on, give me a break.” He points to the girl. “She came on to me.”
“What?” the woman screeches, a bundle of clothes in her hands. “Fuck you.”
“Get the hell out of here. Both of you. Before I call security.”
The woman doesn’t object
. She fishes through the clothes in her hands, desperately trying to find her shirt while at the same time trying to maintain what little dignity she has left.
“Look, Cohen…” the man says, still working at his collar.
I tense. He speaks as if he has some kind of authority, as if he actually thinks he can pull the wool over my eyes again and talk his way out of this.
And did he really just call me by my first name? After the act I just caught them in, and what I just told him to do? Rage flows through me. It’s the rage that’s been itching to come out since I first saw that Stella was hurt, and that built up to a boiling point when she told me it was someone here who did it to her. Now it’s overflowed.
I walk over to him. When he sees me coming he gives up on his collar, holding his hands out in front of him in defense. I grab him by the shoulder, the loose fabric of his shirt bunching in my fist. I have a good four inches on him in terms of height, so he’s easy to command.
The woman has managed to get herself reasonably dressed. She scoops up the rest of her things and rushes out the door, and as she does so my eyes stop on Stella, who pauses and flattens her body against the door as the woman rushes past her.
“Hey, man. Okay, stop,” he says, still wanting to reason with me. He’s resisting while cowering beneath me at the same time. His voice rises in anger. “Get your hands off me.”
I don’t stop pulling. I’m being pretty gentle with him though; if I wanted to, I could throw him around with ease.
“I said, get your hands off me.” Out of nowhere, his fist flashes across my field of vision, and it only takes an instant for it to connect with my nose.
The blow briefly throws me. I stumble a bit, touching my nose and then pulling back to see if he drew any blood. My hand comes back clean. I restore myself, standing straighter than before, and land my own blow, right in the center of his face.
The room falls silent. He doesn’t know what hit him, but it worked. He doesn’t say another word. Stella places her hands over her mouth.
With one final shove, I lift him up and push him out the door. This time, I don’t hold back – he falls and then scurries to his feet, mumbling and swearing and holding his head as he finally leaves.
I rest against the desk in the center of the room. My eyes want to close. The fact that this happened despite how hard we work here, despite everything we put into this… everything my father put into this… it’s now getting to me. The way people like that man I just had to throw out disrespect you after the respect you go out of your way to show them, that’s getting to me too.
At first, Stella doesn’t react beyond covering her mouth. I’m worried she doesn’t like what she’s seen here – not that she liked any of it, but that the way I reacted might have changed her perception of me. I wouldn’t blame her. Then she drops her hands away.
She rushes to me and wraps her arms around my waist. I hug the back of her shoulders and neck, then bend and kiss the top of her head.
“Are you okay?” she asks.
“Yeah,” I say. “Stella, stay away from here. The people here… they’re not good for us.”
“You want me to stay away from where you work?” she says meekly, obviously not liking the idea.
I shake my head. “No, forget that I said that. I didn’t mean it like that. I just mean that everyone I work with knows how much money I make and what I’m worth. Some of them, especially some of the women, want to try to take advantage of that.”
I wish I could explain to her that this is what they mean when they say money can ruin your life. I wouldn’t go so far as to say it’s ruined mine; there’s enough in my past to have done that on its own without the help of money, but if you don’t watch yourself, if you’re not careful – this is how it does it. One of the ways. There are countless other ways too that people like Stella, as smart as she is, are oblivious to.
“And I want you to know about that,” I say, reading her, “if it were to ever happen again. But I don’t want them to see you here. I don’t want anyone to take advantage of you again.”
“I guess that’s fair.” She backs up. “Can we just get out of here now?”
I huff a laugh. “I take it you’re not impressed with your first taste of Thatcher Industries?”
“You were my first taste of Thatcher Industries. Not this place.”
I raise my brow, a grin forming at the corner of my lips. She blushes, but slowly smiles, then laughs. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“We definitely can,” I say, stopping to clear my voice, trying to restore it to its former strength. “But there’s one other thing I need to do.” I pick up the phone nearest us and check for a dial tone.
“Oh. Do you still have some business? I can come back.”
“You could say that, yeah. But I want you to stay.”
Having gotten the tone, I set the handset down and press a button to its right, one that will dial through to our intercom. Within a second, a familiar voice calls out over the speaker and echoes in the office. It’s a woman’s voice, the familiar voice of one of our assistants who works downstairs. “Yes, Mr. Thatcher?”
“Send Scarlet up, please.”
The voice replies quickly, echoing, “Yes, sir.” Then it’s gone.
“Oh no,” Stella says. “Cohen, please…I don’t want to face her.”
I take her face in my hands, cupping her at the jawline. “You don’t have to. Only I have to do that. What I want you to do is stay here.” I pull the chair over for her. “Right in this office.” I wait for her reaction, wondering how she feels about waiting in this office, that one that was so very close to becoming tainted, and sitting in this chair, which, as far as I’m concerned, already has been.
She’s not as sensitive as I take her for. Her warm breath passes over my skin as relief sweeps over her. “Okay.” She strips herself of her jacket and purse, placing them neatly next to her on the floor, and then sits. She nods in my direction, giving me the okay.
Just outside the office, I stand in wait for Scarlet to arrive. It doesn’t take long. Scarlet saunters over, her piercing heels digging into the carpet as she takes her determined steps. I’m surprised she even showed. She knows what she did; of course she does.
“Hello, Mr. Thatcher,” she says when she reaches me. She clasps her hands in front of her and tightens her lips. I can’t tell if she’s aware that Stella is inside the office to my left, or if she’s oblivious. She seems oblivious, focused solely on me. “You called for me?”
She looks the same as she always does – her long, pin straight blonde hair flowing freely, never tied back or done up, and shiny black heels with bright red soles clicking whenever she walks. Her makeup is done with the same, usual care. Scarlet is young, and she’s pretty. Any man would admit that. She’s been working here for over a year now, and although I don’t interact with my assistants much, preferring to take care of most things on my own–because almost everything I do around here is too important to leave to anyone else–there are some occasions in which I’ve needed her. During those, she’s handled herself professionally, showing no disrespect or signs of ulterior motive.
Although, thinking back now, there was one occasion during our Christmas party last year that I found to be borderline inappropriate. We were all gathered together to watch a cheesy karaoke, and she stepped up from behind me and took hold of my hand, entwining her fingers with mine. For the briefest of moments, before I had a chance to pull away, her and I were connected; which was awkward for me, but for her – apparently comfortable. Confused, I’d turned and looked at her, only to find that she was on the verge of being drunk, and on her face was an innocent, playful look that in some sad way made me feel sorry for her. Still, not sorry enough to hold her hand. I slipped mine out of hers and instead used it to hold my drink.
“Unfortunately, I did,” I say, the memories meaning little. I push my shoulders back, which lengthens my spine, raising me even further above Scarlet’s already t
all figure.
Her face drops. “Is something the matter?”
“Yes, something is. Something was brought to my attention a few minutes ago, and I have reason to believe it involves you.”
She sticks her chin out. “Well, am I allowed to ask what it was? People around here do say a lot of things. You can’t always believe many of them.” She huffs. “That’s something I learned early on.”
“You’re right about that. Which is why I’m giving you this chance to defend yourself.” Really: which is why I’m curious to see what you have to say for yourself. She may have the guts to stand face to face with me after the fact, but so far, it looks like she’s not going to cop to it. She’s actually going to deny it. Where do we find these people?
“What it was,” I continue, “was an accusation. Brought against you by someone very close to me,” I watch closely as her cheeks flush bright red, “someone who I know would not lie to me.”
“Go on.”
“Scarlet, you know who this person is. And you know what I’m talking about. I know you do.”
She lifts her arms in innocence, her jaw gradually hanging open. “Cohen,” her breath escapes her in a laugh of disbelief, “I…”
So I was right. She is trying to deny it. That same, now-familiar rage creeps up, coursing through my veins once again. “Don’t call me by my first name.” My voice is lifted and deep. I sound like I mean business. I sound vicious. The words came out sounding harsher than I intended, but only a little.
I expect her to submit in some way or another, but she doesn’t. She recoups herself and crosses her arms, her long painted nails sticking out over her sleeves. “Mr. Thatcher, I’ve worked for you for a good amount of time now.”
I nod in agreement. “That’s right, you have. Over a year now, isn’t it?”
“And,” she goes on, brushing me off, “I wouldn’t lie to you. But it would be nice to know what I’m being accused of.”
I can certainly relate to that; although in my case, I was telling the truth. “In that case, I’ll get to the point.” I thumb to my left, not wanting to draw attention to Stella inside, but having no other choice. “Were you or were you not aware that there was inappropriate activity going on inside this office?”