I wafted a hand, which had her nodding. She twisted on her heel, headed to the door, but before she left, I murmured, “Lizzie?”
“Yes, Devlin?” she asked, peering at me from over her shoulder.
“We’ll get Robert justice. I promise.”
Her smile was gentle. “I believe you.”
Then she left, and the guilt and the irritation and the shame morphed into one big lump of anger that had me hurling the dish that sat quite inoffensively on the console table at the back of the couch across the room.
The ensuing crash was quite satisfying, but not enough to drain away the feeling of impotence.
This was my company, and this was my roof. That a predator stalked its halls and there wasn’t a fucking thing I could do about it, legally, pissed me the hell off.
The chipped remnants were as still as Robert had been when he’d been found at his desk here. I’d seen the pictures. Had known why he’d done it.
To make a stand, because nobody had listened to him.
He hadn’t taken Rhode’s attack to Lizzie, had gone to HR. They’d done fuck all—which was why Killian had spoken up today. He felt bad for the lack of action on his division’s part. As well as HR’s decision to refrain from mentioning any of this to me, so I’d had to find out by myself.
When Robert had been made to work with his rapist, when nothing had been done, he’d come to a decision of his own—had decided to take a stand.
Which was why, the same day as he’d heard back from HR, a few days after the police had told him he was too late to report the assault because his bloodwork showed no signs of his being drugged, he’d slashed his wrists, puddling his small cubicle with his lifeblood.
Mouth twisting with sorrow, I stared down at the destroyed plate and felt like doing the same with my phone when it buzzed in my pocket.
If it was one of my execs, I probably would have hurled it across the room too. Instead, it was Micah.
Micah: Are we still on for tonight?
That he wasn’t the one canceling came as a surprise. Last night had been a farce, on top of two other farces.
Apparently, I wasn’t good at dating.
Because my mood was so sour, I was tempted to cancel. When I was on my best behavior, I was terrible company. So in this frame of mind, I wouldn’t exactly be considered fun.
Yet... the prospect of going back to my empty apartment, of eating by myself, of drinking in my living room alone, of heading to a vacant bed, none of that sat well with me either.
Me: We’re still on.
I scraped a hand over my jaw as I wondered whether I should warn him. I didn’t want him to think he was to blame for my shit mood, a thought which had me shaking my head. What this young guy did to me, making me worry about stupid shit like that was almost enough to piss me off.
I didn’t like being reminded that I was human. I sat here in my lofty tower, drifting from this one to my home one, and in between, attending parties and events and galas with other people in their own glass houses. Untouchable. By choice.
This situation with Robert had first proved to me that I wasn’t a robot. Especially when I bitched about my board’s lack of empathy, which was the exact reason I’d hired them.
I’d known Lizzie was important to me—she helped run my life, after all. But I hadn’t realized how much I could feel her pain. Twelve years of loyal service and I’d never considered her a friend.
Until now.
And I’d never been so fucking scared of failing a friend, not just because I knew a lack of resolution with Rhode would prompt her to resign, but because I didn’t want to fail in this. I couldn’t fail.
Then there was Micah. Further reminding me I was human. With peculiar wants and needs. It was bloody irritating.
So, because of that, I added:
Me: I’ve had a shit day at work.
Micah: Maybe I can cheer you up?
I doubted it.
His text had me pulling a face.
I knew myself too well to think that he could.
Me: That you want to try is enough.
There, that wasn’t offensive, was it?
Micah: Challenge accepted. Maybe we can get you to relax tonight.
I crinkled my nose at his astuteness.
Me: If wine and brandy don’t do it, I’m not sure what will.
Micah: How about a ‘welcome home’ fuck?
My eyes drifted to half-mast as I read his message, while my dick drifted to full.
I’d been good the last couple days. Tried not to treat him like a piece of meat, even though I wanted nothing more than to be inside him every fucking minute I was with him.
See? Peculiar. Fucking peculiar.
I wanted to be in him, on him, under him.
All the goddamn time.
It was discomforting to be so horny when one was approaching forty. I felt like a teenager again, and combine that with these adolescent feelings of having a crush on a man who was sixteen years my junior, was it any wonder my world was so turbulent right now?
Me: If that’s on the cards, I won’t say no.
It wasn’t what I wanted to say, but it’d do.
Micah: I’ll look forward to cheering you up then.
Me: Me too.
I grunted, because I wanted to say more. So much fucking more. But at the risk of looking like a fool, I refrained.
Me: I’ll see you later. Gian will pick you up at eight.
Micah: Great. See you soon.
I was still pissed off—he wasn’t a miracle worker. My heart definitely felt lighter though. Which should probably have terrified me, and to a certain extent it did, but I’d take what I could get after that fucker of a meeting. Better a lighter heart than a perforated ulcer.
Fourteen
Micah
The day had been a long one.
Cassandra had dumped more work than usual on my desk, and even though I could have complained, it wasn’t like she was seated behind her computer, filing her nails. She was frantic, working as hard as me if not more on Rhode’s workload. Plus, she had to deal with the bitch herself.
I was near enough to Cassandra’s desk to have heard Rhode’s cutting remarks on a report she’d completed last night, and I’d seen the EA struggle to hide her pinched cheeks and wet eyes before she fled for the ladies’ restroom.
The Marketing team was forty-strong, but it wasn’t enough to deal with the outpouring of work that came out of Rhode’s office. I wasn’t sure whether to be impressed at the powerhouse that was the VP or overwhelmed.
She’d been behind the ‘A Book A Day’ campaign, which, since 2015, had set Astley Publishing on a trend that saw nearly every single one of their new releases hitting a bestseller list. Because of that, we’d done so many case studies on her in college that it was an honor to work under her.
But emulating her? Becoming like her in the future? That wasn’t something I wanted.
Her success was another matter, but if success came at the cost of making everyone under her miserable, I wasn’t sure if it was worth it.
Maybe work was always miserable, and maybe I hadn’t been in a workplace environment for long enough, but I couldn’t believe that. It’d be too depressing for words.
This place was supposed to be a creative hive, where people came together and brainstormed ideas, crafted concepts that would take a product to the next level.