An hour later, he was in a small room at the Ashmore office of McGregor Construction, sitting opposite Ms. Pascale from HR. She explained the complaint Sam had made against him and their process, then began with the questions.
“I understand you and he exchanged heated words prior to you leaving with Mr. Sheridan,” Ms. Pascale asked, looking at her notes.
“Yes. He said some disrespectful things about Mr. Sheridan, then included me in them.”
“What exactly did he say?”
Andrew repeated Sam’s words as best as he remembered them, then had to explain why he’d been having semi-regular meetings with the architect.
“Mr. Sheridan had found out I was training to be an architect before giving it up. He was coming to the site to talk to me and sort of coax me back to it. The crew had seen me going into the office with him several times. Sam decided because Mr. Sheridan is gay, that I was . . . doing things with him in there.”
Pascale’s eyebrows shot up. “He actually said that to you?”
Andrew nodded.
She pursed her lips, then asked, “Can you tell me specifically what he said?”
“Sure. Um, that I was sucking Mr. Sheridan off. He then said something about how he didn’t want to work with me because I’d be perving at his, ah, bum.” Andrew took a sip from the water she’d provided him, his throat dry as he relived that day.
“Are you certain of that?” Pascale asked gravely.
“Yes.”
“Sam said that you called him a bigot.”
“Yeah I did. Because he is one.” He couldn’t tell how that went over but Andrew wasn’t about to downplay it.
They went over the incident a couple more times, then she asked about Vaughn and his visits.
“As I said before, he remembered me from when I used to work for him and he liked that I had practical experience with construction. He wanted to see how that affected my process as an architect. We did it during lunch break or after hours.”
“We had reports that you would leave early with Mr. Sheridan,” Pascale said.
“Maybe ten, fifteen minutes once a week, but the rest of the crew said they didn’t mind. I always made up the time.”
“On the day of the incident, you left the build site to have lunch with Mr. Sheridan,” Pascale noted. “And when you returned, you went home sick. Was that because of the incident with Sam?”
Vaughn didn’t work for McGregor but he did contract them often. Andrew had no personal desire to spread word of what Vaughn had said to him, but what if he tried it on someone else in the future? What if he’d already done it to another person?
“Andrew?” Pascale asked gently. “Are you okay?”
He nodded, sipped more water, and spoke. “When we started our talks, Vaughn Sheridan told me he had a position in his firm for a graduate architect opening up in a couple of months. That day, when he found out I was . . . queer, he told me the position was mine, if I showed him how much I wanted it. He said he’d make it beneficial for both of us. His, ah, hand was on my knee the entire time.”
Pascale sat back in surprise.
“I didn’t want another run in with Sam, but Sheridan saying that to me was the main reason I wanted to leave.”
“That’s workplace sexual harassment. Sheridan often works closely with McGregor and we will need to follow up on this. Since it is a separate issue from the one we’re discussing today, I’ll have to schedule another meeting with you.”
Feeling sick at the thought of being questioned more closely about his sexuality, Andrew just nodded.
After she’d left, Andrew wasn’t sure if he should feel optimistic about the meeting or not. When he got outside, he found Terri leaning against the wall, phone in her hands.
“Drew!” She gave him a tight hug. “It feels like forever since I’ve seen you. Does this mean you’re coming back to work with us now?”
“Not yet. I had my meeting with HR today. I guess it will probably take them another month to decide ‘what really happened.’”
Terri scowled. “HR are always useless.”
Not really wanting to talk about it, Andrew instead asked, “Why are you here? Don’t tell me you’ve got to talk to them as well?”
“I had my interrogation last week. We finished the Palm Beach build today and I’m just dropping off some stuff. Do you want to come over for dinner tonight? The demons possessing my kids miss you.”
He smiled. “I’d love to but I have a friend staying with me at the moment.”
“Hey, bring them—oh shit. Maybe they thought you’d be gone by now.” She was looking over his shoulder.
Andrew turned and saw Sam walking up to the office door. Sam saw him at the same moment and his blank face turned vicious in an instant.
“You fucking bastard,” Sam snarled. “If I lose my job I’m coming after you.”
Terri grabbed Andrew’s arm and steered him away. “Come on. Before he does something stupid.”
Andrew agreed and went with her. She was offering him a lift home when his phone dinged. On the screen was a reply to the email he’d just sent.
‘Dear Mr. Fitzroy,
Thank you for your email enquiring about a graduate architect position with us. I was incredibly happy to read it as I recalled seeing your application a couple of years ago and would very much—’
The preview cut off and Andrew was about to unlock his phone to read it, not daring to hope it continued on so positively, when he heard running footsteps coming up behind him. He was about to turn when something hit the back of his skull.
Sharp, sudden pain rocketed through his head and Andrew dropped into darkness.
Brian rushed into the A&E, his face recognisable enough no one stopped him. Sean was on his heels, having insisted on accompanying him, claiming Brian was too distraught to get himself there.
“Kimberly,” Brian called, seeing the first familiar face. “Andrew Fitzroy was brought in. Where is he?”
“Bed twelve. Do you . . .” she trailed off because he was already gone, sprinting towards the far end of the department, dodging staff and patients and trolleys of equipment.
About to throw himself into bay twelve, something solid wrapped around his waist and physically hauled him off the ground and swung him around.
“You can’t go in there,” Michael said calmly.
Brian struggled. “I have to see him. Please.”
His heart was hammering wildly and tears blurred his vision. There was so much noise in his head he barely heard Michael. All he could hear was the descriptions of every trauma case he’d been a part of in this very department. Severed arteries, spinal injuries, internal bleeding, crushed limbs. So many possibilities crowding his thoughts and all of them killing him each time he imagined it was Andrew.
“You’re not going to do him any good.” Michael’s accent was thick as he wrestled Brian backwards. “He’s being looked after by the best, you know that. You’ll only get in the way. Come on. Sean, little help.”
More hands grabbed Brian and pulled him away from Andrew. He fought but they were too strong, or he was too scared to really try to get free and see his worst thoughts made real. Either way, he ended up in a treatment room across the way and forced into a chair. Michael crouched in front of him.