She sounds like she knows Asher well, too. Wait. Don’t tell me the baby is Asher’s?
“But he actually weighs everything carefully. He may seem lazy, but he takes work very seriously. And yes, he loves to flirt, but I think he’s actually maybe desperately searching for someone who can understand him and challenge him at the same time.”
I narrow my eyes at her. I know I said I’d keep my mouth shut, but I just can’t rein in my curiosity.
“I’m sorry, but are you and Asher…?”
Stella’s eyebrows go up. “What? No!”
She shakes her head.
“So you didn’t sleep with Asher?”
“Never.”
“So the baby isn’t…?”
“Not Asher’s,” Stella assures me. “Definitely not.”
And I believe her. Something in her eyes tells me she’s never even been interested in Asher, which is a first, I think, but understandable if she’s always been in love with someone else—like Ethan Hawthorne, for example. In fact, I’m even more convinced now that that’s the case.
“I’m sorry,” I tell her. “It’s just… I’ve heard things about Asher.”
Stella nods. “I know. That’s why I told you all that stuff just now. Some of the things you heard may have a grain of truth in them, but trust me, Asher isn’t a bad guy.”
But he is. After all, no decent man goes to a party with one woman, the one he asked and practically begged to go out with him, kisses her and then leaves with another, right?
But I don’t say that.
“Thanks,” I simply tell Stella.
She gives me another nod and then leaves. I sit on the couch, on the exquisitely soft microfiber couch that still smells new and faces the window, and I let out a deep breath.
So this is my new home, huh?
I wasn’t lying when I said I like it. I like Chicago, too. The only thing I don’t like about this new job? Asher. He’s a textbook jerk. Selfish. Conceited. Obnoxious. He thinks he’s God’s gift to women, while in truth, he’s a curse. He shouldn’t exist.
And yet, Stella, who I happen to like, seems to think he’s a good guy. She was practically selling him to me, trying to tell me to give him another chance. And the thing is she knows Asher. If she’s with Ethan, Asher must be like a brother to her. That may make her biased, but it also means she knows him well.
What about me? How well do I really know Asher?
I went to school with him, but we barely talked outside of our classes. I only had that one conversation with him before we started kissing and things fell apart. Ever since then, I’ve thought of him as a monster.
But is he one? I’m judging him based on one fact, one incident, one mistake which he already apologized for. Is that fair? What if I’m wrong about him? What if I’m being too harsh, too rash?
The more I think about it, the more I realize that I don’t actually hate him. I just hate what he did. Just that one thing. And I’m to blame for it, too.
Is there a chance that maybe, just maybe, I’ve been wrong all this time and Asher isn’t as bad as I think he is?
~
I’m right. Asher’s bad. The worst, actually.
During my first day at the office, Asher dumped a whole pile of work on me. And he keeps adding to it every day. I’ve barely been able to leave my desk. I’ve even had to work overtime. On my first week. And if I make so much as a single error, even if it’s a typo, or forget one little detail, he’s on my case, turning it into a big deal. If I try to say anything in my defense, he glares and tells me that if I can’t do my job, I should just quit.
There’s no way I’m going to quit, but I don’t like this. Not one bit. I’m definitely being punished. And I know it’s for personal reasons.
Is it because I threatened to take his job? Or is it because I said I’d never forgive him? Whatever the reason, I think he’s being unfair. And he’s even worse during meetings.
At the first one, he tried everything he could to make me feel like I didn’t belong. Not in that meeting. Not in his department. Not in the company. He made it clear he didn’t like me, so now, no one on the floor does. He didn’t give me a chance to speak. Each time I started talking, he’d interrupt or move on. And he deliberately talked a lot about things they did in the past that I clearly wasn’t a part of and have no knowledge of. It was as if I wasn’t there.
I thought the second meeting would be better because he gave me a chance to report, but then afterwards, he started criticizing me, pointing out every mistake I made and telling me I could have done everything better because he could have done it all better. In front of everyone. Even when I was in school, I was never criticized in front of the whole class. It made me want to cry.
And just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, today, at the meeting just now, Asher stole my ideas, all my hard work, all the plans I drew up, the charts, the tables, and passed them off as his. I was so shocked and disappointed I couldn’t say anything even if I’d wanted to.
But I can speak now. Enough is enough.
“Mr. Hawthorne?” I get up from my chair as Asher starts to leave the conference room. “A moment, please?”
He keeps going. “I’m busy.”
Oh no. He’s not running away.
“Asher!” I slam my hands on the table.
That gets his attention. He stops and turns towards me.
“What?”
“This has to stop,” I tell him in a calmer tone.
His dark eyes narrow. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do. Ever since I started working here, you’ve been dumping work on me. Not just my work but yours. And you’ve seized every chance to make fun of me, humiliate me and make me feel like I don’t belong here.”
“How you feel is completely under your control, not mine. So if you feel like you don’t belong here, maybe it’s because that’s what you believe.”
“Bullshit. You’ve been treating me like an outsider, like an amateur, like crap, like—”
“A bug that needs to be squished?” he finishes the sentence. “Or is that too harsh?”
I frown. I knew it. This is personal.
“I’m going to report you to HR,” I tell him.
Asher doesn’t look the least bit perturbed.
“Say hi to Gina for me, will you? She’s the woman in her fifties with the red hair, eyeglasses with cords and the crazy earrings. Looks like your stereotypical librarian. But don’t get fooled. She’s very good with computers. And very sweet.”
My eyebrows furrow. Why is he telling me this?
“Oh, and while you’re there, why don’t you hand in your resignation?”
“What?”
“You’re clearly stressed, overwhelmed even, by your job. Like I said, if you can’t handle it, you can just quit. I think you should.”
I glare at him. “It’s not my job that stresses or overwhelms me, and you know it. You’re the one who’s making everything difficult for me.”
He grins. “I’m the boss. It’s my job to make things difficult for everyone.”
“I don’t see you yelling at anyone else about how to do their jobs.”