Hard Rules

He pays for our drinks and the minute he faces me, I say, “I can’t do this.”

His hands come down on my arms, warm and strong, right and wrong at the same time. “What are you talking about, Emily?”

“You all but called me a whore, Shane. You were an asshole. You are an asshole and I don’t accept your apology.” I shove at his arms but he holds on to me the way I want him to, when he cannot. “Let go, Shane,” I hiss.

He studies me, his expression unreadable, hard. “What are you doing?”

“I’m going home to change and do not follow me. Don’t be such an asshole that I have to quit a job I need. Don’t do that to me after what you did to me in your office.”

“Emily—”

“You touched me like it was your right in that office, Shane. Touched me. We’re done.” I turn and rush for the exit when all I want to do is turn back around. Darting past a couple holding open the door, I cut right, instead of left toward my apartment and immediately cut into an alcove in front of a closed office, sinking into the dark corner, and waiting. And waiting, but he doesn’t come, a reality that delivers both relief and regret. Sinking into a squat, I press my face to my hands, hating what I just did.

By seven fifteen I’ve showered and left a message for every job I applied for, and two temp services, and needing some semblance of control, a façade of control at least, I make a list of their companies and phone numbers. A lesser salary somewhere other than Brandon Enterprises isn’t ideal, but a paycheck is what matters. By seven thirty I’ve dressed in a navy skirt with a matching jacket, paired with a matching scoop-neck silk blouse. My hose are black. My heels are four inches high. My hair is flat ironed to a rich brown shine and makeup is done in pale pink hues. I reach for the bracelet my mother gave me, but set it down. It’s too me and that’s exactly what I can’t be right now. And when eight o’clock arrives and I walk into the fancy Brandon Enterprises offices, I look like that someone else I’m forced to embrace. Like I belong here, even though I’m pretty sure at least one Brandon male is ready to disagree.

I stuff my purse in my desk, after taking out today’s to-do list, and I poke my head into Brandon Senior’s office, finding him behind his desk, scowling at his computer. Delicately clearing my throat, I say, “Good morning.” His head pops up, his eyes narrowing on me, and I add, “Would you like coffee?”

“What I’d like is the contract Shane promised I’d have this morning.”

“I’ll call Jessica right now.”

“Don’t call. Walk over there and get it.”

I can almost feel the blood drain from my face. “Yes. On it.” I step away from the doorway, drawing a calming breath that isn’t calming at all. I knew I’d have to see him today. I just didn’t think it would be right now. I glance at the clock on the wall beside my desk. Eight ten. If I’m lucky he won’t be in yet and I can get Jessica to pass along the contract to me the instant it’s ready.

Spurred by that possibility, I hurry down the hallway, waving at the pretty, happy blond receptionist, barely remembering a time when I was like her. I steel myself for the potential of seeing Shane and round the corner. Jessica is behind her heavy mahogany desk, looking stunning in an emerald-green dress that contrasts with her striking light blond hair, while Shane’s door stands open. His lights are on but there is no stopping now.

Her eyes land on me. “Happy day two. That’s longer than some of Brandon Senior’s former secretaries made it.”

I stop in front of her desk. “I have thick skin and a history of working for assholes,” I assure her.

“And you’re visiting me early.”

“I offered Brandon Senior coffee and he commanded me to present myself here to pick up a contract he’s waiting on.”

“It’s right here.”

At the sound of Shane’s voice, my gaze lifts to find him standing to the right of Jessica in his office doorway, his suit a dark gray, his tie light blue, his expression impossible to read, and a folder in his hand. “Is it ready for me to take it to him?”

“Yes,” he says, and I am certain he will punish me for this morning with a power play, forcing me to walk to him, so I step around the desk. At the same time, Shane pushes off the doorjamb, and before I can prepare for the impact, he’s not only striding toward me, he’s radiating that dark energy I’d noted after his meeting with his brother. That’s where I rank now.

Too soon, and not soon enough, he’s in front of me, too close considering Jessica’s watching us. For several beats, we just stand there, him towering over me, big, broad, and intimidatingly in command in ways beyond who he is in this building.

He offers me the folder. “It’s all yours,” he says, his voice low, terse.

I reach for it and he doesn’t let it go, holding my stare as he adds, “And now we’re done here, Ms. Stevens.”

Ms. Stevens. I didn’t even know he knew my last name. The formality, along with the certainty that his statement has nothing to do with the contract and everything to do with him being done with me, cuts like glass, despite that being my necessary goal. I tell myself to politely say thank you, but I just can’t. I nod and he releases the folder, allowing me to turn and walk away. And somehow I manage to do just that: walk, calmly and professionally, even though the explosion of emotions inside me has me ready to launch myself forward and get to the bathroom before they get the best of me. ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">