Bargaining with the Bride(41)

There, she'd have a little more time to come up with an excuse. There, she could—

She stepped through the threshold of her door and stopped short.

Her normally pristine desk had one red folder sitting atop it. Even from this distance, she could spy the big, black letters printed across the front

"Confidential."

What girl could pass up a good mystery?

She closed the door behind her, and then sat in her chair, running her fingers over the cover of the folder before opening it.

This could be the break through she and Garret had been working toward. It could all be right here...

She flipped the cover open to find a thick packet of papers held together by a paper clip. The first page was plain enough, but just reading it made her stomach do a back flip.

She read the words over again, making sure it wasn't some bizarro misunderstanding.



CASE STUDY 22-BE7Z



Subjects: Garret Adams (Herby Subject #45G7-0) & Rachael Ford (Hereby Subject #78-BH72)



Logically, there was no reason to be surprised. This had been the deal, hadn't it? She'd filled out all the forms, knowing that they'd be processed and entered into the system.

Still, there was something about seeing their names, put together so coldly and scientifically. Like it was all just some experiment.

Which, in truth, it was.

She flipped past the first few pages. They were all the regular bullshit forms, filled with her own commentary and test results. In fact, it looked standard in nearly everyway.

Except for one thing—this packet had a "Section Two"

She flipped through the pages to find more details, but the more she read, the dryer her throat became. On every page was some new chart or statistic. On the last was a pie chart



"Sexual positions by preference"



There it was. Everything they'd done together in the past two weeks. All the numbers crunched and laid out in color-coded slivers.

He had done this himself? Or worse, had he given all this information to someone else to look over?

She checked for a name, but instead found a bunch of coding numbers. There was no way of telling who'd seen the thing and who hadn't.

Perfect.

What was next? Was he about to hook her to some monitors and measure her refractory period or something?

She took the file and slid it into her bottom drawer, then locked it for good measure. The last thing she needed was one of the secretaries to come in looking for a stapler and instead find some steamy bar graphs.

Between her parents' visit and what she'd just read, her dignity had already taken enough of a beating.

The only question was what to do now. She'd see him tonight. It was the rehearsal dinner, after all. She couldn't very well spend all night beside him, pretending she didn't feel hurt and violated.

Like every time he'd slept with her, he couldn't wait to roll over and record the results of their coupling.

Still, what did she have any right to say?

"I can't believe you did exactly what you told me you would do? I can't believe you went through with your end of the bargain?"

Sure, sex hadn't been part of it, but if he had access to that sort of data and it could help the company...

She wanted to bang her head against the wall until it cracked down the middle.

There was no right answer here. No way out.

Maybe the best thing to do would be to leave, wait until he got home, and pretend she'd never seen the file to begin with. They didn't need to worry about all this right now; not with the wedding tomorrow.

Yes, that was the right thing to do.

She would just go home and by Sunday, her biggest concerns would be dealt with.

She took a deep breath and strode past the rows of cubicles on her way back to the elevator. Luckily, most everyone was still in a mid-morning meeting, so nobody was around to spot her.

Yep, the place was totally silent save for the giggling of the secretaries in the break room.

As she walked past, though, she caught a snatch of conversation and froze in her tracks.

"I always suspected with their late nights and their early mornings that something was happening, but it has never been so clear before." One of the girls was whispering.

"Stop it, Millie. Garret isn't Brooks. He'd never sleep with an employee without it actually meaning something."

"Yeah, maybe that explains it. She's hardly here for a year and she's promoted three times? The only people I know who work the ladder that quickly are usually working something else."

She should leave. It couldn’t possibly help to listen to the rest of this petty gossip. And that's exactly what it was. Petty gossip. It didn't mean anything at all.

So why couldn't she move?

"Some women are just like that. They cheat and steal and use their bodies to get what they want. It's a shame for all of us—it makes us all look like sluts." The voice which apparently belonged to Millie tsked.