Just One Night, Part 3_ Binding Agreement(39)

This time I’m strong enough to live with the insult.





CHAPTER 14





THE NEXT MORNING I’m prepared. I know Mr. Costin won’t make a big formal announcement that I’m leaving, not yet, but these things spread quickly. After all, this isn’t just gossip. It’s the tale of the downfall of a feared rival. Doesn’t matter that I chose to quit, the story will be spun as stories always are. Drama will be added; the ending will be rewritten to deliver more satisfaction. She was pushed out, she couldn’t cut it; Mr. Dade tired of her, threw her to the wolves. Maybe they’ll even say I cheated on Robert with Mr. Costin. They might say that when I went into his office, I had not been speaking but had been on his lap, spread out on his desk, my legs open, inviting. Maybe they’d have me on my knees. She thought she could just keep sleeping her way up the ladder but this time she betrayed the wrong man.

I smile to myself as I tie my hair back up in a twist. The story has a certain circular narrative that works well. I look in the mirror. I’m not wearing any makeup. It’s the way Robert likes me, but he also likes it when I wear my hair down. Dave was the opposite. He wanted my hair neat and tidy but he appreciated the effects of a little bronzer.

But to wear my hair up, with no makeup . . . it’s like I have no mask and no shield. This is just me on my own terms. I’m vulnerable but I want to be strong enough to admit that. I want to be touched by the consequences of my actions. I want to reinvent myself once again, this time using only my own definition as a guide.

I want to, but it scares the hell out of me. I never really did manage to make fear my lover; the best I can do is face it.

I walk into the firm, prepared for the fallout, the derision, the whispers that won’t be so soft anymore. But the atmosphere remains the same. Everyone is deferential. The whispers remain behind closed doors, too quiet to hear.

When I get to my office, Barbara looks tense. “He’s here,” she says.

I don’t have to ask who he is. I glance at my closed door. “In there? Waiting for me?”

She nods, blinks, straightens her posture. “Would you like me to bring you anything? Coffee?”

“Did you bring him coffee?”

“I brought him espresso.”

I can’t help but smile. Yes, people will always worship the moon. I decline the offer of coffee or anything else and suggest that she take a little break. Fifteen minutes . . . maybe a half hour; take your time. She gets the message and takes off while I stare at my closed door.

It’s my office. I shouldn’t be nervous about walking in no matter who’s in there.

But it won’t be my office for long and this isn’t just somebody. It’s Him. I felt so strong when I woke up this morning. I felt strong last night when I refused to seek punishment for the bartender. I felt strong when I handed in my notice.

But I so rarely feel strong in the face of Robert’s opposition. It’s so hard to say no to him, to resist our connection.

“It’s only the moon,” I whisper to myself. I lay my hand on the doorknob, take a deep breath, and step inside.

He’s sitting in front of my desk, facing it, staring out the wall of glass. He doesn’t turn as I walk in but I know he feels me, senses me. . . .

I close the door behind me.

“You quit.”

Carefully I step forward until I’m only a foot behind him. Still he doesn’t turn.

“I handed in my notice.”

“Let’s dispense with the euphemisms. You’ve never used them gracefully. You gave up, on the job, on us, on absolutely everything that could ever matter.”

I laugh at that. I can’t help it. I switch positions again, stand in front of him, lean back on the front of my desk. “There are a lot of things that matter in this world, Robert.”

“You should sit,” he says, his eyes still on the window, “in your chair.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s your chair!” He doesn’t yell but there’s ferocity to his voice that makes me jump. He jerks his eyes from the window and stares directly into mine. “This is your office. This is where you belong until you belong somewhere else, on an even higher floor, with a new throne and a wider empire! You belong here and you belong with me!”

I don’t answer; I can’t find my voice.

He stands up, slowly; there is less than four inches of space between us now. He takes my face in his hands, lifts it up to his gaze. “You belong with me,” he says, his anger suddenly gone, replaced with what seems like exhaustion.

“I thought so, too,” I say quietly, “until you showed me your world.”