“Sure, go on in,” she replies, waving me in. I knock softly as I open the door. He beckons me inside and indicates I should take a seat across from his desk.
“Brynn, thanks for coming in,” he says, standing and walking around his desk as he takes his reading glasses off and places them on his desktop calendar. I look at him curiously as he sits on the edge of his desk in front of me. “I know that I'm just your stepfather, but I hope that you know that you can always come to me with any…difficulties.”
“Um, sure. Yes, thanks,” I stumble, surprised by the direction of the conversation.
He stands and begins to pace behind my chair. “You're a very beautiful young woman, and I hope that you can see me as a sort of protector.” I feel him come up and stand behind the chair. I start as he brushes my hair to the side and I feel his fingers graze against my skin just above the fabric of my dress. “I couldn't help but notice this,” he says.
“What?” I ask, frowning.
“This bruise,” he explains, still holding my hair to the side.
“Oh.” My mind races. Shit. I bet I got it last night when Nate had me up against that bed post, and of course it's not in the sort of position where I'd see it. “Um, it's nothing. It's probably old, maybe from when I fell on that hike.”
“I doubt it. I mean, how far does it extend…” I'm horrified to feel him unzip the top of my dress, all the way down to my bra strap. He spreads his fingers across my back and a sickening feeling spreads through my body with them. “Brynn, you have such a beautiful body. You shouldn't be with someone who treats you with less respect than you deserve.” His fingertips just touch the top of my bra strap.
“Pierce!” I exclaim, and jump up. “I really don't think this is appropriate,” I admonish him with as much confidence as I can muster, while reaching behind myself to pull my zipper up.
“Brynn, I'm just trying to look out for you. You clearly need a father figure in your life.”
“I'm just fine, thank you very much,” I reply shortly, glaring at him as I manage to zip my dress. I march to the door, taking a deep breath to compose myself as I walk through the door. I walk right past my desk and into the bathroom, quickly locking myself inside a stall. I lower the toilet seat and sit down, pressing my hands onto my burning cheeks. I know Pierce's words were saying one thing, but his actions, his touch, were saying quite another. It just felt wrong.
By the time I sit back down at my desk, I'm already second-guessing myself. Maybe I misread his behavior; maybe he was just trying to look out for me, but he's never had a daughter, so he didn't realize he was making me uncomfortable.
“You OK?” Constance asks over her shoulder.
“I'm fine,” I reply, pushing my uneaten cupcake away. I'm not hungry anymore.
I manage to make it through the rest of the work day, though I know that I'll just have to see Pierce at home for dinner. As I drive home, I wonder if I should say I'm sick or something so I'll be able to just be by myself in my room. But as I walk in through the garage, my mom calls me into the kitchen. I carefully spread my hair over my neck to hide the bruises, then walk in.
“Oh, Brynn, honey, I'm so glad you're home. Come look,” she gushes, pulling me into the dining room. I see that she's set it with fine china and crystal, and a massive vase of white lilies sits in the center. “I thought I'd do something a little special tonight to celebrate. What do you think?”
“Looks great, Mom,” I reply half-heartedly. If she notices my downtrodden mood, she doesn't mention it, she just sweeps me back into the kitchen to show me the extravagant meal she's spent the day preparing.
When Pierce comes home about half an hour later, he quickly enters his study, calling to us that he has to make a quick call. My mom asks me to carry the roasted duck out on a silver tray, and I acquiesce, knowing I'd feel too guilty to fake sick when she's spent so much time on the food. When I walk back into the kitchen, Pierce is murmuring into my mom's ear as she blushes, so I quickly back out again.
I hear Nate enter through the front door, and he walks into the dining room just as I'm leaning on the back of my chair.
“Hey,” he says with a smile. “I was thinking about you—” he breaks off as my mom and Pierce walk in. Pierce brandishes a bottle of champagne and walks around filling up our crystal flutes. I step back to give him a wide berth, and then we all sit down as he finishes filling up his own glass.
“Cheers,” he says. I avoid his eye contact as we all clink our glasses. Nate frowns at me slightly and I know he can tell there's something up. Oh god, I can't even think about talking to him later tonight. He can always tell when I'm lying, so I don't know what I'm going to say.