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I even believe myself.
51
OLIVIA
I rock myself on the bathroom floor for a long time. It helps—well, a little bit—but the attempt at self-soothing only goes so far. What actually gets me moving again is one thought: Reese doesn’t know.
As long as Reese doesn’t know, this won’t matter. I won’t have to defend myself against lies, because he won’t even be aware they’re circulating out there. I’m his secret from the world, right?
So maybe this can be my secret from him.
When I think that I can stand without passing out, I haul myself back upright on shaky Bambi legs and leave the bathroom. I delete all the notifications on my phone and put it on Do Not Disturb, so I can avoid further onslaught until I’m ready. Then I do what any sensible adult does in a situation like this.
I make myself some comfort food.
In my case, that’s a peanut butter and honey sandwich, with marshmallows layered in between. It is a monstrously sugar concoction and, for a woman in her thirties, a touch childish. But right now, there’s no one here to judge me for my choices.
It’s as I’m chowing down, trying to regain the last vestiges of calm, that the door flies open. The loud crack of the handle against the wall startles me. Half of my sandwich in my hand goes tumbling to the plate.
I jump up, adrenaline coursing, preparing me to fight off an attacker, or a bear, or a horde of enraged, frothing-at-the-mouth mommy bloggers ready to roast me over an open fire.
It’s only Paula.
However, she doesn’t appear as put together as she usually is. She seems stressed, with a hint of frustration lining her eyes. I try to straighten out, so that I don’t look like a manic mess, even though that’s exactly what I am.
“P-Paula. Hi.” It sounds as awkward as it feels.
“Olivia.” She gives me an up-and-down look, judgment scrawled all over her face. “Can I speak to you in the living room, please?”
Well, that doesn’t sound ominous in the slightest.
I nod, gulp, and follow as she walks into the living room. She has such an oppressively stiff gait, ramrod straight from tailbone to the tip of her head. Like a gargoyle in a pantsuit. It doesn’t exactly put me at ease.
In the living room, she levels me with a glare. It feels like she’s staring straight through into my soul. I have the reflex to cover myself up with a throw pillow, as if that will shield me from her. Instead, I stand as straight as she does, hoping against hope that she doesn’t see the truth written across my face.
“As I’m sure you’re aware, I vet every piece of correspondence between Mr. Dalton and outside parties,” she begins. Her icy formality sends a cold shock down my back. “Obviously, he has neither the time nor the attention to go through them all.”
“Uh, yeah, okay,” I stammer awkwardly. “That makes sense.”
“Today, I received a concerning email. Can you explain the nature of your previous employment? Why did you leave? It was my understanding that you were employed for quite some time. So to have such an abrupt departure…”
The ice runs through my blood before Paula even finishes her sentence.
She knows.
My mouth moves, lips open and closed like a fish out of water. I try to force composure into myself, but it doesn’t work.
Paula raises a brow, irritation clear. “Perhaps I should be more direct. Ms. Carter, was there inappropriate contact between yourself and your previous employer, the Harrison family?”
I swallow. “Jess sent Reese an email?”
“That isn’t an answer to my question.”
I throw my hands up in exasperation. “Yes, there was inappropriate contact, but not in the way she’s saying! He came on to me?—”
“And I’m sure that made it all much better.” Paula gives me a disgusted look. Her eyes rove me up and down, dissecting me like a splayed-open lab rat. “She was very detailed. I can’t imagine someone making up so many details if there’s no reason behind them.”
“You don’t understand?—”
