AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I’m still furious with Becker, but this I’m staying out of.
‘You won’t take any of her time,’ Becker says, the hollows of his jaw pulsing steady and slow. He’s trying to keep his cool. I don’t know how long he can do that. Especially since Brent Wilson seems to get a sick thrill out of pushing Becker’s buttons where I’m concerned.
Brent goes to retaliate but gets no further than drawing breath before Becker steps into the library.
‘Gramps, see Wilson out, please.’ He shuts the door in Brent’s face with brute force, locking us in.
I’m so pissed off, for reasons that are unwarranted and so fucking childish. Brent’s brashness, Becker’s behaviour, his lies. I need to take deep breaths. Quickly. ‘I might have wanted to speak with him.’ I simply cannot help myself.
Becker swings around, his face awash with disbelief. ‘You had him drop you off at a fake address. And anyway, private client and employee relations are against the rules. Check your contract.’
I’m about to ask about employee and employer private relations, but the final piece of his little speech has just registered. ‘What contract?’
‘Your employee contract.’
‘There’s nothing about private relations in my employee contract,’ I splutter. He knows damn well.
‘The other contract. The separate NDA.’
‘What NDA?’ I ask, running over the paperwork in my mind that I signed on my first day at The Haven. There definitely wasn’t a separate NDA, only a section dedicated to non-disclosure in my employee contract, and, like I said, there was no mention of client and employee relations.
‘It’s a document that might do you and me some favours, princess. An addition to your standard terms of employment.’
‘Good,’ I yell. ‘Make sure you include something regarding sexual harassment while you’re at it.’
Becker’s mouth drops open, stunned by my outburst. Then his face screws up in contempt. He doesn’t know what to say to that. ‘Wait here,’ he barks, turning and swinging the door open, slamming it, and leaving me alone in the library with nothing to do except as I’m told. That thought alone makes me want to bash the door down, but as I take a long, calming breath, I remind myself I’m at work. I’m on Becker’s time. This isn’t personal.
I hesitate a moment, fighting for clarity. But it is personal. This all started because it got bloody personal, and now the areas between work and my private life are becoming grey. When is it okay to retaliate, and when is it inappropriate? My head falls into my hands. I can’t cope. There have been grey areas since day one.
On a long exhale of a tired breath, I turn, coming face to face with the bookshelf nearest the door. The one with the secret compartment. Secret compartments, secret garages, secret doors. Suddenly, my despair is drowned out by an odd sense of excitement, and a wicked thrill steamrolls through my bloodstream. I scoot down gingerly, flicking a cautious look over my shoulder before tilting my head to peek through the dark gap.
‘Don’t ever storm into my office again!’ The door slams and I fly up, swinging around. ‘I’m your fucking boss. You work for me.’
A million words hang off the tip of my tongue, many justified, but they remain exactly where they are, unprepared to back me up, and probably wisely too. I’ve way overstepped the mark, and although Becker is responsible for destroying boundaries too, I’m certain now wouldn’t be a good time to remind him so. He’s currently fighting his way out of his blazer, shouting while he’s at it. He’s fuming.
‘Where’s your fucking respect?’ His jacket gets lobbed on to the couch, then he begins yanking at his tie. ‘Barging into my fucking office. Shouting and fucking swearing.’ The fucks just keep coming and coming, and I accept them all, standing deathly still while he stomps around the library, getting himself into a worked-up, sweaty mess. ‘And in front of my grandad.’ His rant goes on for a good few minutes, Becker jabbering on, me pretending to listen, when what I’m actually doing is silently drawing my own conclusion: his tantrum has nothing to do with my behaviour in front of his lovely gramps, and everything to do with him struggling with grey areas, too. This side of him – the unsure, vulnerable side – is like a redeeming quality. It makes him more human. Shows he has feelings. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.
It’s bad. Definitely bad.
My eyes follow him marching around the library until he finally comes to a stop and yanks his phone from his pocket. He punches in some digits aggressively. ‘Vass,’ he barks.
I frown as he begins his dogged march around the library again. Vass? Dr Vass? His therapist? He’s going to have a quick phone session while I’m here?
