The idea weakens my knees, and I slide down the wall. In a last-ditch effort, I peer into the fridge again, but no food has materialized there.
I should have eaten lunch. It’s been showing up on my desk anonymously. I can’t be sure, but there is only one person observant enough to notice I haven’t had time to eat.
Only one person is so full of contradictions that my head spins. Threatening me one minute and caring about my needs the next.
And I hate how my chest tightens at the thought. Not trusting it, but missing it anyway.
I never had someone noticing my needs. Let alone catering to them. I don’t know what to do with that. It scares me.
It makes me trust him less. He must have an ulterior motive. Only I haven’t found out what it is yet.
I can’t be sure it’s him, but somehow, I know. After our last showdown in the elevator two days ago, I started throwing out his stupid nutritious gestures. Today, I thoroughly regret being so impulsive.
He hasn’t even shown up at work since then. That’s how much he believes he is untouchable. That’s how sure he is that the partnership is his.
The worst part, I believe that too. I believe he will get it because he is a man. And unfortunately, he’s more experienced, and clearly a better candidate.
The thought depresses me.
A warm tear rolls down my cheek. I collapse to the floor, the blue fridge-light a bleak witness to my spurt of self-doubt.
I’ll rest here for a moment, and then I’ll move to the bed. I can eat something in the morning.
You’re allowed to have fun, Roxy. You can let loose.
Liam’s words break the dam, and I let loose. Not in the way he suggested, but the tears take over.
“You see, Liam fucking Stone, I can let loose.”
In the privacy of my home, I can let the tears fall. I know from experience that he was wrong.
If I lose control, there will always be someone ready to exploit that. My father, my brothers, or any other man out there.
I haven’t cried like this in years. Not since I learned tears were a currency men love to spend. I don’t even know why I’m crying.
Exhaustion. Hunger. Frustration.
Or the foreboding feeling that I’m about to lose everything.
That Liam Stone will take it all away from me. Fuck, I wish I weren’t attracted to the devil.
Sweat trickles down my spine as I run down the street. The morning air in Manhattan is thick and sour, clingy as the humidity wraps around me.
Getting an Uber was a nightmare this morning. And once I was inside one, the situation didn’t improve. The traffic has been impossible.
I can’t imagine tackling a seven o’clock commute every morning. There is certainly an advantage in waking up at five in the morning and getting to work before seven.
Somehow, I fell asleep crying on the floor. When I woke up stiff and trembling, I climbed into my bed, seeking a few moments of warmth and comfort.
I slept in.
I fucking slept in for the first time since I started at Merged.
I got out of the car because it was crawling a few blocks away from the office. Now I’m trying to avoid people as I push through the river of bodies down 5th Avenue.
At least I put on linen pants and sneakers this morning. Though the corset I’m wearing with thefucking leather jacket is as suitable for my unplanned race as heels would have been.
By the time I reach the Merged building, I’m drenched in sweat, breathless, and more of a hot mess than a professional struggling to be taken seriously.
