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“Of course. ”
“Do you have any questions?”
I’m sure I do, but until I look at the information she’s sent me, I won’t have a clue what to ask or where to start. So I settle for a simple “Not at this time. ”
She must be a mind reader, though—or she understands just how out of my depth I am—because she says, “You will. When you do, start with Rick for answers. If he isn’t helpful, feel free to come to me. ”
“I will. ”
“Good. ” She nods toward the door, her face nowhere near as welcoming as it was when I arrived here yesterday. “I suggest you get started. ”
“I will. ” Gathering up my tablet and purse, I head for the door as fast as my injured hip will let me.
Right before I get there, Maryanne calls, “And Ms. Girard?”
I turn back to face her. “Yes?”
“This is a big deal. The lawyers you’ll be researching for are extremely demanding. Don’t mess up. ”
“I won’t,” I promise her.
She doesn’t say anything, just stares at me until I turn and leave. It’s more than a bit daunting.
As is the fact that I am now one of the key researchers for the Trifecta merger. Though I know the important stuff is done by the lawyers and the engineers and the VPs—not to mention Ethan himself—I’m still pretty sure the task I have in front of me is Herculean, especially for a first-week intern who barely knows which research databases to use.
I should be terrified, and a part of me is, but I’m not going to show it. Not to Maryanne, not to Rick, whose intense reaction in the conference room suddenly makes sense, not to any of the other interns who are staring at me like I’ve turned rabid—or traitor. I can do this. I have to do this. Because as I walk into the small area of cubbies assigned to the interns, I realize just how much things have changed in the course of one morning. Not only because of my new assignment but because yesterday Maryanne—like everyone else—addressed me as Chloe. Today I’m suddenly Ms. Girard.
With Jose it was a sign of politeness, of deference. Something tells me that with my new boss, it’s the exact opposite.
Chapter Five
I can’t do this. I just can’t. I’m in the women’s bathroom on the second floor of Building Three and I’m using every ounce of willpower I have to not cry. It’s stupid, I know. After all, I’ve been through much worse than this before. I’ve had people say nastier things to me, do nastier things to me.
But that was a long time ago, when I was expecting it. Hardened to it. Here, in this job that I was so excited about, at this place where I so desperately wanted to work and learn and contribute, it’s a million times worse than it ever was when I was younger.
To say the day has not gone well would be an understatement. Rick is a total asshole, a sanctimonious bully of the worst kind. He’s been the ringleader of the crusade against me—big surprise—and he’s done everything he can to make my day as miserable as possible. It all started when he stopped by my desk to “talk” about the Trifecta merger and “accidentally” spilled his hot coffee all over me. Since then, he’s bumped into me three different times, the last of which sent me slamming into a wall, injured hip first. I barely kept the tears out of my eyes then, but painful or not, I’ll be damned if I give that bastard the satisfaction of knowing he’s rattled me.
Of course, he is very much king of the intern castle, the one who sets the tone for the whole group and the one whose behavior they take their cues from, since he’s been here longest. Which means I’ve spent the day dodging everything from passive-aggressive comments to out-and-out confrontations. One of the women, I think her name is Beth, actually stuck her foot out and tripped me. Of course, she played it just the way Rick did, like it was all an accident and I was the clumsy one, but I’m not overly clumsy and I know her foot hadn’t been in my path until she very deliberately stuck it there.
I almost came out swinging from that one—I’ve learned that being passive is the worst thing I can do in situations like this—but when I looked up and found Chrissy laughing at me along with the rest of them, my mind went blank. No sarcastic comeback, no witty joke at my tormentors’ expense. All I could do was pick up the binder I’d dropped and all the papers that had scattered in the fall and go back to my desk.
Which is where I was, putting the papers back into some semblance of order, when Rick sidled up like the snake he is. This time instead of messing with me physically, he made some comment about me and my wide-open legs, and all I could think about was plowing my fist into his face. Or my knee into his dick.
But that isn’t done—at least not in an office building where all seven of my co-workers would swear that I’m the one at fault. That I started the fight.
So I walked it off instead, and here I am now, cowering in the bathroom, impotent tears burning in my eyes. But I won’t let them fall. Not now, not ever again. Besides, it’s not that I can’t take their insults and their bullshit; I can. But I want to fight back—I need to fight back. After I escaped my parents and that school, not to mention the untenable situation with Brandon, I swore to myself that I would never be a victim again. That I would fight my own battles and to hell with what the rest of the world said.
It’s worked during the three years I’ve spent at UCSD so far, but to be honest, I haven’t exactly had a lot of opposition. Nothing like what I went through before. And nothing like what I’m experiencing today.
So why didn’t I fight back? Why didn’t I tell Rick exactly what I would do to his balls if he insinuated one more time that I slept my way to the spot he’s spent two years working toward? Why didn’t I tell that bitch off for tripping me? Why didn’t I do anything?
Because this isn’t a schoolyard. This is a workplace and I can’t exactly plow my fist into someone’s face and call it self-defense. Especially if I’m the one striking first.
Bending over the sink, I splash some cold water on my too-red cheeks. Let it cool the red down, and cool my humiliation right along with i
t. Because while I’m angry and annoyed and, yes, even hurt by how quickly and easily my fellow interns turned on me, it’s not really them I’m angry at. After all, they’re just acting like the hyenas they are, circling and waiting to pounce until my strength gives out.
No, I’m angry at Ethan for putting me in this position. For sending me that stupidly inappropriate blender. For following me into the stairwell and making me freak out. For insisting I put ice on my damn hip. And for handing me this plum assignment that’s really more of a nightmare, for no other reason than because he wants to take me out.
