Page 105 of Not Safe for Work

I fell in love with Rafe, but there are too many strings here. It hurts too much to look this in the eye, so I’m practicing avoidance as I rebuild my shield and work on falling back out. When we returned to the suite, we said very little, lying next to each other until we drifted into sleep.

It’s only 9 a.m. Tonight, the ceremony to announce the winners of the training program will take place. Five lives will change—at least five—because I already know I’ll never be the same again.

“I’m going to go for a workout before lunch,” I say. “Do you want to come?” I want him to say no. It’ll be easier to start snipping the threads if he isn’t around.

Maybe he senses it too, because he replies, “I’d love to, but I should catch up on some email this morning.”

“Okay.” I slip out of bed and head for the bathroom.

When I return from the gym, Rafe isn’t in the suite. He texted to say he was meeting up with his dad. Knowing how much stress David causes him worries me, but I put it out of my mind as I prepare for my meeting with Diane.

Rafe isn’t my responsibility. Rafe isn’t mine.

Diane’s assistant said business casual, so I opt for a black pencil skirt and an emerald-green sleeveless blouse with a bunny bow at the neck. I slip on my black heels and use my flatiron to straighten my hair into a smooth sheen.

A short while later, my shoes click along the marble floor as I approach the Diamond Lounge. Located just off the lobby, it’s a swanky space filled with plush club chairs that serves small plates and locally made spirits.

When I arrive, I give the hostess my name.

“You’re the first,” she says, grabbing three menus and leading me through the restaurant. As I take my seat, she sets one menu in front of me and the other two on top of the plates on either side.

“Can I get you a drink?”

“Water is fine,” I say before she nods and walks away.

I texted Molly earlier about my lunch and the disaster with Rafe last night. I haven’t heard back yet. It’s Saturday, so she’s probably out for the day, heading to yoga and the farmers’ market. I can’t wait to get home to dissect every moment of the past three weeks with her and then sob until I wring all these emotions out and bury them away.

A few minutes later, the hostess leads Paul Stuart, VP of southeastern operations, through the restaurant. I stand as Paul arrives and holds out a hand.

He’s in his late fifties with greying brown hair and pale grey-blue eyes.

“Miss Malik,” he says. “Paul Stuart. Diane asked me to join you today.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” I say, returning to my seat as Paul sits in the chair on my left. He’s fairly trim and clearly an athlete. As he sits, his eyes dip to my chest, pause at my mouth, and then lift to my eyes. He gives me an oily smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling, and my fingers itch for a panic button.

“Diane has told me you’ve impressed her,” he says, getting straight to the point. “She wanted me to meet you, as she’s secured the other votes needed to award you a spot in the training program, but I wasn’t convinced yet.” His tone indicates how beneath him he feels this is. How much of a favor he thinks he’s doing me. I bite my tongue to prevent a career-limiting retort from flying from my mouth. I hate this guy already.

I swallow, apprehension building in my stomach. Five of six of them chose me? And now I have to jump over fences like a pony to impress this asshole?

“I see,” I say, trying to keep my voice even. “And what would convince you?”

His mouth stretches into a smile that shows off a set of straight white teeth. He’s spent a lot of time outside, and his skin is stamped with the sun worshipper’s leathery glow. I imagine he must own a sailboat he pays more attention to than his wife. His eyes dip again, and my skin crawls off my bones.

“Where’s Diane?” I ask, checking my phone, hoping her assistant has sent me a message.

“She said she’d be a few minutes late,” he says. “Don’t worry.”

He plants his elbows on the table.

“Tell me, Miss Malik, why should I put in my vote for you?”

I press my mouth together. I hate that I have to do this. I hate that he’s making me perform. Maybe it was foolish to hope this place could ever be different.

“Well, I graduated from college at the top of my class, and I’ve been with WMC for almost five years. Through that time, I’ve excelled in every project I’ve been tasked with. I meet and exceed my KPIs and have developed and implemented several new processes to improve efficiency.…”

As I talk, I can tell he’s not even listening. He sits back in his chair, pose casual, hands wrapped around the armrests. I finish my groveling through gritted teeth, checking the entrance, and hoping Diane appears.

When I’ve gone silent, he sits up and leans forward again.