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Chapter 16
MEL
I graduate next week. I’m nervous and excited. Excited about graduating, nervous about leaving Seattle. About leaving Pete. Even now. Almost a month after he walked out of my apartment and out of my life, I miss him with a physical ache in my stomach.
I haven’t heard from him since my bottle of champagne. I read my last text to him – read, no response – at least once a day.
The copy machine whirs as I mechanically feed the paper through it. I’ve gotten to sit in on a few decorating meetings since I have worked here, but I mainly get coffee and make copies. It’s not glamorous, but I suppose I have to pay my dues before I get to be on a design team properly.
“Ah, there you are.”
Glancing over my shoulder - to see if whoever it is, is talking to me - I pause as one of the senior managers walks into the small copy room. I haven’t spoken with him while working here, apart from taking his coffee order.
Maybe he has a craving for a sandwich. It’s getting late. Most people have left, but I’m supposed to get all these copies made and compiled before going home. I don’t really have time for a coffee or dinner run.
I flash him a tight smile, turning back to the copy machine.
“I’m almost done here. Then the machine will be free.”
“Good, good.”
He hovers – maybe I should offer to pause my copying so he can use the machine and leave? Shit. I freeze, my breath locking in my throat as a hand slides up the back of my thigh over my pencil skirt.
What the hell am I supposed to do? They don’t cover this at school. There’s no college course on what to do if a senior manager starts sexually assaulting you in the copy room at your internship. Fuck. Maybe they should have one. I should have taken self-defense courses. They would have told me what to do.
Pete warned me about this. I should have listened. I told myself that I would be able to handle this and tell him where to shove it. But now it’s happening. I’m frozen, locked in my body. His hand moves to my ass, squeezing tightly.
My lack of a reaction spurs him on, convincing him I am okay with it because I haven’t told him to stop. But I can’t tell him anything. My throat feels like it’s closing. Like I’m going into anaphylactic shock. Is there an EpiPen for freezing up when someone is assaulting you?
My eyes flutter closed, and tears spill over. He can’t see them. He’s standing behind me, but who knows if they would stop him if he could see them. His hand finally leaves my ass, and I chant over and over in my head, please leave. Please be finished with me.
I have no such luck. His hand slides around my shirt, between my buttons and inside, closing around my bra-clad breast, kneading it.
A whimper leaves my lips, tears flowing now. An image of Pete flashes through my head, and I find my resolve, pulling away from him.
“Oh, come on now,” he calls after me as I abandon my copies, the machine still whirring as I push past him, running blindly, tears falling freely as I shove my things into my purse, holding it to my chest and running to the elevator, jabbing at the buttons.
Finally, it arrives, and I leap inside, smashing the lobby button, praying no one gets in with me. I’m lucky, and the elevator starts to move, gliding down. My fingers fumble with my purse, shaking as I fish out my phone. I flick through the contacts, my fingers pressing Pete’s number without thinking.
“Tinker Bell?” he answers on the second ring. “Is everything okay?”
“I know we’re not… I know we don’t… but, I-I need you to come and pick me up, p-please,” I sob.
“Where are you?” his voice is hard.
“S-Sea Nest. I’m w-waiting outside on the s-sidewalk.”
“I’ll be right there. Don’t move.”
People skirt around me as I stand against the wall, hugging my purse and sobbing. They probably think I’m some crazy woman who has just been dumped. I stare at the road, refusing even to blink because I don’t want to have to relive what happened. If I close my eyes, I’ll see it all over again.
Tires squeal, and a BMW parks in the loading zone at a slight angle. Pete leaps out, his eyes scanning until they lock with mine, and he is in front of me, cupping my jaw.
“Tinker Bell, talk to me. What happened?”
“I want to g-go h-home. P-p-please,” I sob. Pete nods, bundling me into his car and pulling away from the curb.
His fingers are flexing on the steering wheel, his jaw tight. We get to my building faster than could be legal, but Pete parks and slides out, rounding the car and helping me out, taking me inside.
He fishes my keys out of my purse when we get to the door, unlocking it and ushering me inside, steering me to the couch. Dropping down beside me, he tugs me into his lap, holding me and stroking my hair until I stop shaking.
“You were right,” I sob into his chest. Pete’s fingers stroke through my hair, his other hand rubbing big, slow circles over my back.
“I usually am.”
I smile despite the situation. This is why I wanted Pete.
“Are you going to tell me I told you so?” It would be his right. He did tell me, and I - idiot that I am - didn’t listen. Stupid, stupid girl.
“Soon. Often,” he promises. “Once I know you’re okay.”
That sounds fair. I snuggle against his chest, still sobbing into his shirt.
Eventually, I run out of tears, laying exhausted on Pete.
“What happened?” His voice is low and firm. The kind of voice you automatically obey.
“I was making copies. He came in and started t-touching me. My leg, my ass… then he put his hand inside my sh-shirt.”
Pete’s arms tighten around me, his breath hissing between his teeth. I glance up, but he’s not looking at me. He’s staring out the window, a muscle ticking in his jaw.
“Then what happened?”
“I ran out of there and called you.”
“You’re sure that’s all that happened?”
“Yes.”
Pete’s eyes drop to mine, glinting dangerously as he holds my gaze. “You’re not just saying that because of the fucking NDA?”
“No.” I shake my head, sniffing. “That’s all that happened.”
“Okay.”
“What do I do? I don’t want to go back there.”
“You don’t have to. I’ll go. I’ll deal with it.”
“They’ll know I broke my NDA.”
“You’re allowed to tell me. I’m your lawyer. You have attorney-client privilege.”
“But you’re a sports lawyer.”
“Doesn’t matter. I practice all kinds of law. I just mainly have sports players as my clients.”
“I’m not a sports player.”
“Consider it pro bono work.”
“It would have to be. I can’t afford to pay you.”
Pete chuckles, dropping kisses against my temple, his fingers still stroking through my hair. Sighing, he presses his cheek against the top of my head.
“I want to stay here with you, Tinker Bell. Is that okay? I can sleep in Bee’s old room or here on the couch.”
My heart thumps, and I snuggle against his chest again, nuzzling my nose into his damp shirt. God, I’ve been dreaming about him saying those words ever since he left.
“Will you stay in the bed with me?” I ask, my voice small, my heart bracing for rejection.
“Yes.” His voice is thick, his arms tightening around me.
