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“This is a conversation for you to have with him. There’s only one person initiating communication, and it sure as hell isn’t me. I can’t answer your questions when I don’t know why he does what he does.”
“But I’m asking you. What is so special about you? Why has he suddenly lost interest in being with me? It’s like he’s forgotten we’re together.”
She doesn’t deserve my pity, yet I feel sorry for Cynthia. I understand Trent’s rejection, since I’ve been on the receiving end of it. “I’m sorry you’re going through this.”
Cynthia sneers, closing the distance between us. “This is your fault.” She shoves me in the chest, pushing me back a step.
Ow!I resist the urge to rub my sternum where she shoved me, but damn, does it hurt. Why is she starting a physical altercation?
“Get a grip, Cynthia. Trent is a philandering jerk. I’m not a willing participant in his advancements.”
“I could ignore his daily texts to you when you were states away. I could excuse his obsession with stalking your social media accounts as him just being a man. But watching him throw himself at you while I’m standing right there is too much. You should have stayed away.”
She screeches, launching herself at me.
Unprepared for her sudden attack, I barely have time to brace myself as she collides into me, sending us both skittering to the tile floor with a hardthud. She’s on top of me in a flash, straddling my hips and clamping her hands around my neck.
Gasping, I choke, realizing she’s trying to strangle me. My hands reach up, pushing into her face. She tries to shake me off, but my upper body is stronger than hers from all my years swimming.
Though I’m struggling for air, I continue to shove against her face, forcing her head back. She loses her grip on my neck, and I heave her off me. Scurrying, I quickly get to my feet, racing from the bathroom and straight into Punk’s chest.
He grips me by the shoulders, examining me with concern. “I was coming for you. I heard screaming. What the fuck, Priss?”
I point at the bathroom, rubbing at my throat with my free hand to work the muscles to speak after Cynthia bruised them in her death grip. “Cyn—”Cough.“Cynthia!”
“She did this? That fucking…”
Punk releases me, marching straight into the bathroom. I can hear Cynthia shriek on the other side of the door. Concerned Cynthia will attack Punk, I race back into the bathroom.
He has her pinned against the wall. Cynthia thrashes violently against his tatted forearms, struggling to break free.
“Attacking my brother’s old lady,” he snarls. “You’re lucky I don’t beat the shit out of women.”
“I’d like to see you try,” she challenges him, with a sinister laugh. “The police would have you in cuffs and thrown in jail, where trash like you belongs.”
“Maybe,” Punk muses aloud. “Or maybe I’ll make an exception for you and snap your neck. It’s impossible to tattle when you’re dead.”
Alarm crosses Cynthia’s perfect features. Her eyes widen to cartoonish proportions when Punk reaches for her throat. She releases a surprised squeal.
“Punk,” I croak. “Let her go. She won’t try anything again.”
“Do I have to?”
“Punk…”
He groans, retracting his hand, yet he keeps her pinned against the wall.
Cynthia gives me a cruel smirk. “What makes you sure I’m through with you?”
“You’ll do no such thing. Come at me again, and I’ll press assault charges against you,” I rasp, pointing at my throat. “Attacking the lead auditor investigating the firm’s missing funds isn’t a good look for you. You’d lose your job without a severance package.”
“Not to mention, it makes you look hella guilty,” Punk adds.
Cynthia stiffens. Her eyes shift between the two of us. “Guilty? Of what?”
“I think you know,” Punk accuses her, his tone serious. He releases his hold on Cynthia. She slumps down the wall with Punk no longer supporting her weight.
Cynthia’s tongue quickly licks her lips as she rights herself. “Wait. You think I’m the one stealing funds from the firm?”
