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I can’t help but think that Claire tried to shelter me from her decision to apply to the facility. She probably didn’t want to make me sad unnecessarily in case they rejected her. Just another reason to love her more.
I munch on the second bad decision and stuff the thank you note into the envelope, debating on whether to slip it under Claire’s door and explain the mistake or not. It’s not like an acceptance letter. It’s just a note stating that they received her application.
While getting ready, I decide that taking two pills will be better than just the effects of one. I swallow them down carefully with tap water, knowing that preparing myself ahead of time is best. After this Graham drama is over, I am going to need to figure out how to replenish my supply.
I can tell that nothing about today is going to be easy—as if the path has already been set, and there is nothing I can do to change the course.
* * *
It takes twenty minutes for my taxi driver to arrive at Entice. It is my first time actually entering through the main doors of the building. As expected, the lobby area is pristine and beautifully decorated with modern art. I take the lift up to the eleventh floor. Under the soothing lights, I am guided politely to the back of the office space by a staff member—limiting all talk to just directions—and into the conference room.
I fidget nervously in my beige skirt and suit jacket ensemble, instantly turning chameleon-like and blending into the pale walls. Claire would definitely not approve of my lack-of-real-color choice for this occasion, but it was all I had available that would fit and still look semi-professional. Pretty sure the last time I wore it was for the Sugar Butter interview—which just goes to show how outdated it really is.
I am nearly positive that the wilderness will keep Claire and me from being in contact for the next few days. Knowing that there’s a possibility she might be leaving the state makes my heart hurt. I could really use her support right now. I try to avoid thinking about her to keep myself from being sad. I cannot be sad if I plan to go up against Graham publicly.
The conference room is set up for functionality only. There is no artwork on the walls and the color scheme is considered bland at best. A huge television is set up along the west wall. The privacy blinds are opened to the outside; however, the windows are tinted enough to keep the sun from causing a glare. The room could use a little bit of greenery—similar to the plants in the waiting area. Perhaps even a sculpture or conversation piece.
I step deeper into the room, where I am greeted by a professionally dressed woman.
“Ms. McFee, I am Martha Pitman, director of HR. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
I accept her handshake and give her a small smile. Martha Pitman personifies grace, elegance, and control. Her smart red pantsuit commands others to pay attention to her. I can’t help but feel small—insignificant, really—standing beside her.
“Ms. McFee, as promised by Mr. Crawford, your representative Rich O’Neill has looked over your file and has already contacted you via email to touch base as to how today will run.”
I nod my agreement and take the seat around the long conference table that she gestures toward. Rich did shoot me an email, but it was extremely impersonal and didn’t boost any of my doubts as to finding an amicable outcome. Regardless, I know that I am not at fault and am the innocent one in this whole mess. It is the job of the agency to straighten out the mix-up with the reservation of my dates.
It takes a couple of minutes for Rich to join us. He is in his fifties and has the “uncle” vibe with an eighties mustache and navy blue polyester suit. His red-and-blue-striped tie rests over his pressed white dress shirt. I frown. He looks patriotic at best but definitely not powerful.
Martha steps out of the room while Rich and I spend some time going through my paperwork that Dominic recorded, as well as the copies of the email that I sent to the technical support team summarizing the situation. We discuss strategy—basically me being honest—and go through the highlighted points of my case.
Once Martha reenters the room, we start the preliminary proceedings, and I sign my name on a few documents referencing that the meeting did in fact occur. I feel Graham’s presence in the room before I ever see or hear him. Butterflies wreak havoc in my tummy, practicing multiplication. I turn my attention to the doorway and see the strong-willed man, who has been known to make appearances in my fantasies. He is dressed impeccably in a tailored black suit, crisp white shirt, and black tie. His look is modern and fresh—the exact opposite of my legal representative.
“Mr. Hoffman, Martha Pitman, Director of Human Resources,” she informs, shaking his hand smoothly.
“Nice to meet you,” he charms. He directs his attention behind him as a middle-aged man fills the space with rivaling confidence. He motions toward the man. “This is Gary Shippens, my legal counsel.”
Gary looks like a real shark out for blood, and if this was anything more than a mediation, I would be intimidated. His gray suit is equally as sleek and his receding hairline only makes him look more mature—experienced and cutthroat.
Martha smiles at the greeting and motions for Graham to take a seat at the table. Great. Even she is infatuated. And he knows it.
For a mediation meeting, it feels more like I am in court.
Graham’s eyes sparkle with a fine line of playfulness as they land on me for the first time. It was as if he deliberately ignored me until this very moment. From an outsider’s perspective, it would appear that he is nervously attentive; from someone aware of his many expressions like I am, it implies that he is amused. His smugness irritates every cranky nerve in my entire body. I resist the urge of crawling over the expensive conference table and smacking the smirk right from his perfectly poised face. Why can the man never have a bad day in the looks department? And why the hell is he not intimidated and embarrassed by his overbearing behavior that landed him here in the first place?
Is it because just days before he gave me my first orgasm that rocked my body? Is it because he knows that despite my efforts, I cannot resist his charm?
I can’t understand how everything involving this man is back and forth. One second we are pawing at each other. The next we are having a meeting to discuss boundaries. I could seriously get a case of whiplash. But, I honestly cannot figure out who is more at fault with the mixed messages. I know that I share in the blame. But today is entirely different. Today is about gaining some control back, at a time when my life desperately needs it.
I watch as Graham pulls out a chair directly across from me and sits down. His fluidity of movement makes me add to my list of the things he does that pisses me off.
“Okay, let’s get started, shall we?” Martha smoothly announces. “Mr. Hoffman, as director of Human Resources, it is my responsibility to follow-up on any complaint about clients at the agency. Do you know why we are having this meeting?”
“I understand the need to have protocols in place.”
Suck up.
“I guess I am here because Miss McFee is”—he directs his attention over at me—“upset with me?” His hand gesture is that of complete dismissal. He has better places to be.
