AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“What is the fucking difference? The money has to come from somewhere. Why can’t it be from me?”
I stand up from the table and hover over the surface to glare at him.
Rich grabs hold of my arm, yanking me to get my attention. I wince as he squeezes my skin to try to get me to sit down. Graham’s face turns murderous, as he flies up from his chair. “You do not need to grab her like that! Remove your arm or I will.”
Rich releases me, as I slump back down into the chair. He pushes back from the table and growls under his breath that I am ruining everything.
Gary clears his throat and looks at Graham. “Let’s take a breather, Mr. Hoffman. Out in the hallway.”
As soon as both men leave the room, I am able to inhale. My lungs burn with the deep influx of oxygen. I feel like I have heartburn from my breakfast of champions, and I instantly regret thinking that eating anything at all was a good idea.
“Let’s discuss where we should go from here,” Rich insists, while we have a moment of privacy. “For starters, you need to settle yourself down. Conduct yourself like a lady.” His tone is curt and condescending.
My stomach twists. “I, um, need to use the restroom.” I don’t wait for permission. I dart out of the room and down the hallway past Graham and Gary who are whispering to each other.
I hear Graham call after me but am too focused on not throwing up all over my suit. As soon as I am safely in the restroom, I throw open the stall door and double over the bowl. I expel the contents from my stomach.
I don’t want to go back out there. I want to lock myself inside and disappear.
“Angie?”
It’s Graham. It’s always Graham. Since meeting him, he has completely infiltrated every section of my life. He is so embedded in my daily thoughts that avoiding him can no longer be a solution. I need to face him head-on.
“I’ll be right out.” I try to sound put-together, even though I know I am falling apart.
I wipe the tears from my eyes and only look in the mirror long enough to make sure I am decent. I rinse my mouth one last time, careful not to get damp spots on my outfit.
When I make it back into the conference room, everyone turns to stare at me. I find my place next to Rich and pop in a breath mint from the little ceramic bowl that serves as a centerpiece in the middle of the table. Martha guides us back into a discussion. Graham’s eyes lock onto me, and I try to avoid his gaze. I do not want to cry anymore. He will see right through my emotions and be able to pick them apart one by one—using each to his advantage. That’s what businessmen do, right? Find a weakness and then exploit it.
“I don’t want his money,” I express. “I just want to continue my job and get my profile back in working order.”
“So go to lunch with me, and I will not pay you.”
“No. You can’t blackmail me into doing what you want.”
“Here’s the problem, ladies and gentlemen,” Graham announces, achieving everyone’s attention, as if he owns the room. “I am a paying customer. Miss McFee does not want to break her contract. But somehow, I am rejected without—”
“I never accepted or rejected! I had no choice!”
“So, you’ll have lunch with me?”
“No.”
He tosses his hands in the air flippantly. “Sounds like a rejection to me.”
“I…I…please…I—”
My heart races and my body feels like it is in an MRI machine. Every muscle fiber is begging to flex and contract and wake and rise and escape. I feel a bit dizzy over the lack of nutrition from breakfast and losing it all a few minutes ago. The two pills I downed hours ago seem to have had zero positive effect on my mood and my anxiety. I feel crummy.
“Angela,” Graham hisses. “It’s not a big deal.”
“Five months,” I choke out, eyes welling with tears at the realization that I am reserved for a job I do not want and kept from getting other jobs in the process. If I’m going to adequately investigate Mark and his line of business, I cannot tie myself down to only one client who is hell-bent on getting me fired.
“Give us a moment alone.” The simple spoken words from Graham cause everyone to rush and scurry off like ants fleeing a stomped mound. Weird. He takes the remote from the table, clicks a button, and suddenly the glass windows in the room turn frosted giving us the ultimate privacy.
“Angie, please don’t cry. I can’t stand it when you cry. Please, sweetheart. We’ll come to an arrangement on our own, without an audience.”
Tears stream down my cheeks. He moves to my side of the conference table and kneels down below my chair. His fingers caress my skin, bringing chills to my arms.
