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For the first year, we lived together in his fancy three-bedroom condo while I attended college. I was lucky to be able to transfer mid-semester. I think it had something to do with the school being Vincent’s alma mater. He always managed to pull strings. I could see now that it wasn’t luck or connections, but rather the specific strings that allowed him to control me.
Vincent didn’t want me in school. He held to the old-school and sexist belief that many women had fought against: the woman’s place is in the kitchen. Vincent wanted control, though, and the only way for him to have that over me was in the home. Everything in our relationship was always his way, and the young girl in me didn’t argue.
It wasn’t how my parents were with one another and wasn’t how I was raised. Looking back, I couldn’t figure out why I went along with it for so long.
After forcing me to drop out of school, he got me a job at a company owned by a friend of the family because I insisted on working. I was hired on as a secretary, where I remained for six years before they promoted me a year ago. A promotion I earned thanks to my hard work and dedication. Not because of Vincent and his connections.
The secondary alarm on my phone went off, indicating I had twenty minutes before I needed to be out the door. Thankfully, I only had to change. On my way to the master bedroom, I stopped in the hallway and stared into the spare bedroom just beside it.
Vincent and I had talked about marriage and kids. It was three years into our relationship and a happier time. Vincent started acting like the man I fell for again, and we started trying to have a baby. This room was meant for the baby, and I had started taping paint swatches on the wall.
This was also the room that changed our relationship for good. After a year and a half of trying, and a few doctor’s visits where Vincent was told he couldn’t have kids, he changed. It started with ugly comments aimed my way. Then it escalated into personal digs that chipped away at my self-esteem and self-worth. Six months after that, he stopped coming home at night, claiming he was working late.
It took another six months before I found out he was cheating on me with his secretary. They were having late nights at the office, but not a lot of work was getting done. I left him and went to live with my best friend. He begged me to come home and promised he’d change. And he did, for almost a year. Until a woman I didn’t know approached me with pictures, claiming she was pregnant with his child.
Turns out she was wrong. Vincent was still shooting blanks, and she was having someone else’s kid. But I’d had enough and kicked him out. He tried to lie and manipulate his way back home, but I stuck to my guns. Unfortunately, I was still dealing with his bullshit. Calling every day, showing up at my work unannounced, and coming by the house often.
Speaking of work. Shit, I was going to be late. I was never late. I ran to the bedroom and threw on the pencil skirt and blazer I had picked out the night before. Flats were the shoe of choice today since I was going to be in and out of meetings all day, some outside the office.
My hair was in pretty good shape. I sprayed some dry shampoo on my roots and rubbed it in, then ran the warmed-up straightener through it, smoothing it out, and ran for the door.
“YOU’RE LATE,” BONNIE, the assistant my boss and I shared, sang out.
“I know, but only by five minutes.”
“Mm hmm.”
I rolled my eyes at her and headed for my corner office. The door clicked shut behind me, and my feet shuffled quietly on the carpeted floor. I unloaded my bags from my shoulders and sat down at my desk. My computer was already on, which I found a little odd, but it made things easier since I was already late.
My eyes nearly fell out of my head at the number of e-mails in my inbox. How the hell did I have three hundred overnight? It was a weekday. I was going to need more coffee to deal with those.
I headed for the small break room. Only a handful of employees worked on the top floor. A year ago, they promoted me from the ground to the top. It felt good to skip the middle. I now worked directly for the owner himself, Mr. Trent Lawrence.
Overall, he was a decent boss. A little sexist but he covered the comments well, and they were never aimed at myself or Bonnie. The only issue I had was that he was friends with Vincent and his father. Which meant that they both dropped in whenever they wanted, and Mr. Lawrence never told them to leave.
“Head’s up,” I heard Bonnie call out. I turned to see if she was talking to me, and my blood ran cold. Speak of the devil. Vincent strolled through the door.
“There you are,” he said, opening his arms to me for a hug.
When I didn’t move, he smiled bigger and opened them a little wider. I still didn’t move. I raised an eyebrow at him and continued to stir my coffee.
“Come on, Katherine. I thought we were past all this,” he said, dropping his arms.
“It’s Kate, and yes, we are past all this. Because we’re over.”
He sighed and stepped closer to me. “Still holding a grudge, I see. I had no idea you could be so stubborn.”
“I’m not holding a grudge against you, and I’m not being stubborn. It’s called a break-up.”
He chuckled. “Still playing that game, are we?”
“There’s no game,” I gritted out. He was maddening.
“Come to lunch with me,” he said, taking another step toward me.
My back dug into the countertop behind me, causing me to wince. “I just got here. I have a busy day with lots of meetings. Besides, we’re not together anymore. It’s been eight months, Vincent. Get a clue. We’re through.”
“Katherine, one of these days you’re going to run back to me, and because I’m such a nice guy, I’ll be there with open arms.”
