& Then They Loved (Ampersand Love #3)

8. Loggerheads

8

Loggerheads

Vera

T hree weeks later, Vera was ready to quit.

Not her job, no she’d never do that.

She was ready to quit being a normal functioning adult and turn to a life of crime. She fantasised daily about the multitude of ways in which she could get away with maiming one particular man.

A bucket of ice tipped precariously over his office door.

Super glue on his chair seat.

A poisoned red apple on his desk.

She didn’t want to kill him. She’d never be so bourgeois as to give Vihaan an easy end. She wanted him to suffer.

Vera shuffled yet another set of papers that he’d demanded she have ready for this morning: printed, annotated and delivered to his desk.

She dropped the stack in front of him, as gracelessly as possible without seeming rude.

Vihaan raised an eyebrow, questioning her .

“The seventh revision,” she said. “Annotated as requested.”

He nodded, putting one finger up in a signal to make her wait while he flipped through her work.

I hope you get a papercut. No, no, wait. THOUSANDS of papercuts!

She stood there, refusing to complain about being made to wait when he could just as easily send her his notes through an email, or the office courier. But she’d never give him a chance to point out that her behaviour was less than professional. Her thoughts, however? Oh, her thoughts could be borderline unhinged, and she didn’t care.

She imagined herself sitting in a dark room, cackling maniacally, holding a little voodoo doll stitched with a clipping of his hair while she poked hot needles into his crotch. Erectile dysfunction would be a fabulous way to bring his attitude down a notch. The man was absolutely insufferable.

He’d already made her re-do her proposal multiple times, picking apart every graphic, her word choice, asking for references and source material going back months before he’d ever even stepped foot into Ethos. She knew why. She’d won enough votes to push her idea into the project phase and Vihaan was taking out his anger on her. He hadn’t been able to stop her from winning their little challenge so now, he was making her life miserable.

He’d forced her to do menial tasks even though it wasn’t her job—arranging the board room, fixing mechanical problems, scolding her when the projector did not work, having her arrange and rearrange schedules when he missed a presentation because his invite had supposedly stated the wrong time. She was fed up.

She’d expected he would be unpleasant, but she hadn’t thought he’d lower to schoolroom bullying tactics and outright lying to make it seem like she was incompetent.

Worse yet, most of his orders came through her subordinate, Olivia, who was all too happy to pass on news about how unhappy Vihaan was with Vera’s work. Had she not been actively trying to maintain a distance from him, she’d have barged into his office and lodged a pencil into every cavity in his body.

Except, she was facing him now, and he was most decidedly acting like an asshole. And all she could do was muster a frustrated protest at his new demand.

“This isn’t part of my job,” Vera argued.

“Your job is what I make of it. Your contract states that the majority of your hours will be spent with the scripts and TV production, but there is space for assistance in other operations based on the discretion of an official. I’m the topmost official in the company,” he added, pointing to himself, looking far too smug. “And I’m telling you to do this.”

Vera had a sudden vision of leaping across the desk and strangling him. “You’re determined to make this difficult, aren’t you?”

“If you want easy, you know where the exit is.”

“I’m not leaving!” she seethed. The number of times he’d antagonised her, only to offer relief in the event she resigned, had only solidified his image as a tyrant in her head.

“Then do your job.”

“I would be happy to, if I thought your request made sense.”

“Are you suggesting that you are unwilling to follow through on what your boss is asking of you, and are therefore in violation of your contract?” His ill-concealed challenge and relaxed countenance drove her blood pressure up by multiple points.

“You have a PA already,” she stubbornly tried, hoping that he would give up.

“And she’s doing the work I gave to her. Unlike you.”

“Why do we need physical files? I can simply tell you what came of the research I conducted.”

“And I am telling you that I need to see it before I believe you.”

“It’s all in the archives in the storage room,” she informed him, hoping that was enough.

“Then go search for it. ”

“Fine. I’ll get the team on it and—”

“No!”

She startled at his firmness.

“I assigned this task to you,” he said. “If I wanted it done by someone else, I would have told them directly. You will go to the archive room, and you will bring me the files. No one else.”

“Doing this by myself will take hours,” she exclaimed. “Let me have help.”

“No.”

“You—” She bit her lip, reminding herself that cursing out her boss would be grounds for dismissal. “No one cares about having every reference file checked.”

Vihaan stared at her, distrust marring his features. Vera hadn’t a clue what she’d done for him to question her work like this. Then again, he had never needed a reason to be a dick. Just like when he’d broken up with her.

“Do you own this company or do I, Ms. Talwar?”

Through clenched teeth, she almost hissed, “You.”

“Then do you make the decisions or do I?”

“You do.”

“That’s right. I pay you to do the job I ask of you. I did not ask you for your unwanted opinion. All it does is reveal your lack of vision which makes me wonder: did you really pull together this proposal? Or did you take credit for someone else’s work?”

Vera couldn’t hold back a small gasp, the unfair accusation causing her to shake with impotent rage. She stepped out of Vihaan’s office, blinking rapidly to keep her eyes from filling up. Her face heated when she caught sight of a smirking Olivia in the hallway who’d clearly overhead Vera being reprimanded by their boss.

Just fucking great. She spun away and headed to the archives room a couple floors below. Everyone in the company would know what had transpired between Vera and Vihaan by the end of the day, all thanks to Olivia Singh.

All the respect and good will she’d earned through years of hard work would now come under question because one man had decided to yell out his completely illogical suspicion.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

Mentally throwing every possible curse known to her at Vihaan, she opened the door to the storage room and slid the little rubber wedge underneath to keep it ajar. She stomped into the cold and dark space, looking for the light switch. White light flickered above her, flooding small sections to highlight rows upon rows of metal shelves, filled to the brim with documents, folders and books.

A quick glance at the far end of one lane showed her the computer that would have the filing directory on it. With a sigh that made her feel far older than her years, she walked up to the machine and plonked down in front of it. She had a list of the references Vihaan wanted, but it would take a while to figure out where each file was located. She opened a browser to recheck author names on a particular article, frowning when she kept receiving an internet connectivity error.

“Uuuugh,” she groaned, knowing she’d have to search for it again when she returned to her desk upstairs. For the next little bit, she typed away on the keyboard, scrolling for the right file names within the directory which thankfully did not require the internet, and jotted down their shelf numbers so she could begin hunting.

Her ears perked up when she heard the shuffle of feet entering the room. She was well hidden in this corner, behind all the shelving. To ensure they were aware, she called out, “Hello! I’m in the back so leave the door open please!”

The lock on the storage room door was notoriously finicky, leading to a permanent ‘don’t lock yourself in’ sign taped right outside as a warning for all to see. Why the building management kept delaying replacing the lock, she didn’t know. Maintenance wars were not her forte. Besides, she had her own war to win. She grumbled, counting the number of files she had yet to track down .

Too consumed with her task, she failed to note the creaking of hinges until an ominous thud startled her.

She glanced over her shoulder, wondering if someone had dropped something. Silence followed—the kind that made it clear that no one else was in her vicinity. Brows furrowed, her ears homed in on a barely there tone, like the squeal an old TV produced when it turned on. The flat sound dancing between her eardrums confirmed her fear.

A moment later, the pen in her hand clattered as she shot off her chair and flew down the aisle, a small sound of worry escaping her lips when she saw the shut door.

She thumped upon the flat surface with her open palms, hoping that the person who’d just left was still nearby and would hear her.

“Hello?! I’m inside the room! Please open the door!”

She waited for a few seconds, trying unsuccessfully to quell the growing panic within her.

Her fist pounded on solid wood, the desperate thumps drawing no response from the other side. She was trapped in the one space that was least frequented in the building, without a phone or a way to call for aid. Fear spun through her like a furious tornado as she kicked and slapped the door, drawing in a heaving breath before she began to yell.

“Help. Get me out of here! Heeeelp!!!”