62. Now
SIXTY-TWO
now
“You’re late, Ella.”
I hang my head, hiding from Marjorie’s shrewd gaze. “I’m sorry, I?—”
“None of that,” she snaps. “No excuses.”
None of that, little princess .
The horrible memory of my reoccurring nightmare rises inside me, along with a blast of bile. I barely slept all night, but when I did, my dreams took me back to that cursed frat house mattress.
I stand shaking in the middle of Marjorie’s office, hugging my arms around m y torso to hold myself together. “I think I should go home,” I whisper. “I don’t feel well.”
Marjorie sighs, exasperated. “I just said, no excuses. We’re all hungover. And I need you here today to answer my calls while I work on the Stryker project.”
The thought of cheerfully answering calls all day brings tears to my eyes. “Marjorie, really, I can’t be here today. I should have just called in.”
Between confronting my biggest fear by attending the gala, seeing the one person who could destroy me, running from him, being caught, and then having sex on Grayson’s desk only to have him dismiss me the second he could… I’m fully triggered.
Every man on the subway gives me a stab of panic. Every sudden movement or loud sound startles me. The concept of facing anyone vaporizes the oxygen in my lungs.
“I need to go home,” I insist again, fighting to inhale. “Please.”
Marjorie’s stony gaze narrows for a long moment. “Fine. Go home. But you might want to stop in the conference room first. Someone has the stuff you left behind last night. Oh, and I’d avoid Parker’s area if I were you. He was pretty pissed when you disappeared on him. Said you went to get him a drink and never came back?”
I swallow down some more regret. “I started to feel sick and decided it was best to leave without making a scene. I didn’t want to embarrass anyone.”
It isn’t entirely a lie. I felt sick to my core after what happened with Gray. And I would have sooner died than humiliate him or my boss on their big night.
But Marjorie’s squint tightens. “Just go, Ella. We’ll discuss this Monday.”
I don’t know how my body can possibly produce any more tears, but they drip off my chin as I make my way back to the elevators. Without a coat or a phone, I only came in with a subway card, and Maggie ’s spare keys, both stuffed into a small knit pouch.
The same coin purse I once handed to Grayson on a subway platform. My fist tightens around it protectively. I dash the tears from my face, sniffling. If Marco is the one who brought my stuff here, I don’t want him to think he needs to rescue me again.
The lights are off inside the conference room, leaving it dark aside from the sunlight filtering in through a window at the far end. I step inside and turn, expecting to find Marco or some other henchman dressed all in black.
Instead, Grayson stands just a few yards away, his head bent and his hands in the pockets of his fitted charcoal suit. Natural light reflects off his glossy black hair and his olive complexion, glowing warmly.
Hearing my gasp, his head snaps up. Bright beams of green paralyze me. “Ellie.”
He moves toward me, but I trip back. Fear streaks through my body. My eyes fly around the room, ensuring we’re alone. When I see we are, a sharp burst of relief chases the adrenaline. As my heartbeat starts to slow, I sway on my feet.
Grayson catches my upper arm in an iron grip, steadying me before I fall face-first onto the carpet. Part of me expects him to haul me into his arms; the other thinks he’ll thrust me away. Instead, he stills for an endless moment. Solemn eyes absorb the look on my face.
“We’re going home,” he announces, holding me firmly but guiding me gently to the door. “Now.”