Chapter 9
chapter nine
Denali
There's no such thing as calm before the storm. Not in this industry.
The weekend passes uneventfully, with practices, meetings, and an angry exchange between Kai and his agent, which nearly results in another termination of employment. I say uneventful because all of this feels normal, by now. But Monday?
Monday starts off with a bang.
I wake up late, and of course, I can't find my cellphone. When I do, it's dead, and the charger it's plugged into isn't working anymore.
Great.
The water in the building is cold, and I freeze trying to rinse yesterday's sweat out of my hair.
A quick call to the landlord says he's aware there's something wrong and he's 'working on it,' which can mean anything from I've called a plumber to I'll look up an instructional video online and likely make the problem worse while I try to solve it cheaply.
I can't find the pair of shoes I set out last night for today, and that leaves me with little to no good options.
We've got a lot of walking to do this afternoon as part of that stupid variety show the company signed him up for, and I'm expected to follow him around the whole time. And my best walking shoes are missing.
All I have are a pair of heeled boots, some flip flops, and platform sandals. I choose the boots, because even with the heel, they're my best option. Never mind the excruciating pain I'll be in when I get back home. It's all part of the job, I guess.
There's a bouquet of flowers outside of my apartment door when I open it to leave for work.
I'm already running late, so I bring it with me, because I assume it's been erroneously delivered.
But while I'm in the elevator, I spot the card wedged in between the stems, and it does have my name and apartment number listed on it.
I don't have enough hands to pull it out, so I shove the curiosity to the back of my mind and decide to deal with it later.
Roger picks me up in the company car these days, on his way to Kai's first appointment for the day. And this time, he picked up my boss first. And I'm carrying a huge floral arrangement in my arms like someone being courted. Which, of course, in his world, means he should act dramatic about it.
He eyes the bouquet in my hands with disgust, covering his nose with his hand. "Ugh, what kind of flowers are those? They're so pungent."
I roll my eyes and roll down the window, hoping that'll be enough to shut him up. "They're lillies, I think. I'm not sure—they were at my door this morning."
His scowl is directed at the flowers, not me, so I take that as the blessing it is. "Well, they're horrid. What kind of person gives you flowers like those as a gift? Do they not have a working nose?"
I'm still juggling my bag, my laptop case, the tablet, two phones, and this damned flower arrangement, so I can't get to it. "There's a card in the stems. Why don't you open it up and read it to me if you're so curious?"
He reaches in and plucks it out, eyeing me like he thinks I'm bluffing. "I'll read it," he assures me, tugging the flap of the envelope free. "Do you really not know who sent it?"
"In case you didn't notice, I'm kind of juggling a bunch of shit here, so no, I didn't have time to set it all down, tug the envelope free, and investigate. You wanna know so bad, find out. Then we can both know."
I'm struggling to grab my personal phone in the hopes that Roger has a cord he can let me hook up to up front, when Kai's voice rings out in confusion.
"I thought you said you were single."
The withering glare I throw his way is anything but polite. Perhaps I'm getting too comfortable in my role. "I am. Not that it's any of your business."
"Well, someone else thinks that's a lie," he huffs, waving the card around. "To the object of my obsession—No matter where you go, I'll always be with you. You're mine."
My blood runs cold. A memory I'd worked hard to bury in the basement of my mind claws its way up to the forefront, washing me in panic and dread. No matter how hard I try to fight it off, it refuses to be ignored, and begins to flash across my mind in vivid and clear detail.
We're at a gala affair. Theo schmoozes with the other celebs while I grab candid shots and prep his posts.
He needs the publicity, all the good publicity he can get.
After getting caught out with a married woman last week, his image is tanking.
It won't stay that way for long, thanks to the smear campaign his legal and PR teams cooked up, but for now, he has to take what he can get to help the momentum when it launches.
My dress is cream, the fanciest thing I own.
Theo insisted I buy myself something appropriate to wear, instead of wearing my usual wardrobe.
I shelled out three paychecks worth of savings to get the damn thing, and I hate it.
I plan to take it back or resell it the second I get a chance.
I can't afford to keep this dress, even if I did like it.
The girl Theo's talking to sees me taking photos and shoots me a glare. She brings me to his attention, and likely, he brushes her off, informing her I'm nothing to worry about. Just a nobody he's hired to manage his social media. A staff member of the lowest order.
I assume he's occupied, so when another member of the staff steps up to talk to me, I indulge him, because I hate to be alone during events like this. And he's frienedly—we actually worked at the same startup for a few months before he left, fresh out of college.
Later that night, Theo insists on taking me home. In the backseat, he puts up the divider between us and Gerald, his driver, and inches closer to me with a nasty scowl on his face.
"So, who was that you were talking to all night? He a friend? An old coworker? Or something more?"
Theo is obsessed with knowing everything about everyone. He likes to know every person in a room, and if he doesn't, he makes it his mission to learn. It's weird, to me, a person who would rather not even be here, but to him it makes perfect sense.
I laugh nervously, because I can smell the scotch on his breath, and I know he can get a little bit assertive when he's had one too many. "Oh, we used to work together. He was here tonight with Angel Riveas, that new singer you went on Jeopardy with?"
His eyes are cold, hard. Unforgiving. He leans in, cages me against the seat of the car with his arms. "You shouldn't talk to men while you're working for me. It's unprofessional."
I've never been accused of being unprofessional a day in my life. "It was just small talk—"
A hand snakes around my bicep, gripping me so tightly I whimper in distress.
It hurts, but he doesn't even notice, and if he does, he doesn't care.
"Small talk leads to sex. And I told you when you started working for me that I didn't want someone who was going to use my presence and my connections to sleep their way around the upper echelon of this city. "
I didn't understand what he really meant when he warned me about that when I got hired on. "I'm hardly sleeping around under your name. He's a staffer, hardly anyone, and it was just small talk. It's not like I hung off your arm to hook up with a model or something—"
His hand grips me tighter, and now I'm sure he'll be leaving marks. "It better not happen again, Dee." I hated his nickname for me, but he didn't let that stop him. "Just remember you work for me. I'll always be with you, no matter where you go. Just remember that, okay? You're mine."
I don't know if he means what he says maliciously, or if he's too drunk to sort out his words. All I know is that I'm scared, and the sooner I can get out of this car, the better.
When we pull up to my place, I can't climb out fast enough, but he has one last parting gift for me. His mocking laughter as I try to flee the feelings he's managed to stir in me.
You're mine, he said. But I can quit. It might not be great for me to just leave with no income, but I can quit. I'll do it first thing tomorrow morning, if he doesn't give me an apology and own up to his drinking problem.
The next morning, there's a bouquet of browning daisies on my doorstep, with a card. It reads one thing:
Sorry.
No name, no more explanation. I throw them in the trash, then flip the card over, and find the second half of the message.
You're mine.
And promptly toss out my plans for breakfast as something deep in my stomach turns, filling with a sense of dread.
A cold sweat breaks out on my skin. I start to feel penned in.
Now is not the time for a panic attack, but I don't get to choose when they happen, so I do my best to remember the coping techniques my therapist taught me and breathe deep, hoping it passes soon.
My eyes glaze over as I stare out the window and slowly set the flowers on the floorboards by our feet.
I can hear Kai calling my name, so I tell him I'm fine, even though I think he and I both know I'm not.
But schooling myself into a believable okay is detrimental to my job, so I do it, and paste on the fake ass smile I wore every day for the first few weeks after I finally told Theo to stuff it and his stalking began.
I'm too deep in this feeling of helplessness, of fear, to do more than just hold it together and stay silent until we pull up to the company and I can go vomit into a trash can and try to regain my sanity.
I knew something like this would happen. I knew Theo wouldn't stop.
The only question is, how much does he know? And how far is he willing to take this?