Chapter 22 #2
I frown, curling my fists in my lap. “No offense, Randall, but I don’t think you understand what this is like.
Just existing as a woman, let alone a woman journalist whose skin isn’t white.
I already live in a state of constant hyper-vigilance.
Looking over my shoulder. Always taking different routes home.
Weighing whether it’s safe to go places alone, or just open my apartment door.
Even when there are people around, I have to weigh whether they’d help if I needed them or cause me more harm.
And that’s without drawing further attention to myself with my writing.
“Then add in uncomfortable professional situations—inappropriate comments about my hair and skin. Being touched or asked on dates after interviews with men who don’t like the word ‘no.’ Making up boyfriends or commitments because it feels safer than angering a man, but still having to give them my number because they’re contacts.
Worrying they’ll escalate if I block them.
I’m exhausted—tired of always being on my guard.
I don’t need to make things worse for myself when I can’t even handle the basics of my job. ”
His mouth turns down, following the shape of his goatee as he considers my words.
“You’re right. I don’t understand what that’s like, and I know I never could,” he says.
“But you’re wrong about the job. You’re perfect at it.
You’ve made some mistakes, but your instincts are good and your voice is powerful.
You’ve already shown the world you could expose one asshole, and now you’re going to prove that none of them are safe. ”
“But I don’t feel safe.” I draw my knees to my chest, swallowing around the lump in my throat. “Technically, these guys haven’t done anything illegal. They made an app for cheaters; they’re douchebags. But it’s not like they’re going to jail. There’s no clear point where it’ll end for me.”
“What makes you so sure there’s nothing illegal?” Randall asks.
I roll my eyes. “Last I checked, cheating was reprehensible, not unlawful.”
“Yeah.” He nods. “But it kind of makes you wonder . . .”
Our eyes meet, and his question bores into me until I do exactly what I just said I wasn’t going to do. “Why are they trying so hard to push me away?” I ask. “Is there something else going on?”
My throat goes dry even as a subtle sparkle returns to my boss’s eye.
“Randall, I can’t—” My voice breaks.
I close my eyes, my thoughts suddenly on Theo, tracking down bad guys somewhere thousands of miles away.
When I open my eyes again, Rufus has planted himself next to my chair, and my hand is buried in his neck fur.
He fixes me with his golden eyes, and if he weren’t just a dog, I’d think he actually looked concerned.
“You mentioned you’ve been training Rufus with someone?” Randall asks.
I look at the ceiling. “Yeah, another one of the aforementioned assholes.”
His brows draw together. “The trainer? Does he make you uncomfortable too?”
I open my mouth, but stop to consider. For all his crabbiness and bad attitude, I have to admit Drew does not make me feel unsafe.
Kind of the opposite. I had every reason to be wary of him at first, but the night he stormed into my apartment, he kept his distance.
He wasn’t pleasant, but he never acted creepy or tried to touch me.
He’s texted me since, but only about the dog.
I think about waking up on my floor with his hand over mine the morning after the storm, and while that memory ought to be intolerable, oddly, it felt safer than waking up next to any man since Kyle.
My face warms. Drew’s never been threatening at all. He just clearly hates my guts.
“No,” I finally say, not wanting to explain our shared tragedy to my boss. “I mean, it’s uncomfortable, but not in the same way. He’s really good with Rufus. I think he’s just a jerk to everyone.”
“Hmm.” Randall nods. “In my experience, people who work with animals tend to prefer their company to other people.”
“That’s probably for the best.” I snort. But when I glance at Rufus all I can think is how relaxed Drew seemed kneeling on the ground while the dog licked his face until his glasses fell off.
“Did you ever find out what kind of training Rufus received with the military?”
“Uh . . . no.” I actually don’t even know who to ask besides Theo.
“I think most of them are used to sniff out explosives or drugs, but he might’ve had some protection training.” Randall shrugs. “Maybe he could help keep the bad guys away.”
I look at Rufus, whose tongue currently hangs out the side of his mouth.
If I hadn’t personally seen how terrifying he was the times he lunged at Darius and Brian, I might laugh this off.
But then I remember the creepy guy in the hall outside my apartment, and the way Rufus stared at the door and growled until the hall was empty.
I find myself digging my fingers deeper into his fur.
And even when I realize it, I don’t let go.
“I guess I could ask his trainer.”
“It doesn’t solve the safety issue,” Randall says. “But it might help.”
I let out a low breath, rising and picking up my bag, trying not to think too hard about how Randall managed to turn a conversation about safety concerns into distilled motivation.
Against my better judgment, my mind is already churning through possibilities, wondering who Colin Vanderpool’s “partner” might be.
I’m itching to send emails. Make phone calls. Start digging.
“Thanks for the coffee,” I say, swiping the paper cup off his desk to take with me.
He smiles, managing not to look too pleased. “For what it’s worth, it was made by a very bored-looking barista.”