Chapter Eighteen
Mind y
I pull into the parking lot of Visionary Media.
I kill the engine, lean back in the driver’s seat, and stay like that for ten minutes. I can’t, for the life of me, bring myself to get out of my car. Not yet.
It’s the morning after I so spectacularly murdered my own career by projecting my nudes onto my company’s boardroom screen. I know what awaits me inside the office and my stomach is in knots. I’m here to get fired. I can already picture Christine’s icy stare as she hands me my walking papers. And that’s the best case scenario. I’m lucky if she doesn’t report me to the police for public indecency.
After gathering my strength, I take a deep breath, grab my purse, and force myself out of the car. Each step toward the building feels like I’m marching to my own execution.
To my surprise, my key card still works. Unlike at Global Media seven years ago. Christ, it’s like déjà vu - the same damn nudes coming back to haunt me seven years later.
It feels like a lifetime ago. Back then, my only concern was spicing up my love life with Maurice. Now, the only thing I can spice up are the meals I make for me and Sharon every day. It's like I’m a whole different person – in just seven years, I went from carefree chick to struggling single momma.
I push open the office door, bracing for impact, but the first thing I notice is Christine’s conspicuous absence. Instead, there’s Albert. He’s parked behind his wife’s desk, typing away on his computer.
"Good morning," I manage to croak out, but it’s like I’m invisible. Everyone’s got their heads down, furiously working like their lives depend on it. The only sounds are the hum of the air conditioner and the clacking of keyboards.
Something’s off. And seeing Albert in Christine's seat just adds to the weirdness of it all.
Of course, something’s off, Mindy.
Your presentation was off.
The entire company is off.
Maybe the Thompsons already decided to close down the whole operation.
For a moment, my mind imagines the meeting they must have had after my ‘presentation’. First, Mr. and Mrs. Thompson’s stare would have settled on Albert. "Mr. Solomon," Mr. Thompson would have said with an awkward cough. Then, he’d have turned his face toward Christine. "Mrs. Solomon." Another awkward cough. "I trust that no explanation is needed as to why this is unacceptable behavior for our company." Yet another awkward cough. "I’m afraid we cannot have employees publicly sharing risqué photos of themselves in the boardroom."
And with that, they’d have given us a deadline of thirty days to vacate the building. Or something along those lines.
Stop overthinking, Mindy.
It doesn’t make much of a difference anyway.
Just go to your desk and wait for the final verdict.
I walk up to my desk, slide into my chair, power up my laptop, and hold my breath as I type in my password. To my shock, it still works. Maybe the Solomons haven’t had the time to block me yet.
I dive into my emails, looking for the "Please, clean out your desk" message from Christine. To my surprise, there’s nothing. Except for the usual flood of customer inquiries and inter-office memos. No pink slip. No "We need to talk" email.
For a few minutes, I’m not sure what to do. Should I go talk to Albert? Inquire about the consequences of my performance yesterday? But then again, Albert Solomon is not my direct superior. Christine is. If there’s anyone I should talk to, it’s her. Except she’s nowhere to be seen.
She’ll be here soon enough, Mindy.
Just wait and see.
Not really knowing what else to do with myself, I throw myself into work, trying to ignore the knot in my stomach. Easier said than done.
After about five minutes, I notice Albert standing up from Christine’s desk. He glances at me and makes his way across the office. My heart rate spikes as he stops right next to me.
Here we go.
"Miss Williams," he says, his voice unnervingly casual, "Can you come to my office in exactly half an hour?"
My mouth goes dry. Yup, this is it. My last thirty minutes with Vision Media. "Of course, Mr. Solomon," I manage to croak out, hoping he can’t hear the tremor in my voice.
Despite knowing what awaits me, the next thirty minutes are pure torture. Each second feels like an hour. The clock on the wall moves in slow motion, each and every minute stretching out into an eternity. In exactly thirty minutes and zero seconds, feeling like I've aged a decade, I stand up from my desk.
I smooth the wrinkles on my skirt and run a hand through my hair. It is a futile attempt to look composed when I feel anything but. But at least I’ll go out in style. I take a deep breath, in an attempt to calm my racing heart. Whatever’s waiting for me in that office, I’ve got to face it head-on. Even if it’s my execution.
As I make my way across the floor, I can feel eyes on me. I could swear I also hear whispering voices. But when I scan the space, I see all my coworkers staring at their screens like zombies.
It takes exactly forty-three seconds to get to Albert's office. When I get there, I take another deep breath and raise my hand to knock on his door.
"Come in," I hear him say from inside.
I push open the door and step in. He is sitting at his desk, not looking up from his computer. When he finally does, his expression is unreadable.
He gestures toward the chair in front of him. "Miss Williams. Please have a seat."
I sit down, trying to steady my trembling hands.
Albert leans back in his chair and gives me a stern look. "Let me be direct with you, Miss Williams. After your presentation yesterday, I could’ve fired you on the spot."
My stomach sinks. I feel my face flush with embarrassment.
"Your performance was unacceptable," Albert continues. "Not only did you embarrass yourself, but you also brought shame upon our company in front of its owners."
"I apologize," I croak out. "There's no excuse for… " I gulp. "For what happened."
Albert purses his lips. "Christine is adamant about firing you."
Of course, she is. Tell me something I don’t already know. "I’m aware of that, Mr. Solomon. I understand her decision."
I anticipate him handing me the resignation documents to sign, but instead, he does something else. He stands up from his chair and approaches me.
"I believe that would be a drastic move, Mindy. Your skills and expertise are too valuable to simply let go." He gets even closer. "And… being a single mother for a six-year-old, I imagine this job is important for you."
I nod, staring at him. He stands right in front of me, practically towering over me. "Fortunately, I have a solution for your situation," he says with a sly smile. His hand reaches out and touches my cheek, causing me to flinch in surprise.
What the hell?
I stare at him dumbly. Is he doing what I think he is?
He gives me a sly wink and says, "Let me tell you something, Miss Williams. I know how to persuade my wife to see things my way." His gaze lingers on me. "But, as they say, everything has a price. And I'm sure you understand that well. Being a chief accountant and all." He chuckles at his own lame joke.
I can’t believe he’s doing this. My face is frozen, but inside I feel an overwhelming sense of disgust. Yes, I desperately need this job, but this... this is what they call sexual harassment. And it makes me feel sick to my stomach.
I instinctively withdraw, trying to create distance between us. But he leans in and moves even closer. His face is only inches away from mine now. "You’re not a naive teenager anymore, Miss Williams… I mean, Mindy," he whispers in a suggestive tone. "And those photos you put on display yesterday were… impressive." He then does the unthinkable. He presses his body against mine, making sure that I can feel his arousal through his trousers.
Holy fucking shit!
Seriously?
I have to swallow the urge to puke. Maybe I shouldn’t. Maybe I should just vomit all over him, right into his face. But instead, I hold my hand out in a stopping motion.
"No," I say firmly.
He takes a step back. "Well then, maybe you don’t really need this job after all, Miss Williams."
I lower my hand and finally manage to find my voice. "In case you don’t know, Mr. Solomon, what you're doing is considered sexual harassment."
Albert’s face drains of color. His plastic charm crumbles into a cold, piercing glare. "And what you did yesterday is called public indecency."
I know he’s trying to blackmail me, but I refuse to take the bait. "I will not hesitate to report this to HR, Mr. Solomon."
He stares at me dumbly, and that gives me the courage to get even bolder.
"And let’s not forget about your history, Mr. Solomon," I improvise. I have no clue if it’s true, but I suspect I’m not his first victim. When his expression confirms my suspicion, I continue. "I know I’m not the only employee you’ve approached like this. And I'm sure Mr. and Mrs. Thompson would be very interested to learn about that." I stand to my feet, ready to make a run for it. "And so would Christine."
For a moment, I worry that he’s going to do something crazy, like lash out and attack me, but he doesn’t. Instead, his eyes linger on me, full of hatred. "You’ve made the mistake of your life, Mindy, " he growls threateningly. "My wife will inform you of the next steps. And now, get the fuck out of my office."
"Much obliged, Mr. Solomon," I reply, forcing professional confidence into my tone. "I will work from home until Christine makes her final decision. I trust that’s satisfactory, given the unique circumstance." Without waiting for a reply, I quickly leave his office.
Dear God, what the hell just happened?
Did he just try to blackmail me into having sex with him?
I bolt down the never-ending hallway as far from Albert Solomon’s office as possible. As I approach my desk, my coworkers are still glued to their screens, typing away on their computers like programmed machines. A few of them briefly glance up when they see me gathering my things in a frenzy. My vision is blurred with tears.
"Are you okay, Mindy?" someone asks, but I don’t respond. I pick up all my stuff and storm out of the office without a word.
And I run.
And run.
My legs pump, my lungs burn as I push myself to escape this godforsaken place for the second time in the last twenty-four hours. First, after my professional suicide, and now, after being sexually harassed and blackmailed by my boss. I’m sure I’m going to need therapy after these two days.
When I burst through the doorway and finally feel the fresh air on my face, a surge of emotion overwhelms me. Tears begin to wet my cheeks, fueled by fear, relief, and sheer exhaustion. I don’t hold them back. I let them flow freely, releasing all the stress I’ve been pushing down.
I fumble with my purse, struggling to find my car keys. The sound of a nearby car engine barely registers in my mind as I’m consumed by my own distress and humiliation. It’s not until I’m almost by my car that I see a black Escalade turning the corner. It slows down as it nears me, but in my state of turmoil, I don’t give it a second thought.
All I can think about is getting in my car and driving away from this nightmare.