Chapter 5
Penelope Miles
“You did what?!”
I take a deep pull on my soda and enjoy the fizzy burn before meeting Peter’s gaze.
“I got a job,” I say.
This feels too similar to how my self-defense friends reacted when I told them about Sebastian’s offer. I didn’t escape fast enough and ended up being forced through a gauntlet of concerned friends.
Hilary was furious until I told her I accepted. Brook was concerned and made a comment about overbearing bosses being dangerous to single women, but her smirk didn’t match her words. Audrey remained skeptical, but then everyone forgot when her fiancé, Brennan, urged her to make an announcement.
As much as I know my friends meant well, my insides still shake from all the attention.
“Congratulations!” Peter says.
I wait for the barrage of questions, but he merely grabs another chicken wing off the coffee table and shoves it in his mouth.
“Really? That’s it? You alone know how out of character this is for me. How can that be all you have to say?”
He chuckles as he chews, leans back, swallows with annoying grace, and takes a sip of his beer before responding.
“The offer must have been flippin’ amazing for you to accept, so unless an old fling offered it, I say go for it.”
I hesitate too long.
“Pen! Who?”
“He’s not a fling. He’s my brother’s best friend.”
“What?! One of the douchebags who pretended like you never existed after they graduated?”
Shame wriggles through me as I realize how little I’ve told him over the years even as I claimed him as my best friend.
“Yes, but he’s the CEO of the largest sports safety equipment producer, so—”
“A jock?! Penelope Everly Miles! You never told me—”
“I know. Just because our bullies were jocks doesn’t mean they’re all horrible. My brother was a jock, too, and he—”
Peter jerks his palm up and gives me an aggressive stop gesture as he shakes his head.
“Don’t call that cretin your brother. You know how I feel about him.”
I sigh.
“Yeah, I do. My bad.”
Peter shoves a handful of fries in his mouth.
I choose my next victim—the chicken wing in the corner of the container—and smear it through the spicy sauce before leaning over my paper plate and taking a messy bite.
Several paper towels and wet wipes later, I grab a fry and coat it in the sauce. Peter speaks as I pop it into my mouth.
“So not a fling, huh?”
I nearly die choking on my food. After clearing my throat with a swig of soda, I answer him honestly.
“No, but I definitely had a crush on him.”
I wince as he squeals.
“It was totally one-sided,” I rush to explain. “He was a senior. I was at least two years younger than the other freshman. He asked me to be his tutor in computer science after saving me from… anyway, he’s the CEO. I’ll be programming computers. We’ll hardly see each other.”
Even as I speak, Sebastian’s declaration that he’ll be my liaison rings in my head.
I push it aside, adding it to the pile of things I don’t believe.
Just like his promise before he graduated and his sweetly rumbled ‘anything for you, sweet pea’ during my contract negotiations, I label it as wishful thinking and tuck it away for if I ever have a good dream instead of nightmares.
“But he offered you a deal you couldn’t refuse?”
Peter’s insistence aggravates me. I don’t understand what point he’s trying to make.
“I could have refused it.”
“But you didn’t.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Why?”
“The benefits and pay are amazing,” I say.
“And?”
“And I get to keep my intellectual property.”
I don’t know why I sound so defensive.
“And?” he asks again.
“And what?”
My exasperated voice echoes in the silence. After a moment, Peter smirks and pats my arm before standing and flouncing down the hall.
“You tell me when you figure it out,” he calls over his shoulder.
His bedroom door closes. I blink at the muted television without seeing what’s on the screen. When my brain finally clicks back into the present, I jump up off the couch and yell, “Hey, don’t leave me! I need help choosing what to wear.”
His laughter through the door before he strides out into the hall assures me I didn’t insult him with my emotional ineptitude.
After choosing my clothes and finishing dinner, I map out my commute, calculate my schedule, set my alarms, and sit at my desk for a couple hours of work.
The moment I turn on my screen, I fight the urge to dive into my hater’s computer via my new program, but instead focus on the most pressing tasks.
When I post on the forum about my decrease of hours and increase of rates, dozens of outraged comments fill the thread, but my order request queue triples.
I roll my eyes and open a bottle of water before sorting through and accepting the first few that seem worth my time.
I work until my bedtime alarm rings, then go through my nightly routine and curl up on my oversized beanbag.
Although not as bad as yesterday’s carnage, the mess from my tossing and flailing is enough to set my teeth on edge when I wake.
After tidying my room, I take a quick shower and dress in the matching blazer and slacks Peter helped me choose.
I check myself in the mirror and consider changing bras, but Peter insisted the lace was the right choice for underneath my flowing blouse.
I sigh and button the middle button of my blazer, but it squishes my breasts together and accentuates my cleavage, so I slip the button free and turn toward the sink to deal with my hair.
My roommate insisted I wear a high ponytail, but when I pull it up and hold it in place with my hand, tiny ants crawl around on my scalp. Painful memories resurface. I drop the ponytail and rub my head to erase the sensations. The scar hidden on the back of my head itches.
I work mousse through my damp locks before blowing it dry and clipping back the top half. It’s not my normal style, but it looks more professional without aggravating my scalp.
With a few minutes to spare before my alarm to leave goes off, I grab a protein bar and bottle of water before settling at my desk.
After a bit of snooping, I leave a surprise for the next time my hater logs on and close the program.
I try very hard to remain on the legal side of the law, but cyberbullying is just as unforgivable as in-real-life bullying, and most cases involving only adults go unpunished.
This fool threatened the wrong person.
My alarm pulls me back into reality.
I secure my computer, finish my food, and clean up before reaching for my trusted coat. I stop with my hand clenched in the fabric. The weather won’t be too bad today. My commute isn’t terrible. Peter will be disappointed if he realizes I covered my outfit.
I leave my coat on the hook and grab my purse.
My commute is uneventful despite the mayhem of the midday bustle. I use the time to catch up on current events pertaining to my potential new employer while still remaining aware of my surroundings.
When I turn the last corner and pause to stare up at the impressive building, anxiety hits me. I stand rooted in place on the busy sidewalk until a man nearly knocks me over.
Before I can apologize, cruel hands close around my shoulders. I shove at the man’s chest but freeze as he says my name.
Every inch of me ices over in terror.
Hundreds of horrible memories flood my brain.
Michael, the boy who terrorized me nonstop for two years, tightens his beefy fists around my shoulders and hauls me out of the main flow of traffic and under the nearest awning.
Adrenaline shatters the ice infecting my veins the moment the sun disappears. I shove his wrist with both hands and free my left shoulder—just like Brook taught me in class—but before I can dart away, he yanks me backward by my other shoulder.
Bile fills my throat as he tugs me against his chest and bands an arm around my midsection.
The world closes in as he pins me to him with terrifying ease.
“Wow, you’ve really grown up, haven’t you, Penny?” Michael says.
He tightens his hold until my breasts pillow over the top of his forearm.
I stomp on his foot and jab my elbow backward, but he’s too tall, so instead of hitting his side, I elbow his hip, and he just laughs and shifts his stance.
“I think I liked you better when you weren’t so… filled out, although these curves could be fun. Do you remember how much fun we had when—”
A woman calls his name from behind us. He releases me and whips around.
I pull my purse in front of me and hug it to my chest as I hurry into the building.
The streets teem with people. Certainly running into Michael was just a coincidence and will never happen again.
I assure myself he cannot possibly work at Sebastian’s company.
Sebastian is too good at judging people’s potential to hire someone as sleazy and gross as the male counterpart to the ring leader of my bullies.
After pausing just inside the doors to adjust my clothes, I approach the front desk. Still a bit frozen from shock and horror, I float through the next few minutes without being present.
I follow the woman from behind the counter past the main elevators to the one reserved for executives.
The doors part. Sebastian commands the space beyond. Color returns to the world. My heart gives a prolonged squeeze before galloping into my throat.
Joy blooms deep in my soul as dark-chocolate-colored eyes meet mine, but the sudden surge of emotion amplifies the terror of the last few minutes.
I yearn to wrap my arms around Sebastian’s sturdy frame and bury my face in his massive chest, but the thought of infecting him with Michael’s filth holds me immobile.
Every scar on my body itches and burns in remembered horror.
Sebastian’s perceptive eyes pick me apart. His smile wavers. Concern narrows his gaze. He thanks the woman and holds his hand over the door sensor before gesturing me into the elevator.