Chapter 21 Violet
Chapter Twenty-One
VIOLET
I keep dreamily wafting from my work over the next two days, and by day two, Friday afternoon, I have to keep pulling myself back.
I sit in my office, trying to work on the next step in Isaac’s return to form. He wants to surpass his mini-comeback and secure more approval points.
But the thing is he doesn’t listen when I’ve tried to speak to him about the rumors and whispers online.
They’re pretty low-key, and they just might go away…
he’s right about that. And he could try to absorb them into his new narrative of a modern day, open to all walks of life politician he’s carving out.
He’s right when he says it’s working. He’s wrong when he says it’s in the bag.
Nothing in politics is in the bag until the election is over, and this isn’t an election year.
He’s still on shifting ground, and the polls change each day.
But my job isn’t to shape him. Not yet. I’m just an intern providing data, and he’s…
I swallow as I work, the thoughts of Isaac putting The Ghost far into the background, and my ass back on the seat of reality with a thump.
He’s a creep.
Clearly, the cold shoulder isn’t going to work.
Last night, he had me stay late to do work for him. Sign letters, answer emails, and everything else he could think of.
Everyone had gone by then and the worst part was he made me sit in his office, in his chair, using his computer. He stayed in the room, on his sofa in there, using his laptop and drinking cognac.
Isaac even ordered in, getting us some Thai. I turned down the booze and reluctantly said yes to some Pad See Yew.
But he never tried anything, never said anything untoward. Just creeped me out.
He’s being good, on his best behavior, but that never works, not in the long term, not if he’s not turning over a new leaf, which, judging by last night and tonight, and his staring at my breasts and legs, isn’t happening soon.
He comes into my office and sits on my desk. “Go over the notes you’re making on my speech.”
He holds a glass of cognac out for me.
“No, thanks.”
His eyes harden. “Take it.”
So, I do. And I have the smallest sip in the world. Then I clear my throat. “Isaac, I’m not a speechwriter.”
“No, you’re not. But if you want to make it in the role as analyst and advisor you need to be able to help with speeches.
I have a speechwriter, I want some notes.
I’ll then put it together. Of course, if you only want to be an analyst, you’re wasting your time here.
You can do that anywhere, and no one’s going to chase you down.
The advisor part’s what makes you special. ” He smiles at me. “One of the things.”
I swallow.
Some of that’s excellent advice and observations, and he ruined it all with the special creepoid doublespeak.
So, I read the notes, and he nods. “Send it through to me.”
He leaves my office.
I hate this, being alone with him.
I think I preferred the death stares and the oozing blame. But since I signed the NDA, and we both know it was either that or lose this job and then my scholarship and chances at a PhD, his leers and looks are becoming almost impossible to ignore.
And it’s so much worse now that we’re alone for the evening.
I’d hoped him almost losing his job, worse, his chances at not just re-election down the line but his plans and goals of making it to the White House, would be more than enough to shake sense into him. To make him leave me alone.
Maybe he thinks the NDA gives him freedom.
Or maybe some of the dark whispers are true. He’s done a lot worse than fuck a hooker or spend money on strip shows. And the video is nothing at all to Isaac, not in the grand scheme.
I can’t find what it is that’s causing the whispers, but the rumors are wild. Sex trafficking, which I’m not sure about. Underage lovers, that I can believe. And shit, maybe they’re trafficked and he hasn’t given a fuck.
I’m almost in that realm, a few years out, but he has a type, and his type is young and around eighteen or twenty.
So that, I believe.
I read one thing about him beating the shit out of a working girl who wouldn’t let him make her the star of an all-male party.
Funny how I can have similar fantasies but have real-life stuff in the same realm turn my stomach.
Because it’s a fantasy. Thinking of being with multiple men is a fantasy. Fantasy in my head only. The rest of my dark desires, I’m willing to explore with The Ghost.
Slake the thirst that rises within for the risky desires.
I don’t want any of these things outside that realm. Ever.
And the tiny hints and stories that I’ve pieced together are disturbing to me.
Not that he might be into dark fantasies and play, and people are taking it and running, but the fact there’s something off about handsome Isaac. And he hides it pretty well.
Except for now, because it feels after that initial few days of cold shoulder and murderous intent aimed at me, he’s now looking at me like I’m his last meal.
As I think this, something resounds through me like I’ve hit a truth.
What if that’s it?
If the rumors and whispers have truth hidden in their depths, then maybe whatever he’s done is so bad that he knows it’ll come out. Because someone better than me will be on this. Someone like The Ghost.
And there are still things that kill political careers dead.
Maybe the reason he got me to stay back tonight, too, is because he’s planning something. Maybe he knows it’s all about to come out, and he’s got nothing to lose.
Before the video and right after, he hid his behavior. But now, last night a little and all day today and now, he’s not. He’s being creepy.
Right on cue, he comes in to my office once more. “I’m going to need you to stay late.”
“I’m here late already.”
“Real late, Violet. Like all-nighter late.”
“You know I can’t stay past seven.”
The clock’s ticking closer to that magic hour. I put that one in place because interns are often exploited, work-wise, and I’ll be here at six if needed, all the way up to seven.
“Too bad. You’re staying. Drink your drink.” And he stands there, waiting, as I pick it up and take another sip. He doesn’t move until I take a bigger one, and then he smiles.
“Is there something wrong with what I sent you?”
“Not at all. It’s good. I just need…help. And everyone else is gone. Emails, filing, some other important clerical work.”
He leaves then, and I want to run, but he is my boss. My word against his, and he knows it.
He won’t hurt me. Just try something like he did last time. Because even if he doesn’t care, or knows he can’t save his career right now unless he steps back, he’s not going to actually rape me. He’s a man who definitely doesn’t want to go to prison.
My stomach turns as my skin starts to crawl.
“My office, now.”
I have no other option but to go in there. He’s got his tie off, and eyes my dress, and stands at his bookcase, drinking his cognac, and he nods at the filing cabinets opposite him.
“Winklemann, I need that file.”
I clench my jaw.
W is the last drawer on the bottom.
I start to crouch down.
“No, bend properly. At the waist. Like you’re touching your toes.”
“I’m not doing that.” I glare at him.
His smile is a leer. “You will. I could write you up for all kinds of things that’ll kill your career dead. Come on, I’m a man, I like a good ass and plump pussy lips.”
He swallows down the rest of his drink, and my eyes drop to his pants where he’s already getting hard.
Bile rises in my throat, burning a path to my mouth.
“It’s not like I’m asking you to remove your panties. You should get used to this. There are far worse bosses out there than me, and I could kill your career before it’s out of the gate.” He snaps his fingers. “Just like that. So, bend the fuck over so I can see your goods.”
“This is sexual harassment.”
“I asked you to get a file. You hit on me, and I turned you down and you got vindictive and tried to punish me. See how that works?”
I blink fast, willing myself not to cry.
I’m alone.
With him.
And he’s a big man.
This isn’t fantasy.
This is real.
And it’s ugly.
“Just get the file.” He turns and goes to his desk, and I start shaking.
I try and control it as I crouch down.
My dress ends just above the knee, it’s not sexy or hot, it’s just a pretty dress I got for work and afternoons out. It’s the type of thing if I put on heels I could get away with a casual night or even slightly upscale night.
Not that as an analyst or advisor I’d be needing many of those, but everything I’ve read and all talks I’ve been to on the subject out of the school say dress code is important.
I’d wear a suit out in the real world, but I don’t have one.
I have pants and jackets to mix and match, but my budget isn’t exactly huge.
So, I prefer to have pieces I can turn into multiple outfits.
I can finally bring my breath to normal levels.
I get the file and hand it to him, and he doesn’t look up.
“I also need some files for the school district and housing. Low rent places, and the proposed budget for next year.”
Suddenly, he’s all business, and my stomach is spinning.
I nod and go out into the main office and fetch the relevant files, taking my time, and while I’m there, composing myself, I collect my phone and slide it into my pocket, just in case.
I need to get myself back to a cohesive state. This being ripped in all directions by Isaac’s insinuations, crude hits, and business as usual mentor man is making everything shift and move. And I hate it.
He’s playing with me.
I fucking hate it.
When The Ghost goes quiet or shifts from dirty to mentor or plays with my emotions I like it.
This…fuck, no.
But it’s a real hard, fast, dirty lesson on dynamics, and Isaac is trying to dismantle the ones that come with the workplace, the ones that should be there between us.