8
Master of Puppets
Amanda
The newest letter has my mood in the dumps. The whole situation does really. The only thing that hasn’t changed is my job.
Ms. Matthias was bought out by her brother a month ago. The investment business continues with very few differences.
The new owner, Gabriel Matthias, works on the top floor. People whisper about him like he’s the boogie man. I have yet to see him, and I hope I never do. I bet he’s an egotistical pig.
The files have changed a little. More obscure places are getting bought up instead of fancy ones. It’s like the Matthias family is trying to buy the whole town and fighting over who gets what.
The bad news is that everything I worked on when I started has to be pulled and relocated, and the new files have to be put in place. At least the new ones are neatly organized into boxes instead of spread all over the single desk here. There isn’t any point in asking Sarah for help. She always gives me a nasty side-eye and tells me it’s my job to file, not hers.
This entire town is overflowing with jackasses. I wish I had the receptionist job next to Harriette. I’m already planning on saving up for twenty cats and a ghostly house that will scare away any intruders. Harriette seems like the type to help with something like that.
The day passes like molasses pouring from a jar. I finish one box and pick up the next one, ready to move it to the table when Sarah comes barreling in and knocks the box out of my hands.
“What the hell?” I ask in dismay as pages spread everywhere.
“Watch where you’re going,” Sarah snaps back, shuffling through a cabinet to pull a file and walk away.
“While I’m standing in one spot. Yeah, totally my fault,” I glare. She ignores me and closes the door.
I’m ready to rage quit. Instead, I take a few deep breaths and remind myself that I like hot dogs more than I like ramen.
It doesn’t stop my running mumbled commentary about stupid pretend bosses who do nothing all day and then ram into innocent employees. Next time, I’m going to trip her on her way out. Maybe kick her while she’s down.
I’m going strong with my angry rant when something catches my eye on a sheet of paper.
Justin Blake.
Ugh. I feel my gag reflex working just seeing it. I should scratch it out and write in Loser. My eyes skip down and snag on another name.
Elliot Bernard?
The name is familiar. I’ve got a feeling of doom that comes up and fades quickly. Enough to make me shudder and knock my memory into shape.
This is a name from one of the letters.
That’s weird.
I gather up all of the sheets and set them on the table, slowly putting them back in order. This is proof of title on a property. It says Loser bought it, but I was never told anything about it. The weirdness continues.
Judge Gloria Fullerton is also on the page. It’s not really a surprise because this is some legal paperwork. Is this a list of properties Matthias LLC has recently purchased and their histories?
Her name pops up several times through the scattered pages. I’m less looking at information and more hunting for names like a relaxing word search. Two more catch my notice. Darla Santos. I remember that one because it sounds like a pop star name. And Carter Smash. Who has that as a last name? Of course, I remember it. I’m not so sure about the Carter part, though.
In a fit of insanity, I wander out to Sarah's desk and steal some of her highlighters to see how far I can go. No one ever looks at this stuff. I can do what I want. The petty vandalism makes my mood go up.
I start highlighting any of the familiar names when I see them. By the end of the day, I’ve got glowing ink all over my fingertips and no work to show for it. Oops. With the door closed, no one has any idea what I’m doing in here so I have that going for me.
I shove the pages into one big pile and put it into one of the folders before I leave. Then I curse myself all the way home for wasting an entire day on useless crap. Although, I am tempted to peek at all the other names so I can locate more of them and continue the highlighting chaos. How many more can I find?
I don’t want to stop until those highlighters are empty and I can put them back on Sarah’s desk. There is nothing better than watching her realize all her fancy highlighters are dry as dust on the inside. Petty vengeance gives me the warm fuzzies inside.
I stop at the mailbox with a sigh and open it. My stomach drops when I see the smaller envelope.
How many damn women could he have been with over six years? So far he’s ranking about one a year. With this new one, I can add at least one more.
Why am I getting these? And the names? Couldn’t whoever this is just type out what they’re trying to tell me? I get it. Loser is a cheating jackass. What do the names have to do with it?
I get inside my apartment and stare at it as I drop my purse and keys on the floor by the door.
I shouldn’t open it. I know that. Nothing comes from it but the agony of realizing how stupid I was and the soul-crushing knowledge that I’m not half as attractive as any of the women he’s been with.
Like an idiot, I open the envelope and look inside. Shock slaps me in the face. This time, I’m ready to rip the pictures into tiny pieces. I recognize this woman.
Janine. With her face screwed up in a disgusting display of pleasure while she gets plowed from behind. How could any man look at that and think it’s hot?
And she’s trying to get me out there to meet people and regain my self-confidence? If she thinks she’s got a shot of being wifey Blake the second more power to her. Leave me the fuck out of it.
I flip each photo on the floor as I go. I force myself to look. To see her as she really is for once. She’s hiding just as much as I am. Except I’m hiding rage, and she’s hiding being a raging slut .
I stack them all together and toss them into the drawer with a lot of unnecessary force.
I thought we were friends—a lot like Annette. That means nothing to these women. I wonder if I’ll get pictures of Beth or Jessie next. It’s like he went through my phone contacts for hook-ups.
It’s another stab in the back I didn’t see coming.
After a lot of pacing, crying, and cursing, I find a crumpled receipt in my purse and write my own little note for the mailbox mystery fucker.
“Go fuck yourself.”
I look at my shaky writing with pride and snatch the takeout food magnet off the fridge that the previous tenant left. I’ve never ordered any because it’s too expensive and I’m desperately saving as much as I can. I practically run down the flight of stairs to slap it on the mailbox and march back up to try and get some sleep.
I fail.
The next morning, I’m exhausted and living off the sludge office coffee by the gulp. I shove the folder of highlighted names onto the floor and take a nap with my head on the desk.
I don’t know where to go from here. Every piece of the life I’ve been living for the past six years is a lie. I need to get out of this town. Get away from the city and go back to my hometown. A familiar place, even if I met Loser there. It’s not like he would ever go back to ordinary people living ordinary lives.
To do that, I need to get a divorce.
To do that, I need money. I’m not waiting anymore. I’m getting shit done, and nothing is going to stand in my way. I am officially done with all of this.
Instead of working I spend my time filling out online applications to any job listing I find that makes a better wage than this one. I can work two jobs. I’ll have to cut out going to the gym, which won’t be a problem now that I know for sure that it’s a cesspit of the morally bankrupt.
When I leave for the day, Sarah stands in my way, but I bypass her with a sneer. “Whatever you need, you can get it tomorrow. It’s five, and I’m going home.”
Wednesday is more of the same, but this time, Sarah is watching me with narrowed eyes and pursed lips. I ignore her beautifully and pretend I’m all about work all day. I eat my measly PB&J for lunch and get back to it. She doesn’t have a single thing to complain about.
She doesn’t confront me until Thursday.
Since she was all over every action yesterday, I decided to put on a more formal outfit. The same one I bought to interview in. I pair it with the power high heels I bought second-hand on a whim. My feet are pinched in these. I can’t wait to take them off again. I’m determined to switch things around, though. Power shoes. And great weapons if someone pisses me off.
When I limp into the filing room Sarah is waiting for me and tapping her toes with impatience.
“So good of you to come in,” she says snippily.
“Yes, it is,” I agree sweetly, more than ready to take this mood out on someone. The shoes were a big mistake, the walk to work convinced me. I may be a Jefferson, but this idiocy isn’t worth the fight. I should have brought a different pair to change into.
“You’re late,” she tries to say in a low tone of anger, but I’m not convinced this stick-thin woman has it in her. I could crush her by sitting on her. No fancy fighting moves necessary. More proof that I don’t need that stupid class.
“On the contrary, I pride myself on showing up on time and even clocking in. What can I do for you?” I ask in an overly sweet tone with a fake smile.
It feels so good to let the snark out. Like I’m releasing tension from a valve that’s been building for years. It’s about to blow if I don’t relieve some pressure.
“Your day starts at seven.”
Her imperious tone doesn’t cover that bullshit up at all.
“I can just imagine how much filing I’ll get done with the doors locked. I read my paperwork and managed to memorize my set schedule. Seven anything isn’t on it.” The fake sweetness has changed into dry mockery.
“Your attitude is another mark against you.”
I’m baffled that she thinks she can intimidate me because she can wear heels better than I can.
“Sure,” I agree without any concern. “Tell me what you want so I can get to work.”
“You aren’t working today. In fact, you’ve been called upstairs to speak to Mr. Matthias.”
The boogie man? What the hell does that rich asshole want? A file hand dipped in gold? Pass.
“It seems your highlighting technique of filing has caught his attention.”
My eyes fall to the floor where the folders should be, and my shoulders sag when I find it missing along with three other boxes. Fuck me with a Jake-sized dildo. It just sounds painful to me.
Sarah starts smiling smugly at my sudden defeat. “I guess you aren’t cut out for this type of work.”
That rallies me in a snap.
“Please. The only person who is going to suffer from this is you . You’ll actually have to get off your ass and do something other than playing on your phone all day.”
And I’m going to have to look for another job ASAP. Unless I can talk the boogie man into letting me stay. I’ll swear off highlighters for the rest of my life if I have to. I need money. That means I need to get this grumpy show together and stop being an ass.
“I’ll escort you upstairs,” she says smugly and starts marching towards the elevators.
“Whatever,” I roll my eyes. That’s not keeping my cool. I’ll start as soon as I see the guy. I can be meek. I did it for six fucking years, after all.
Outside the filing room, we pass the cubicles for data entry and make a right before the entry desk. Along the wall is a line of five sleek elevators. At the end of a small hallway is a side entrance I never noticed before probably because I’ve only been on the first floor.
She leads me to the farthest elevator in the line and swipes a card to open the doors. How fancy! Only special people get to ride on this one. I hate rich people. It’s confirmed.
They picked the wrong week to pull this shit with me. I’m torn between wanting to attack the first person I see with these heels and begging for money. No in-between. Sarah keeps up a running commentary on all my drawbacks as an employee. I have to stifle the urge to start using a lewd gesture to get her to shut up. It doesn’t help me maintain a calm attitude, that's for sure.
When we get to the top floor, I stomp off the elevator with my fists clenched and ready for war. The pain from each step amplifies my anger.
Mr. Matthias has the entire floor to himself, with a reception desk as a guard point and the rest a closed-up office with no windows to see inside his personal space. He’s probably an ancient grump wasting away where no one can witness it. There’s only one set of double doors behind the desk for entry or exit and an emergency door for some stairs.
“Amanda Jefferson?” The young, beautiful receptionist eyes me with distaste.
My ego takes a hit at the look, but I square my shoulders. I’m not super-hot, perfectly dressed with excellent makeup, and slim. Who cares? I mean, I do, but no one else should matter! She can roll her eyes in the other direction so the muscles stay even. She’s done at least three reps to the right since I got here.
“Yeah?” I give her a once-over of disdain to keep us on even footing.
She smirks at my attitude as if she can’t wait to see me get wiped out in the next room. As the last checkpoint before the boss battle, she isn’t very helpful.
She turns to Sarah, and her frown comes back. “He asked to see her alone, didn’t he?”
“She’s in my department, and I wanted to give him a thorough explanation,” Sarah says in her imperious tone. “Her actions shouldn’t reflect on my performance.”
“And he wants to see her alone . Have a nice day, Ms. Aleksis.”
The cold finality of her tone deflates Sarah immediately. I’m grudgingly impressed. Silence reigns supreme as she goes back into the elevator with a pout.
I give her a happy wave as the doors close, more than glad to see her leave. She begins to scowl just as they slide shut.
The receptionist gives me another cringing look and says, “Follow me.”
I follow her around the desk and several feet away. The doors are inset a few feet, but from the front, you wouldn’t be able to tell. It’s a mini hallway to reach the double doors. She opens one without knocking to show me into a gigantic office.
“Amanda Jefferson, sir.” Her voice has turned into a seductive purr that I double-take at. The hotness falls a little flat as she squirms in place, plumping her breasts up to draw attention there. I’m sure some guys think it’s adorable, but to me, she looks like she needs to pee and is barely holding it together. She has all my dismayed attention at first.
“That will be all.”
I freeze up at the sound of a honeyed voice that could tempt a saint. Despite the cold tone and controlled cadence of his speech, that voice could narrate filthy smut to me, and I would go to bed with a smile.
That’s not the voice of some ancient man. He sounds middle-aged and hot as sin. I’m in deep shit. My neglected libido has chosen the worst time to sit up and take notice of someone. Based on his cold voice alone. I’m mentally compromised. I know it. I don’t even know what he looks like.
I try my best to take in the room instead of acting like a hornball and posing like his secretary. I have enough ego problems as it is. No way will this guy look twice at me when I’m standing next to her. Not that I should care. Or be thinking about that. I should know better than to drool after a handsome, wealthy man by now.
There’s a space for couches and a TV to the right. A bar with stools is on the left, along with a closed room that I’m assuming is a giant bathroom. It’s too small for a bed but way too big for a half bath. There’s a desk that should seem too large in the center of the room, but the man seated behind it makes it seem insignificant.
My stomach sinks in dismay.
It isn’t his size. It’s his magnetic presence . He hasn’t looked up since I entered. I can tell he’s hot by his absolute lack of reaction to anything. He’s cocky, and it shows in blinding neon red flags. He seems to be skimming through a document that I’ll probably have to file later. Unless he fires me. His dark hair is pulled back in a tail that seems weird on a man in his position. Do CEOs have long hair? That’s a dumb thing to think about.
I’m trying not to drool. When I look at the other occupants of the room, I want to whimper at the unfairness of their stupid, handsome faces.
I take in the giant, muscled man behind him. He’s standing with his arms crossed and frowning darkly at me. Whatever I did made the mountain of a man angry, that’s for sure. His dark blue eyes are glaring, and his short-cropped black hair makes him look more menacing somehow. Like the muscles on muscles weren’t enough of a threat. His suit doesn’t hide how strong he is. He could pick me up one-handed any time.
Damn it. Down libido!
The man next to him is leaning against the wall as if he’s bored with everything. He has a toothpick sticking out of the corner of his mouth as he stares. His eyes are a bright green that grabs my attention. Brown hair cut as military short as the mountain next to him and a hint of scruff on his cheeks. He’s the only one not in a suit. The lucky guy gets to wear jeans and a short-sleeved shirt. And square-toed boots that look like they’re eighty years old and falling apart. Why does he get casual clothes day? The irritation makes me gloss over his handsome face nicely.
On the couch is a man with blond hair, his feet propped on the coffee table as he flips through channels. He’s facing away from me, but I get the feeling I’ve seen him somewhere before.
The man sitting next to him is turned toward me. He’s familiar in the worst way. I frown as we stare at each other. It’s the redhead from Mr. Broussard’s class. His presence helps me tone down the hormones—not enough, but some. If he’s chilling out in here, that means the rest of these guys are cut from the same cloth.
“ You ?” Cade asks with a frown of confusion.
And the anger is coming back. I stifle a witty comeback and pretend I still have a chance at a job here.
“You know her?”
The honeyed voice is definitely the boogie man. I flush as the sound of it sinks into me. My body is suddenly very interested in what the boss has to say, and it’s disturbing, to say the least.
What is wrong with me? I’m about to get fired! I have living proof the guy is probably an ass glaring at me right now.
“Yeah. From Muay Thai class. Did I tell you about all the women who joined suddenly? She’s one of them,” Cade’s frown gets darker.
I keep my focus on the floor and grind my teeth quietly. I hate this guy. I’m surprised he hasn’t thrown in a comment about how bad I am at it. Or made fun of my weight.
“I see,” Mr. Matthias says in a tone of disapproval and continues shuffling papers.
Silence fills the room. The TV is muted now. I recognize the blond now, too. Jake. Why man? It’s like the universe is convinced I should be punished for something, and I have no idea what it is.
I’m getting fired. I can already tell. I’m not talking until someone else says something to me. I can use that time to calm down and try to be hopeful about this job.
“He said that’s all, Vanessa,” Jake calls helpfully to the receptionist. I can see his fake, innocent smile from the corner of my eye.
The secretary squirms for another minute, making me concerned for her bladder. I can’t help the look of disbelief I give her. Read the room, lady. There’s nothing but bad vibes and egotistical pigs in here. Save yourself.
When she leaves, she closes the door softly behind her, and nerves try to take me over.
I’m alone in a room full of guys, two of whom hate me openly. Most of them are staring at me hard enough to make me feel sunburned. How could this go wrong?
Why couldn’t all of them not be hot? There’s nowhere safe for me to look except for the desk, but I can’t because all I can think about is whether or not I could fit under there. It seems big enough. Hopefully my fidgeting doesn’t look like I need to pee.
There are fancy paintings on the walls. The glasses at the bar look like a professional should be back there doing tricks with alcohol bottles. All spotless, and I doubt any of these assholes have something to do with that. It has to be a maid. I wonder if that has decent pay. The weird thing is there are no alcohol bottles. There’s a mini fridge filled with tea and sodas. It must be Cade and Jake’s. I can’t see the other three lowering themselves for carbonation unless it’s sparkling water.
Time passes. The only sound is the quiet shuffle of papers, the sweep of a pen, and my breathing. I try my best to stay still, but I end up fidgeting a lot and looking around the spacious area, judging everything I see. No one speaks because the boogie man hasn’t stopped looking at the pile of paper in front of him. I might as well be a painting myself.
An indeterminable amount of time passes with a lot of glaring at me. A quick peek at my watch makes my eyes widen in surprise. I’ve been standing here for over an hour, trying to hold still. My feet started screaming at me in discomfort long before the time check. I can feel the blisters coming up.
A look at all the people around me shows they’re still watching me with various versions of scowls. This is ridiculous. How long does it take to fire someone? I could have already dropped off three resumes by now. This is some kind of stupid powerplay, and I don’t have to put up with it.
The weight of their stares pile up until I’m done with this, too. The pressure release on my temper suddenly breaks off, and it’s all hands on deck to douche canoe island.
I hold a fist up to my mouth and start coughing as obnoxiously as I can.
The paper shuffling stops. It’s like my interference in the natural jackass order of the room has sucked all of the air out as their stares get more intense.
“Is there a problem, miss…”
He doesn’t even know who he’s firing today? His receptionist said my name when we came in. What an ass.
“Actually, yes.” My eyes narrow on him as I wobble in my heels. I no longer care if he remains clueless about my name. I don’t bother to use the fake sweet voice.
“And that would be?” Mr. Matthias leans back in his chair, carefully setting his pen down to give me the coldest look. His eyes are amber-colored and warm, that expression doesn’t belong anywhere near that honey color and his warm skin tone. He should come with a hypothermia warning. The exotic slant of his cheekbones and sharp jawline turn him from handsome to flawless. His stare of disdain is a cross between Mr. Broussard and the gray-eyed guy in class.
Yup. Beautiful rich asshole dead ahead. Fuck them and their high-handed bullshit.
“I’d like for you to get on with the whole, thanks for nothing, you’re fired thing so I can take these damn shoes off. They’re killing me.”
The scruffy guy starts smiling. With a blatant sweep of his tongue, his toothpick shifts to the other side of his mouth. It’s distracting, given all the perverted thoughts that flood my mind.
“And why does this guy get to wear casual clothes?” I frown, trying to get back on track and failing. Scruffy’s smile widens in a predatory way that makes me rethink making snarky remarks about him specifically.
“Why would I be firing you?” Mr. Matthias props his chin in his hand and watches me with a cold stare.
“At this point, who cares? Just get on with it,” I slap my thighs in frustration. “If I had known I was going to be standing here all day waiting, I would have worn tennis shoes. You could have phoned this in and let me walk away without all this drama. And the menacing stares are overkill . This scene needs recasting.”
I pointedly look at the mountain of man but he doesn’t react. At least Cade is staring at me with wide-eyed disbelief.
Mr. Matthias narrows his eyes on me. It has an unsettling effect that makes me question my life choices. Mainly the choice to be an ass to him.
“You do understand that your poor attitude doesn’t reflect well on you,” he points out with a raised brow. “It’s a bit too childish for my tastes.”
“I’m so sorry. Please forgive me,” I deadpan back with a flat expression. “However can I make amends.”
“Why not take a moment to calm down. Have a seat,” he gestures to the chairs across from him and ducks his head to stare at the pages in front of him again.
I grind my teeth in frustration, baring them in a snarl he can’t see. Jake starts chuckling as the scruffy guy slowly straightens. Even the mountain guy looks uneasy at my expression. The vulnerable top of the boss’ head is the focus of all my aggression.
Every ounce of attraction I had rushes away like low tide. This is a play for them to mock me. My days are rough enough without the added angst. These assholes messed with the wrong anger issues today.
I stretch my neck and square my shoulders. My tongue runs across my teeth as if I’m readying for a hair-pulling brawl in the middle school hallway.
I am a fucking Jefferson . And this little bitch is going down .
I flip the script with a sickly sweet voice. My parents would be proud.
“I see you're really busy being a condescending, self-important dick, so I’ll help you out. Thank you for the underpaid job in the stuffy filing room without windows and air ventilation, dickweed . I quit!” I turn the last word into an annoying high- pitched tone before I drop the cheerleader act. “I hope I never see any of you or that damn room ever again. Make better choices and have a great life, everybody.”
He looks up in disbelief, fast enough to see me salute him with a middle finger and a menacing grin before I turn to the door. When I wobble for a second, I brace myself on the wall to yank the heels off one at a time. I’m tempted to throw them in the trash on the way out.
“Stupid egotistical pigs and their I’m the lord of the universe attitudes. I’d rather stuff these damn things down that asshole’s throat than carry them home. Fuck this place,” I snap angrily to myself as I open the door.
“Sit down .”
The freezing, enraged bark makes me stiffen up and move faster, but it doesn’t stop my mouth. The floodgates have opened, and I don’t care enough to stop them now. If he would shut up, I would stop. It’s on him.
“Oh, no thanks. I’m already calm . Go back to pretending you’re really special because your desk is big. I’m sure you’re not overcompensating for anything.”
The receptionist turns to look at me in horror as I slam the door behind me. It muffles the sound of Cade’s full-body laugh.
“The elevator takes a key card,” Jake yells helpfully through the door. I’m not waiting for the following comment. I can fill in the blank for him.
“I know I’m fat! You don’t have to keep reminding me when you see me! And I can make it down the stairs just fine, fuckface ,” I call back and keep stomping.
I yank open the stairway door as everything falls silent behind me. Thank god I clocked that one, or I’d still be standing there trying to press the call button for the elevator in a panic. Mr. Matthias’ cold voice is intimidating. The freezing voice is downright terrifying. As if he needs that when he has four guys hanging around looking ready to break bones and suck the marrow out.
“Dicks. Every single one of them. Fuck this place. And these shoes. The skirt, too. And pantyhose. Who the fuck came up with that torture?”
My anger gets me down two flights before I start flagging.
“This is what letting your rage issues take control gets you, Amanda,” I lecture myself as I pant. “A never-ending stairwell and no job. I hate life so much right now. And these damn shoes !”
I toss them both over my shoulder in a fit of rage and keep stomping. I pause as I take in the fact that I didn’t hear them fall. I turn in confusion and scream at the top of my lungs.
The scruffy guy from Mr. Matthias’ office is already at least four inches taller than me. Being on the step above me means I’m yelling at his lower chest.
“What the hell?” My voice reaches a soprano screech as I take in his delighted grin. What happened to his toothpick?
“Hi, darlin’.”
All speech fails me as my brain goes blank. I just thought the honey voice was bad. This is so much worse. And the accent is swoon-worthy.
Wait, he just scared the hell out of me! No swooning allowed.
“Hi,” my mouth mutters stupidly before I shake my head so my brain will reengage. “I mean, go away! I quit, and I don’t need an escort.”
“You sure?” He raises an eyebrow and leans down to meet my eyes. “You’re bein’ rough on your feet right now. I ain’t a fan of it.”
He stands straight and eyes me. It’s a bit disconcerting because he’s looking at me as if he wants to rip my clothes off. I’ve started getting used to the disgusted looks, so this is a nice change. But a little creepy. We’re the only people on the stairs. He just witnessed me being an out-of-control bitch, and he’s looking at me like that? There’s something wrong with both of us because I’m willing to give him a go.
No!
“Well, they’re my feet, and I can do what I want with them,” I tell him lamely and spin to keep going.
“Slow down, darlin’. It ain’t a race.”
“Maybe it is. Maybe I need to pee. You don’t know.” I’m panicking, and I have no idea what I’m saying.
He chuckles softly behind me. The sound is too erotic for my sanity. I feel a little like I’m being herded somewhere, and it’s starting to make me nervous.
The next few flights are silent except for my panting. The amount of sweat I’m building is embarrassing. I can’t hear him behind me, but I can feel him there. I don’t get how he can be close enough that I can feel his body heat and not step all over me.
I’ve slowed to a crawl by now and I pause to catch my breath as I lean over the railing to see how much farther I have to go. It’s a long way.
“I did this to me,” I mutter, disappointed in my life choices all over again.
“You’ve come this far and I know you can make it,” a hot breath brushes over my ear, startling me. “Let’s take our time. It’ll be better that way, don’t you think?”
I don’t know if he meant the last part to sound so erotic, and I don’t want to embarrass myself by asking. My heart is now pounding for a different reason. I start moving again but my body is stiff. Now, I feel less herded and more hunted .
He’s right behind me the whole time.
“Much better,” he whispers so close to my ear that my eyes widen. I don’t dare turn around. I’m starting to be more afraid of myself than him. He better back off before I molest him in the stairwell.
As if he wants that.
I cringe and keep going at a steady pace. If he hangs out with Cade and Jake, I’m sure this is a joke to him. Getting me worked up so he can laugh about it later. Or to my face. It stings my pride and my heart. But I don’t want to wallow in front of him. I won’t see him ever again, so he can laugh it up.
My shoulders straighten, and my determination gets a boost. They’re all assholes, and I need to focus on getting another job. And a divorce .
I’m still out of breath by the time I get to the door on the first floor. My thighs are burning so bad my legs are wobbly as I open it. I should be too tired to get mad again. That isn’t the case when the first people I see are Cade and Jake at the elevator doors with big smiles.
I’m so glad I didn’t bring my purse today. I can march right out the doors and never look back.
“You made it,” Jake says as if he’s been cheering me on from the sidelines and he’s proud of me.
I lift my chin and pass by without acknowledging either of them.
“If we had known you’d be so feisty, we would have talked to you sooner,” Cade adds on with a laugh.
The disgusted look I give them both seems to surprise them.
“Who would want that? You’re both egotistical hornballs that hump the leg of any woman you meet. News flash, fat shaming isn’t an effective flirting technique. Speak less. You look better that way.”
Jake chuckles while Cade’s expression falls into disbelief.
How do people get away with being like that all the time? They deserve a taste of their own medicine, but I doubt they’ll ever get it. They’re pretty to look at and not much else.
A body passes to stand in front of me, halting my progress. The scruffy guy holds up my shoes with a grin. I frown, and then my lips part in surprise when he gets on his knees, his eyes staying locked on mine. I’ve never had a guy drop in front of me like that. It’s actually a little hot.
He sets the shoes down, and his eyes trail over me slowly before he stops at my feet. One hand wraps around my ankle with the weight of a shackle, and he gently picks my foot up and props it on his thigh. All I can do is stare down at him in wonder.
He clicks his tongue as he shakes his head. His fingers gently run over the blister coming up on the back of my heel, and he brushes off the bottom to inspect it. I end up slapping my hand over the baggy skirt so I don’t flash him.
“Poor feet,” his voice falls into a croon that has my hands clenching into fists over the fabric.
He slides my shoe on gently and sets the foot down to give the other one the same treatment. I’m in too much of a daze to worry about my balance. I feel pampered like a queen.
Who is this guy?
He gets to his feet easily and pulls a wallet from his back pocket, taking out a few bills. His eyes meet mine and he brushes the edges of the paper against my chin as if he wants to tilt my head up with it.
“You’re gonna’ take the rest of the day off and get those feet pampered. And a massage. I know you ache after all that stompin’, and you got no excuse for it but pride. It better be a clothed massage, though, or I’m liable to get pissed, understand?”
I blink at him, totally stunned. I don’t understand. At all. Does the guy have a foot fetish?
He leans down with a smirk, almost brushing my nose with his. “You understand, darlin’? Today’s for spoilin’ and relaxin’. Be here tomorrow at ten. Sleep in a bit. If you need an idea for a color of polish, I’d recommend black or red. Get your fingernails to match. I can’t wait to see it.”
This is unbelievable. I’m torn between the feminine urge to tell him where he can shove his money and the surprising pleasure of his easy care for my physical comfort. I can’t remember the last time someone tried to spoil me.
He doesn’t seem to be laughing at me. He’s trying to turn my horrible day around in a really creepy way. It’s confusing as hell.
He makes a thoughtful sound and presses the money into my hand, curling my fingers around it.
“Enjoy the rest of your day, darlin’. I’ll be seein’ you later,” he tells me with a wink and turns away. It’s like a switch flips inside him as soon as he sees Jake and Cade gaping at him.
“You fuckers get in that stairwell and run to the top. You better start prayin’ I don’t catch you before you get to Gabe because I ain’t feelin’ nice.”
They both take off running without a single protest as he stalks after them. It’s a toss-up on whether he’s the slasher in a horror movie stalking his victims or an exhausted babysitter rounding up kids.
When the stairwell door closes behind him reality comes back as if a bubble popped around me. It seems way too loud and quiet at the same time.
“Amanda.”
I turn to Sarah as she marches up to me. She looks madder now than she was before.
“How did you get him to talk to you? Or look at you?”
I have no idea. It’s as much of a mystery to me as it is to her. I have to be a sweaty, bedraggled mess by now. The image of such a strong, cocky man on his knees looking up at me with a smirk is going to haunt me forever. He made me feel strong and delicate at the same time. Like I could get through anything with his voice in my ear, and he’d pamper me as soon as I finished.
“So, how did it go?” She crosses her arms and glares at me, breaking into my stupor. The defensive posture reminds me of what I was doing.
“I quit,” I lift my chin, spin on my aching heels and walk away.