Chapter 56 The Bitch is Back, Elton John
"The Bitch is Back," Elton John
Victoria
The office was quiet, the dim light of early evening casting long shadows.
I hadn’t eaten since breakfast and my stash of protein bars was depleted so I headed for the vending machines.
Whispers from a nearby office made my hair stand on edge.
I stepped on the balls of my feet to silence my heels, inching closer to the CFO suite.
The office door was ajar, Spencer’s hand trailing along the stiff shoulder of Courtney, a newly hired junior analyst.
I swallowed the bile in my throat at what Spencer thought he could get away with. Scratch that: What he had gotten away with, repeatedly. Thirteen years ago, I hadn’t known how to help those women who stood up for me.
But I knew now. I fumbled for my phone and pressed record.
“But I have a boyfriend, Mr. Larsson,” Courtney said.
“I won’t tell him if you don’t,” Spencer said, laying that shitty fake British accent on thick.
“I don’t think I should,” she whispered, her expression one of clear discomfort.
“Come on, Court,” he leaned closer, caging her against the desk. “I thought you wanted to earn senior analyst.”
Perfect, Spencer, just what I needed to hear.
Pushing the door open, I positioned my phone to keep Spencer’s guilty expression in frame as I asked Courtney, “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”
Courtney shook her head as Spencer noticed my phone. “Are you recording this? You—you can’t do that! That’s illegal!”
I tilted my head like he’d surprised me, then replied, “You know what? You’re right.
” His shoulders relaxed. “New York is a one-party consent state, so if Courtney doesn’t want me to record this conversation where you offered her a promotion in exchange for sex then I’ll happily delete it.
” I turned to Courtney with a conspiratorial grin.
“But if she wants me to keep recording so I can back her up in court, she can give her consent and I won’t need yours, Spencer.
” Courtney's shocked expression shifted to disbelief.
“So Courtney, do you want me to keep recording the conversation that will give me the clear evidence to finally fire this sexual predator?”
Her open mouth twisted up as she nodded. I turned the camera to her. “Can I get your verbal consent?”
“Yes,” she said clearly. “Please keep recording.”
Spencer scrubbed his face. “It wasn’t what it looked—”
“Don’t insult my intelligence.”
Spencer straightened his tie. “But she wanted—”
I held up a palm. “Wait your turn, Mr. Larsson.” I said to Courtney, “I’m sorry to ask this of you now, but I’d like the basics on the same recording if you’re able. Can you tell me in your own words what offer Mr. Larsson made?”
Her voice shook. “He said if we had sex, he’d make sure I got promoted.”
I exhaled and shook my head in disappointment. The performance evaluation systems I’d been building for neutrality, already tarnished. But Courtney read it as disappointment in her, blurting out, “I gave him a blowjob last week, but I didn’t want to.”
Her fearful eyes avoided the camera, like she expected punishment. I lowered the phone to meet her eyes over the screen. “I believe you.”
She released a choking sob, her hand coming to her throat.
“You and I can go together to HR when you’re ready to share the details. For right now, you’re free to go …” I glanced at the door, and so did she, face full of longing. “Or if you’re up for it, you can stay and watch while I fire his ass.”
Spencer’s jaw dropped, sputtering, “B-But Vickie—”
“Ms. Blackstone.” If you’re nasty.
His face turned red, fists clenched. “You’ve been gone so long, maybe you forgot that I’m a fucking Larsson. Your name isn’t on the building, but mine is.”
“Your name may be on the building, but my name is on the ownership papers—and I don’t need your permission to remove it.”
“I’ve worked here for 18 years, you can’t fire me!”
“Correct again, Spencer. I can’t.” I tilted my head again, pulling another patronizing expression. “But I can suspend you without pay, pending an investigation of miscon—”
“You can’t fucking fire me!” Spencer exploded. In a blind panic, his arms reached around my back to knock the phone to the floor, face down. He pinned my arms to my side and tightened around my ribs.
My instincts kicked in. My elbow dug sharply into Spencer’s ribs, causing his grip to loosen. I twisted, bringing the heel of my hand into his nose, feeling it crunch against my palm. His arms released my waist as his hands flew to capture the blood gushing everywhere.
I looked down at my shaking hands, covered in his blood, then walked to his desk and pressed the intercom. “This is Victoria Blackstone, send security. I’ve been assaulted in the CFO’s office.”
Courtney dropped to the floor to pick up the phone. I gathered tissues to wipe my hands, then carried the box to Spencer, who was doubled over with blood dripping off his chin. No need to replace the rug.
When security entered, I said, “Please escort Mr. Larsson off the premises.” The security guard wrapped his hand around Spencer’s arm behind his back, and I held up a palm to pause him.
“One more thing, Mr. Larsson,” I said calmly, using my ice to match the fiery rage brimming in his eyes. “Please update your address with HR where you want your things delivered, because I expect you out of my townhouse by Friday.”
His jaw dropped. “Seriously, Vickie?”
“You violated the terms of our agreement.”
“Where do you expect me to go?” he said, his voice pleading.
I lifted a shoulder. “Not my problem.”
“But you can’t just—”
“Let me say it in little words so you can’t feign ignorance,” I sneered, cold venom in my voice. “Get. The fuck. Out of my house.”
The room was quiet except for Spencer’s dejected moan. Kneeling on the floor, Courtney tried to turn on the phone but it had cracked from the impact. Shit, shit, shit.
The security guard tightened his grip on Spencer’s flailing arms, pressing my ex-husband out of my life and informing me that the police had already been called.
Courtney let out a shaky breath. I offered to stay while she filed a police report or accompany her to HR whenever she was ready.
She just wanted to go home, so I asked security to escort her out and my driver to take her home.
Murmurs filtered in from the hallway. The rumor mill would already be rife with gossip—the CFO getting escorted out had a way of shaking things up, and it would get even worse when the CEO emerged minutes later with his blood on her designer dress.
“Oh my God, Victoria,” Connor rushed in, takeout bag swinging from his wrist. He took in the blood on my dress and the wild look in my eye, reeling at how unhinged I probably looked. “I was only gone for fifteen minutes. This is what you do when you get hangry?”
I started laughing, my bloodstained hands cradling my head as the adrenaline dropped.
He wrapped his suit jacket over my shoulders, forcing water into my trembling hands.
Tears sprang to my eyes anyway, because Connor—as incredible as he was—wasn’t the person I wanted by my side as Courtney and I made our statements.
The detective handed over his card so I could send him what had backed up to the cloud before the phone smashed.
I returned Connor's jacket, held my head high and snapped my heels down the hallway into my office … where I could finally fall apart, relieved for the solitude but also wishing I weren’t alone.
There was only one person I wanted in this moment, one person who would hold out his arms for me to step into.
I reached for my phone, wanting to call him just to hear his voice, but the detective had confiscated my phone as evidence.
So I popped in my headphones and hit play on his YouTube channel. I needed to hear him, to feel like somebody understood me, to feel less—
“You fired Spencer?” Dad stormed into my office. I pulled my headphones out as I stood to face my father, who looked angrier than I’ve ever seen him. “Of all the impulsive decisions … I thought your head was straighter than this. That you wouldn’t let your emotions rule you.”
“You don’t care that I caught him sexually harassing an employee?” I lifted my chin, not backing down from my decision. “Or that when I confronted him, he assaulted me?”
Dad ran a hand through his hair. “Of course I care, but you have to go through the proper channels.”
“Is that why he wasn’t fired 13 years ago, when he destroyed my life?” I asked with a choking breath. “Because of the proper fucking channels?”
“He wasn’t fired because I was alone here!” Dad yelled. “You left, Victoria. Richard turned a blind eye, so it was me against the Larssons. Of course they buried it. And now you’re going to look like the scorned ex-wife trying to get revenge.”
“I’ll handle the PR fallout,” I said, adding another task to my already endless to-do list.
But Dad had gone still, his jaw tight, eyes locked on my computer monitor—where Cruz’s sweet face stared out from the screen, singing his love for me. Dad sneered, “And then I come in here to strategize fixing your fuck-up … and you’re wasting your time watching that clown."
My voice was venomous. “Take that back.”
“Every day you disappear and come out crying. Is this why? You’re being distracted by this attention grab?”
“That’s not why he—”
“This ends now, Victoria. You have responsibilities to this company. Time for you to grow up and move on,” he said, slamming my office door behind him.