Chapter Ten Adam #2
At some point I matured enough to understand how unethical Griffin’s actions were, yet I still bought into the idea that Eleanor is a social climber. Or that she was trying to skip ahead like her career was a game of Chutes and Ladders.
Meanwhile, I’m the one who is never satisfied with my position in life. I’m the one who is never successful enough, who is always shifting my own goalposts, always looking for the next win. And taking backdoor deals along the way.
The reality is, Eleanor never bragged about opportunities she got from Griffin. If anything, she tried her hardest to downplay the relationship, for as long as she could get away with it.
I feel like I understand Eleanor so much better, after today. Yet there’s still one thing nagging at me. I turn to sit facing her, feet planted on the cement ground. “Hey, can I ask you a personal question?”
Eleanor eyes me for a moment. “Okay,” she says, putting a false-positive inflection on the word that tells me she’s not really sure at all.
“It’s relevant to the game,” I add quickly. “Sort of. In the sense that it’s about your dating history. Or—well, your taste in men, I guess.… You don’t have to answer.”
“Spit it out, Shaw.”
“What did you see in Griffin? Like… how did you two even get together in the first place?”
She laughs at this, which I suppose is a better reaction than her telling me to mind my own business. But it makes me nervous all the same, and I start to regret asking before she’s even given her answer.
“You’ve seen him, right?”
“I have.” And I’m willing to acknowledge he’s not a crusty old man or anything. He’s in good shape for his age, and still has all of his hair. That’s about as generous as I can be. “I’ve also spoken to him. Guy’s an asshole.”
Eleanor rolls her eyes. “Yeah, but he’s a total daddy.”
Nope. I do not like hearing that. I don’t know what kind of answer I expected, or whether any answer would have landed better than this one, frankly. But this insight into their dynamic has my baser instincts surfacing fast.
“… Ah,” I manage.
Eleanor seems to be relishing my discomfort. She shrugs and offers me a grin. “It’s true. That’s his entire draw, pretty much.”
“If you say so,” I grumble. It’s possible I’m still fixated on the term daddy and what it meant in the context of this relationship.
I am from a generation that grew up with easy access to the internet, which is a polite way of saying I have watched my fair share of porn.
I understand the daddy kink. At least in the abstract.
But this sliver of information is a curse, really, because it brings up more questions that are all way too invasive to actually ask.
Like whether Eleanor ever actually called Griffin “Daddy.” Or whether she has a submissive streak. Or whether she’s only attracted to older guys.
“So you were into the age gap?” I manage to ask, while my fingernail pick-pick-picks at a snag in the upholstered cushion underneath me.
“I wouldn’t say I was into it. It didn’t bother me, at the time.”
At the time. My brain latches on to that last bit. The implication that it does bother her now. And I’m curious when her opinion changed. Whether it was as soon as they broke up, or even why they broke up.
It wasn’t until Griffin was fired that my own perspective shifted.
Before that, yeah, I thought he was a dick.
But when Eleanor left Exeter, my first thought wasn’t that she might be trying to get away from a coercive relationship.
I sort of figured she was done riding his coattails.
That she saw a way to leverage her recent promotion and jumped at the chance.
Not something I’m proud to admit. But then when Griffin got canned, and some other women had come forward to report inappropriate behavior, and people started talking about his thing with Eleanor again, it was like, holy shit.
How did I not see this before? Like, would I ever date an intern?
Absolutely fucking not, and I’m much closer in age to the interns now than he was.
He was a creep, and it pisses me off Exeter didn’t get rid of him sooner.
Eleanor tips her face toward the sun and sighs.
“The truth is he’s one of those guys who pulls a bait and switch.
I mean, I like to think I went into the relationship with my eyes wide open.
I knew there was a power imbalance. I knew he was kind of an asshole.
I was fine with all of that, because we both agreed we were going to keep it casual.
But it got messy, fast. I’m not sure Griffin is capable of doing anything casual. He’s too possessive.”
“He wanted something more serious?”
Her brow creases and she turns her face back to me. “I guess? But probably not in the way you’re imagining. He just… wanted to be in control. And initially I was on board with that, because it was fun.”
I guess that answers my question about her submissive streak.
“Until it wasn’t,” she adds.
This has my hackles up. “What’d he do?”
Eleanor purses her lips. “He promoted me.”
“… Which was a bad thing?”
That was the general consensus, at least among the other interns.
But as established, that was jealousy speaking.
None of us had promotions on the horizon.
We knew we’d be lucky to stay on as A&R reps once our internships ran their course, never mind be offered a position so quickly.
Watching her meteoric rise was bound to breed resentment.
“What people say is true, in the most abstract sense. Griffin absolutely did promote me because we were sleeping together. But it wasn’t like, Oh, I’m fucking this person so I’ll play favorites and give them a leg up.
It was more, I’ve taken an interest in Eleanor so I’m going to try to control as many aspects of her life as possible, including making it so she reports directly to me. ”
“… Huh. I definitely never thought about it that way.”
She waves this off. “Yeah, no one did. It just sort of sucked. Like, we were not in love. I know that now. I think I even knew it then. But I did genuinely like him, at first. Then he became this… black hole, almost. And my anxiety was through the roof, always bracing for Griffin to get irritated with me about some stupid thing. I realized it was unhealthy and that I wanted out, so I got out, and then people hated me for that too.”
“No one hated you,” I say immediately.
Her eyes have a challenge in them, and I have to concede. “Well, I never did.” I tap my fingers against my thigh, knowing I should let it drop, but too curious for my own good. “Do you still see Sanjay around? Or anyone else from Exeter?”
Eleanor’s mouth pinches. “Not so much. After I fell out with everyone I sort of… stopped trying to be friends with people from work.” She huffs a dry laugh. “And since all I really do is work, my entire social circle is composed of my sister and her friends.”
Awareness of our surroundings filters back in, the low thrum of background noise becoming louder and more obnoxious. The crease between Eleanor’s brows is still there—she’s still stressed, and I suck in a breath and say the first thing I think of to lighten the mood.
“Dogs or cats?”
“Dogs,” she answers without hesitation. I nod my appreciation, and she takes her turn: “Any tattoos I should know about?”
“No.” I side-eye her. “You saw pretty much my entire body this morning.”
“First of all, I wasn’t looking,” she says, and not to sound arrogant, but that’s definitely a lie. “Second of all, you were wearing underwear.”
“I do not have a tattoo on my ass.”
She makes her eyes all big and doe-like and lethal. “And now I know that.”
I look away and run a finger over my lips to smooth out my smile. “What about you? Any tattoos?”
To my surprise, she nods. “A hummingbird on my left shoulder blade. My second-biggest drunken mistake.”
“Aw, does that make me number one?”
“Sure does.”
I put a hand to my heart. “I’m honored.”
A dude by the stage catches my eye and waves us over—the newlywed game is about to begin. Eleanor sees him, too, and puts a hand on my chest to keep me from moving.
“One last question.” Eleanor’s eyes flicker between mine. “Who told you about my meeting?”
I didn’t expect her to let this go. If anything, I’m surprised it took her this long to ask again. I should’ve been ready for it, should have some coy, snarky answer all teed up.
In spite of all this, the question lands like a gut punch.
Unlike this morning, evasiveness no longer comes naturally—I’m more inclined to tell her and offer up an apology.
But I already know what her reaction would be.
I know it would only remind her that a handful of hours ago she didn’t trust me at all, didn’t want anything to do with me.
I should tell her anyway. But I’m stubbornly unwilling to lose the ground I’ve gained.
Her eyes narrow, and I can see in her expression that she doesn’t actually expect an honest answer to come. So I take the out.
“Nice try.” My voice is hoarse, and I cover it with a smirk that feels foreign on my lips. “Come on. Let’s go win this thing.”