2. Elena #2
Because to get pregnant, a girl’s gotta get laid.
And to get laid, a girl’s gotta actually meet a man.
That wasn’t in my future. Not when my whole purpose for being on this planet—at least, according to my father—was to work. And work. And work, and work, and work.
Celebratory gratulations carried on out there, and I debated getting up to close my door to tune it all out. I didn’t need to hear that. I didn’t want to deal with this sour taste of jealousy distracting me.
Until I could figure out why and how these files weren’t showing what they had been last night, I didn’t want to let anything else interrupt me.
Two babies.
And a man in her life.
I shook my head, unable to stop letting the nagging thoughts cut through my concentration.
Starting a family wasn’t something I could expect. How could I when my only family was my father, a man who wasn’t paternal in the slightest, a boss who never considered the possibility of my being anything but his private asset in the office?
But how did it happen?
This isn’t an overnight phenomenon.
It’s not as though yesterday, I was just a regular accountant and today, I’m a sneaky bookkeeper for crime families.
Where did I go wrong? In wanting to believe he cared and would value or consider my happiness?
When did he push me to be this involved and in this deep? Sometime through my eagerness to please him with this stupid and fucked-up wish that getting his approval would equal love?
“It’s like it’s meant to be,” Linda-Lisa gloated out there. “Some stroke of fate or magic at play. I guess I’m just meant to be a mother.” Her titter of a giggle that followed was too much.
I couldn’t take it, hearing her haughty tone, bragging about expecting again.
Maybe her fate meant she could be a mother of two children. Her fate was to have the blessing of motherhood and a family who’d love her.
I got up and closed the door, hurrying to get back to my chair and my computer but also without slamming the door or making any noise to inconvenience anyone else.
How great for you, Linda-Lisa. Your fate is awesome. But you know what? Mine isn’t. My fate is to do my father’s dirty work of hiding where criminals’ money goes.
I let out a deep breath, ashamed to have such envious thoughts. Picturing such a different purpose had me fighting tears behind my lids.
Having a sweet baby to raise wouldn’t be a test of love or approval. I wouldn’t have to bend over backward and try to pass a test for an infant’s love. For the affection of my own child.
It would just be there in a natural and sweet bond. I’d never received such love since my mother passed away, but I could recall it in fleeting, small memories.
Okay. That’s enough.
I sniffled and wiped my eyes, knowing that this sadness signaled something deeper than burnout. It hinted at something more profound than feeling used and taken advantage of here.
It was the heart-breaking and solid proof that I would never be worthy of love.
Focus.
Concentrate, El. Just do your job and ? —
“Elena!”
On instinct, I flinched. My body tensed as I hunched over more. Like a turtle. But I wasn’t one. I couldn’t burrow into a shell and hide after the sound of my father shouting for me.
I’d just closed the door to mute the happy chatter about Linda-Lisa’s good news.
Still, his bellow reached my ears.
Oh, God. Now what?
I gulped, regretting the coffee I’d chugged on the way here. Bile rose with the acidity of the black coffee.
Does he know about the errors in this transaction I okayed last night?
Fuck. Is he aware that an account is showing insufficient funds?
Panic had my heart beat flickering faster, double-time with palpitation.
“Oh, God…”
This wasn’t who I was. I didn’t screw up. I didn’t slack off and I never made demands. That went against my nature as an anxious people pleaser. By the simple tone of his shout and the anger and indignation that colored in the syllables of my name, he was not pleased.
I frantically scrolled, trying to see as quickly as I could why this file was off, why that account said it had insufficient funds when that couldn’t be true.
“Elena! Get in my office!”
I panted, struggling not to whimper with worry.
“Right now!”
More shouts followed, like he was on the phone. It wasn’t anything I could make out, but it didn’t matter. I worked for him , not the other way around. His business was his own, not mine.
I stood, still moving my mouse and trying to spot something on the screen that would scream at me. Some kind of glaring error I could have an aha reaction to. I was only human, after all. People made mistakes. Even perfectionist people-pleasers like me.
“Elena! Get in my office right now !”
Unsure of what calamity had him so stressed, I logged out and backed up. My heart hammered so fast. My lungs strained to fill with air.
If he was yelling for me , it had to do with this account that was screwed up. One that only I had access to.
“Coming,” I whispered.
He wouldn’t hear me. Not with my door closed and not with that low decibel.
As I opened my door to hustle to his summons, I kept my gaze down and avoided eye contact with the rest of the office workers.
The burn of their stares seared me, but I just couldn’t face anyone.
Not like this, ashamed and scolded. Being the center of attention was one of my worst fears—aside from the doomsday ones like if anyone ever caught on to how I was an accomplice to hiding money trails.
My preference was to have no attention on me, and I loathed how lying low was impossible at this moment.
At my father’s door, I paused and sucked in a shaky breath to fortify myself.
I would be put in the center of attention once I entered.
He’d have something harsh to tell me, likely connected to the mistakes I’d noticed again. Before, I’d moved things around and covered up the errors the best I could, and he’d never called me out for it.
Something in the air warned me I wouldn’t be able to skirt around trouble this time. Trouble I had no part in earning by anything I’d done.
I gripped the doorknob, ignoring how shaky my fingers were.
My fate is being John Morovov’s daughter.
I’d never escape it.
I’d never be able to redefine how he’d conformed me into being his accountant here, sworn into the specific demand of what I did.
With a stupid sense of irony and unwelcome dry humor, I stifled a laugh. My face was too rigid with fear to smirk, but in other circumstances, I would have.
So… this is not just another Monday.
This isn’t just another workweek.
I opened the door and couldn’t dispel this sinking sense of unease that nothing was ever going to be right or normal again.