Chapter 10
RILEY
Ican’t remember the last time a workweek was so easy.
Even with the added stress of my new responsibilities, it felt like today breezed by. I feel a little bit like I belong there. I had plenty of time between meetings with the different project teams to get my work done, and my meeting with Nick to update him on my weekly progress went smoothly.
I even managed to keep my thoughts on work, though it was impossible not to picture Nick in the office next to mine.
I could see it so clearly—him behind that mahogany desk, posture perfect, radiating the kind of quiet dominance that made the air in any room heavier.
His suit, as flawless as ever, highlights the perfection that is Nicholas D’Amico.
Broad shoulders and the hard lines of his chest hint at the strength beneath without ever giving it away.
I can’t help but wonder what he would look like stripped of all that polish. Tie gone, buttons undone, and his control abandoned. The thought was a distraction I had no business indulging in, but it clung to me anyway.
As fun and fulfilling as today has been, I’m exhausted.
A lot has changed. While my workload has decreased since I’m not doing Sloane’s work, the files Nick has me working on now are a lot more important than what I was doing last week. It’s crazy to think how much has changed in five days.
On my way out to lunch, I adjust my bag over my shoulder and step into the elevator, pressing the button for my old work floor before slumping back against the mirrored wall.
The coffee mug Taylor got me last Christmas is still in the break room cupboard.
I don’t want it to fall victim to Sloane’s wrath.
I’ll need to call Taylor once I rescue it and tell her everything before she vibrates out of her skin in curious excitement.
She nearly burst my eardrum with how loud she screamed when I told her I got my own office.
She’s almost as thrilled about my career advancement as she is about the fact that I’m still talking to Mystery Man, even if she’s more impatient than I am to find out who he really is.
I think the intrigue is kind of fun.
Plus, if I don’t know who he is, I don’t have to feel so guilty about harboring feelings for Nick.
The elevator chimes pleasantly just before the doors slide open.
I step out onto my old floor, glancing down the hallway at the familiar scenery.
Like going back home after a semester at college—even if nothing’s changed, it feels inherently different.
The grey-blue carpet is still worn down the center, potted plants are still half-wilted, corporate-approved art is nailed up on off-white walls, and fluorescents are flickering overhead.
I walk toward the break room, my mood plummeting when I recognize who’s speaking.
“I can’t believe that little bitch thinks she’s going to get away with this.” Sloane’s voice is all vitriol and hate, leaving no doubt in my mind that I’m the bitch in question. “Like I don’t have enough on my plate, now I have to stay after hours to play catch up. It’s ridiculous!”
Vindictively, the thought of her having to work late to meet her own quota sparks pleasure in my gut.
A hesitant, noncommittal hum sounds from further in the break room, and my bad mood settles a bit when I recognize the noise as Cassie’s. It’s the same one she makes whenever Sloane is spouting bullshit and she’s just trying to get out of the conversation.
“And Nick said he moved her up because she impressed him with her work,” Sloane drawls sarcastically. “Like I don’t know when someone is spreading their legs for a promotion.”
Anger flares in me at both the implication that I’d do that and the utter hypocrisy.
Sloane’s been trying to get into Nick’s pants for as long as I’ve been around, and she’s not at all subtle about it.
Cassie’s a hundred times braver than I am and a million times more willing to argue, and she clicks her tongue in distaste.
“I think you’re being a bit much,” she says, her tone carefully teasing. I know she’s not any more excited to get on Sloane’s bad side than anyone else is, but she’s more outspoken than I ever was. “That doesn’t sound like the Riley I know. She’s super shy, she wouldn’t—”
“She’s not here, stop playing kiss-ass,” Sloane cuts her off ruthlessly.
I hear Cassie’s teeth clack together with how fast she shuts her mouth.
“Stupid bitch is probably spending her breaks on her knees beneath his desk, thinking he’ll stay interested for more than two weeks.
” The coffee maker beeps to announce the end of its cycle, and the clattering of cups sounds beyond the doorway.
“Just admit it’s pathetic. I thought she was going to put actual effort into her career, but if she wants to whore herself out… ”
I already know the look Sloane is leveling at Cassie right now, daring her to disagree so she has an excuse to dump all her work on someone else, but I know Cassie. There’s no way she’s going to agree with her. Cassie and I might not be super close like I am with Taylor, but we’re still friends.
“Yeah,” she says softly, the word coming out like she’s forcing it out through her teeth. “Sure.”
Disappointment fills me when I hear Cassie agree with her.
How could she agree… she didn’t even bother to stick up for me.
Not that I can really blame Cassie for wanting to stay out of Sloane’s warpath, but the small sliver of hope that budded when I realized she was here disappears and leaves me with a sinking hole in my gut.
“Whatever,” Sloane bites out, clearly not happy with Cassie’s level of enthusiasm. “I’m getting tired of sharing his attention, but it won’t be long until she’s out of here. Morgan will regret this, and I can’t wait to watch her cry like the baby she is when he fires her.”
Hatred and hurt well in equal measures, making my breaths come in shallow bursts, tears blurring my vision.
I whirl on my heel and stalk back toward the elevator, unwilling to hear any more of the shit she’s spewing.
My coffee mug can wait until the next day she decides not to show up, but I can’t keep listening to this.
It’s already hard enough to convince myself that I deserve these projects, the new responsibilities I’ve been charged with simply because I didn’t have my sights set on them.
I’m so used to working my ass off for everything.
Nick said he gave me these files because I impressed him, but I can’t help feeling like they were handed to me.
The trip downstairs goes by in a blur, elevator walls fading to the darkened lobby and melting into the cold grey cement of the parking garage. My hands shake in a mix of rage and anxiety as I fumble to unlock my car and throw myself into the driver’s seat.
The first breath I manage to suck in hurts. I can’t stop the tears that slip down my cheeks as I tug my phone out of my blazer pocket and rush to call Taylor.
She answers on the second ring, and I blurt everything out before she even has a chance to say hello.
The words just spew out like vomit, scraping their way up my throat as I repeat the vile things Sloane said about me, Cassie’s hesitant agreement, my own terrified self-doubt and conflicted feelings of guilt.
“That bitch,” Taylor hisses venomously when I finally pause to suck in a shaky breath. “Both of them can fucking rot.”
I shake my head even though she can’t see me, slumping forward against my steering wheel and squeezing my eyes shut in an attempt to stop my tears from falling.
“I should’ve just stayed in my stupid little cubicle and kept my head down,” I say shakily.
“Fuck that!” Taylor barks, her voice halfway between furious and supportive.
“You deserve the office and the important clients and everything else you’re getting because you’ve worked yourself half to death since the day you stepped foot in that company!
You can’t let some petty little cunt like Sloane stand in the way of your career, Riley. ”
I struggle for air, repeating her words in my brain in an attempt to make myself believe them, but tears still burn behind my eyelids. My worries are so crippling that I can’t even force out a half-hearted agreement.
“Sweetie, you can’t let this overwhelm you,” Taylor says, her voice gentler.
She’s always been the only person who can calm me down when I’m worked up like this—although my mystery man did a pretty alright job of it that night in the bath. This is about a million times more intense. I don’t know if I can handle recounting everything I heard again.
Especially not over text, where I’d have to stare the reality of it in the face as I wrote it.
I wish I had the balls to just actually call him.
We haven’t exactly gotten to that level of communication yet, and the fact that he hasn’t bothered to try or even ask has me doubting how he’d take it if I simply called him.
“I know,” I whisper miserably.
Taylor pauses for a few seconds, and when she speaks again, she sounds certain of herself. “Let’s get your mind off things for a bit, yeah? You need to chill out for a while.”
I laugh weakly, leaning back from my steering wheel and reaching for the pack of tissues I keep in my center console. I’m not really any more stable than I was a few minutes ago, but I know the structure of how Taylor handles things, and that’s easy to latch onto.
My freakouts always go the same way: I panic, call Taylor, and spew everything.
She calms me down enough to function, and then we figure out something to distract me until I can think rationally again.
Only then do I make any decisions or plan how to deal with whatever happened.
It’s become a foolproof pattern. It’s never failed me before.
Taylor has never failed me before.
This isn’t just exhaustion or burnout stretching me thin like usual. I’m pretty torn up even now that I’ve calmed down a bit. I don’t know what could possibly take my mind off this long enough for me to actually reset and relax properly.
“What did you have in mind?” I ask, my voice still shaky but more solid as I dab the tears away from the corners of my eyes.
“Do you feel up for going out?” she asks, a thread of excitement in her voice.
“My friend got invited to this private auction thing, but she and her husband can’t make it, so she gave me the tickets.
It’s a super exclusive club. You usually have to fill out a ton of forms and an application, and they only accept, like, five percent of applicants or something.
They’re fundraising for survivors of sexual assault.
And there are going to be so many people there. ”
I nearly groan at the suggestion—another upscale cocktail party is absolutely not what I want to be dealing with right now, but it will, unfortunately, distract me.
At least I know what to expect from events like this.
Champagne, fancy finger foods, and self-important stories from people I’ll never talk to again. Honestly, the more I consider it, the more relaxing the thought of it is.
I won’t have a single second to think about my feelings about work if I go to this.
“I don’t exactly have the bank account to participate in an auction,” I say with a soft laugh.
Taylor sees it for the platitude it is and pushes right past it.
“Then just enjoy the drinks and make fun of people’s stupid stories with me,” she teases. “It’ll be fun, and it’s for a good cause. Come on, say yes.”
I snicker into my phone, rolling my eyes and feeling just a little lighter.
The promise of a drink or two and a heaping dose of distraction is enough to wear any thought of rejection away. Plus, it’ll probably exhaust me enough that I’ll be able to get some sleep tonight instead of staying up and worrying. Not that I’ve ever not worried about something.
Socializing always drains me.
“Pushy,” I joke, a resigned sigh following the word. “Fine. I just have to let Nick know that I’m taking the rest of the day off. It’s not like I have any more meetings today anyways. Text me the details, I’ll be home shortly.”
“Yes!” Taylor cheers. “I’ll meet you at yours. Drive safe.”
“Always,” I agree before we say our goodbyes and hang up.
I’ve never been the type of girl to just cut out on work early, but after the shit I’ve been through over the past week, I need it. Plus, it’s Friday. What happened to corporations having half-days on Fridays?
I’m either going to wholly regret agreeing to all of this or I’m going to have the night of my life.
Three guesses which.