Chapter 21 （B） – Andrea
TWENTY-ONE (B)
ANDREA
Day #Forever of Company Takeover
(I’m done counting)
Iplaced a bookmark on a negative headline so I could read it later. Even though most outlets were praising him for “paying employees what they were worth,” he had yet to say a word about my new salary offer.
No email, no message, nothing.
The only thing he gave me was more work, and I’d finally realized that the rare moments when we crossed the line weren’t worth lingering around any longer.
I could hear his voice when I was sleeping, could see what he needed before he did, and I was starting to think like him, too…
“Miss Stone?” His voice came from—somewhere.
“Huh?” I shook my head, realizing I wasn’t sleeping. I was wide awake in the back of my town car.
“I have a meeting with a new pastry chef in twenty minutes,” he said. “You’re still not back, and I need you to be there to take notes for me.”
“I have therapy at three,” I replied. “Remember?”
“Not really.”
“I mentioned it Tuesday,” I said. “I need someone to talk to about the state of my life.”
“I recall telling you I’m a good listener.”
“But you’re not a professional therapist,” I said. “You said this was okay. You said it twice.”
“It’s starting to come back to me now,” he said evenly. “You need to come to work whenever it’s over.”
“I will.” I ended the call and checked my hair in the rearview mirror before stepping out in front of a huge office building on Wall Street.
Gray and black suits passed me as I walked up the steps.
Once I was inside, I made a left into the small Dunkin’ Donuts café.
A bell chimed above the door, and the scent of fresh coffee swirled around me.
For a half second, it felt like relief.
“Wow, you’re fifteen minutes early, Miss Stone!” The manager behind the counter smiled. “Come on back here, please.”
He gestured for me to follow him into a small office, and I settled into a chair.
“You know,” he said, handing me a croissant, “it’s rare for us to get someone from Sweet Seasons who wants to work at our stores.”
“Well, yeah, but—” I smiled. “The work-life balance here is a lot more promising.”
“I can see that angle.” He nodded. “We have three managerial positions open around the city. What shift are you most comfortable working?”
“I’m not picky.” I pulled out my résumé and handed it over. “I’ll take anything.”
He glanced at my résumé. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you seem a bit overqualified to work in the retail division.”
“I promise I’m not,” I said. “I’ll happily brew drinks, sweep floors—whatever. I just need a job with benefits so I can keep myself afloat and sane.”
He didn’t look convinced.
“I’m a really hard worker, and I’m not too good to do any job. I’ll do it well, and I’ll do it right.” I paused. “I was the ‘secret weapon’ under my old CEO, and I can show you exactly why if you give me a chance.”
“Oh, wow.” He smiled. “That’s… very impressive.”
“Is that a yes to hiring me?”
“No, but your boss said that you’d say those exact words to me today.” He laughed. “You said them verbatim.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“Mr. Cross knows you really well.”
“Mr. Cross knows I’m here?”
“He called the other day about this.” He crumpled my résumé, and my stomach dropped. “To be honest, if you were anyone else, I would hire you in a heartbeat, but… well, I don’t need Harrison Cross on my enemy list.”
“He’s not your enemy.” I scoffed. “You’re not even in the same competitive category.”
“Mr. Cross has stock in the mortgage company that owns my house.”
“So, he threatened you?” I leaned forward. “Shouldn’t that be more of a reason for you to help me escape?”
“He mentioned you’d be dramatic when I let you down, too…”
Oh my god…
“Mr. Cross is a certified tyrant, sir,” I said. “And I would like you to consider me for the open positions.”
“I would like to not lose my house.” He shrugged. “He made it quite clear that I should not hire you, and I’m sorry, but I’m not going to.”
“Why didn’t you call and tell me this before I came all the way here?”
“He wanted me to give you a false sense of hope,” he said. “Something about you needing stress relief?”
I stormed out of the office without saying anything else.
Dave handed me a box of Kleenex when I returned to the town car.
I was tempted to tell him to take me home, but I couldn’t let Mr. Cross see that he’d made me this pissed.
And as much as I didn’t want to care about this company… I did. This company felt more like mine than his.
Still, this was no longer sustainable. And I knew it.
Everly…Can you talk me up to the HR department at your school this weekend?
I’m going to apply…
Everly
YES!
Tears pricked my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. I focused my attention out the window, dreaming of a better career.
“Here you are, Miss Stone.” Dave held the door open when we returned to headquarters.
“Thank you, Dave.”
“Hold on.” He pressed his handkerchief against my face, and then he pulled some foam gray balls from his pocket. “You should squeeze these on your worst days. They help.”
I smiled even though it hurt.
Walking inside, I headed straight to my cubicle, but it wasn’t there.
There was a dusty brown “L” mark, as if its removal was making a statement.
As if I’d never existed.
“What happened to my spot?” I asked aloud.
No one answered.
“Hello?” I raised my voice. “What’s happened to my spot?”
“Mr. Cross had someone take it away half an hour ago,” someone whispered. “He said to tell you to come see him ASAP.”
“Fine.” I should’ve taken a walk first, but I didn’t bother.
When I reached the top floor, Mr. Cross was holding a tray of coffee.
“I was just thinking about you, Miss Stone.” He smiled. “I figured you might want some fresh coffee for whenever you returned from your therapy appointment.”
I gritted my teeth.
“How did it go, by the way?” he asked. “Are you feeling better?”
“I’m much worse.”
“Well, that’s unfortunate,” he said. “Perhaps you need to appreciate what you have instead of complaining about it to strangers or trying to get away from me.”
“Everyone here wants to get the hell away from you,” I said. “Do you honestly think people are happy here?”
His smile faded, and he set the tray on a bookshelf.
“Thanks for taking my cubicle away, by the way,” I said. “I appreciate you removing my one place of refuge from your tyranny.”
“Okay, Miss Stone,” he said, “I need you to spoil the gist of our story right now.”
“What?” I asked. “Stop talking in metaphors.”
“How much longer do I have to put up with your smart-ass mouth?” He glared at me. “Better yet, do you honestly expect me to continue not doing anything about it?”
I swallowed, unsure of how to answer his questions.
“Surely you don’t think I’ll let your slippery little words continue without some severe consequences.” He trailed his thumb against my bottom lip. “I’m warning you—stop testing me.”
My brain stopped functioning under his touch.
“Can you do that?” he asked, his voice low.
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “I can’t.”
“Excuse me?” He dropped his hand, stunned.
“You make it your personal mission to make me feel like I don’t really matter here, so if you can’t handle a few sarcastic words here or there, that’s on you.”
He clenched his jaw.
“It’s also a ‘boundary’ for me,” I said. “I get to talk to you how I want because you speak to me how you want.”
I felt heat radiate off him, but I was done being small around him.
“Anyway,” I said. “I’d appreciate it if you just continued acting like you don’t really see me or give a damn, so we can keep it moving.”
“I would if it were that easy.” He pushed me back, and the wall caught me just before his mouth did.
The kiss was deep and impatient, almost punishing, and it stole the breath from my lungs before I could decide whether I wanted to fight it. His hand slid into my hair, holding me in place, and for a moment I forgot every speech I’d rehearsed about boundaries.
He broke away first, his jaw tight.
“Bend over and grab the desk.”
I hesitated just long enough for his patience to snap.
His fingers closed around my wrist and he turned me around, guiding me forward until my palms pressed against the cool surface of the wood. The contrast between the cold desk and the heat of his body behind me made my breath hitch.
My skirt inched upward beneath his hands, slowly, deliberately, until cool air kissed the backs of my thighs. His palm slid over my cheeks first—almost thoughtful.
Then he slapped my ass.
The sound cracked through the room, and a moan slipped from my mouth before I could stop it. His hand immediately covered my lips, muting me, while his other hand struck me again—harder this time.
“I’ll show you some fucking boundaries,” he murmured against my ear.
The sting melted into heat, and that heat pooled lower, traitorous and immediate.
He shoved my skirt down my legs, my panties following, and before I could decide whether I should protest, he lifted me onto the desk and spread my knees apart with firm, unyielding hands.
“Don’t move.”
The command was quiet, but it wrapped around me like a threat.
Then his mouth was on me.
All the tension between us—the arguments, the power plays, the resentment—shifted into something physical and overwhelming. His tongue moved slowly at first, deliberate and controlled, as if he wanted to feel every reaction he pulled from me.
I gripped his hair when he increased the pressure, when his rhythm turned demanding, when he dragged his mouth over me like he’d been starving.
I should have pushed him away, should have reminded him that this was exactly why I was trying to leave, but my body betrayed me and I arched into him.
He looked up at me once—dark eyes steady, daring—and the challenge in his gaze sent me over the edge before I could brace myself.
The orgasm tore through me, sharp and humiliatingly loud, and he didn’t stop until my hands were trembling in his hair and my legs were shaking around his shoulders.
Only then did he rise.
He unbuckled his belt slowly, never breaking eye contact, and the promise in that look made my pulse spike all over again.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
The sudden sound shattered the room.
“Harrison!” a deep voice barked from outside. “Boardroom. Now.”
His jaw flexed.
For a second, I thought he might ignore it.
Instead, he exhaled sharply and re-fastened his belt, composure sliding back over him like armor. When he helped me off the desk and adjusted my clothes, his touch was steady—controlled again, almost impersonal.
At the door, he paused and glanced over his shoulder.
“I do see you.”