Chapter 12 Andrea
Andrea
A douche convention. How do you begin to apologize for that?
That was literally what I’d said about him and all his senior leadership team. And that wasn’t even the worst thing.
Crap. It was weird being alone with him in a room again.
Liam looked at me from where he sat at the end of the table. We were not quite opposite each other, just slightly offset. He was still annoyingly good-looking. I could feel my heart skip a beat, then settle into a rhythm that was way too fast to pull off the calm, contrite vibe I was aiming for.
Ugh. It would be fine as long as I didn’t go red again like I had in the stairwell. Hopefully, he just thought I was really into blusher.
He opened his laptop, staring at the screen. What was he reading—a list of all the insults I’d inadvertently hurled at him in bed?
“Ms. Jones. Thank you for finding the time to see me at short notice.”
Ms. Jones? That stung. So brutally polite and formal, like he didn’t even know me. Like he hadn’t seen me naked. Kissed my thighs, licked between my legs …
Was that how this was going to go?
But of course it was. I’d seen the photos in the papers—women were disposable to a man like von Roth.
I don’t know what I’d been expecting, but this felt almost painful. I breathed in deeply and tried to keep in mind what James had said when I told him about the non-optional meeting that had been scheduled for me.
You’ve got the upper hand, Andy.
I could do this.
“Of course.” I gave him a small smile, no teeth. Not upset. Not even annoyed. Professional.
Von Roth leaned back in his chair and crossed his left ankle over the right, folding his arms. Then he seemed to change his mind and leaned forward, elbows on the table.
His expression was grave, considering I was here on a butt-kissing mission.
Maybe he was really pissed off. He’d seemed slightly friendly at the rooftop bar, but now he was all business.
A completely different person.
All you have to do is apologize, Andy. How hard can it be?
Except that we were only about three feet apart, facing each other, and I had nowhere to look but him. He was way too attractive.
He put his wrists on the table, one large hand over the other. His hair was pushed back, but a few curls had broken free, and his jaw had a hint of stubble.
A dark V-neck T-shirt was just visible under his black blazer—obviously bespoke. Even if he hadn’t been wealthy, nothing off the peg would fit shoulders that broad. His skin was tanned, like he’d just come in from a day surfing.
Prima von Donna probably got a spray tan from his personal beautician twice a week.
I lowered my eyes. The muscle of his long thigh was visible through the navy denim. Was it hot in here? Chesty McSweatpants—big-shot CEO—had had a major glow up.
Maintaining eye contact was almost unbearable. Would it be weird if I just looked out the window?
“Right. So I thought we might clear the air—” he said.
“Lia—Mr. von Roth, I think an apology—” My words tripped right over his, and we spoke together. My upper lip started to sweat. “I mean, some of the things that were said …”
“An apology?” Liam’s eyes shot to my phone. I glanced over in case a message had come through, but it wasn’t even vibrating.
He looked back, and I shifted my eyes away.
Say you’re sorry, Andy, keep it short.
“Um, yes. An apology … is …” The words stuck. I couldn’t breathe.
The collarbone. That seemed neutral enough. I focused on the small patch of skin between the T-shirt’s edge and his neck. Shit. I’d had my face pressed in that nook. I knew how his chest felt.
I knew how his dick—
NO.
You’ve got to protect yourself, Andy.
“Yes?” he said, his tone flat.
“Sorry, please, go ahead,” I said hoarsely, as if I were standing in line at a supermarket and not sitting in the glass-walled office of the infamous and imaginary von Roth dick-swinging I’d so enthusiastically described.
“There is nothing to apologize for, as far as I’m concerned.” His tone was ice water in cut glass. He might as well have had his entire face Botoxed, for all the expression on it.
He adjusted his cuffs twice before looking at me again.
Do it by the book, Andy. Say sorry. Cover your arse.
“I’m sorry, I disagree,” I said. Tension crept up my neck and into my hairline.
He looked at my phone again sharply, then back at me.
“You disagree?” He leaned back in his chair like he was appraising me.
How had I ever thought this guy was a gym instructor?
I wondered for a split second if he had a twin brother.
I simply could not reconcile the image of the guy who’d bought me sherry and talked about comic books with this von Roth cyborg in front of me.
“I—” My mouth was chalkboard dry. I’d completely forgotten what I wanted to say.
I’m sorry I called you a pale, stale male and painted a description of you spinning your genitals around in this very room, like a pervy hula dancer. Hope you don’t mind. Are we done?
“What happened—” I stopped. “In the lift, and then … after—” My face was getting red, I knew it was. I kept my eyes on his, like that might somehow gaslight him into not noticing.
His Adam’s apple dipped slightly, and his eyes darted to my phone again. Why did he keep doing that? Was he expecting it to ring? Or—no, that was crazy. It wasn’t even his phone.
Just apologize, Andy.
“I mean—when we, when I—”
“It was a misunderstanding.” He said it firmly, like there was nothing else to be said. The ghost of an expression crossed his face. It reminded me of how he looked when he’d caught my eye at the rooftop bar. Like he wanted to say something and decided against it.
He smiled, lips twisting to the side. Of course, his crooked smile. The imperfection that made him perfect. Women probably wrote poetry about him.
“We should move on from the other day.” His fingers tapped, then stopped. “It was … an unexpected situation.”
“But Mr. von Roth”—I leaned forward. I had to get this apology out, or James would kill me—“the company meeting, before you were about to be introduced. I didn’t—”
“Best left forgotten, Ms. Jones,” he replied. “No harm done. I’m sure you agree.”
“Okay,” I replied slowly. “I … if you think …”
“I do. That’s what I think.” He stopped, his face neutral. “And everything else is otherwise all right? You’ve filed your incident with HR, I assume?”
“My incident—oh, yes. It’s in progress.”
“And your role here, nothing of concern?”
Nothing of concern?
Just that I’d fucked the CEO, who seemed to have had a total personality transplant, and now we were both pretending it hadn’t happened?
Yeah. That was a little concerning.
Well, fine. If he wanted to play that game.
“Oh no, nothing of concern, of course not.” I wasn’t a salesperson for nothing—I could pretend everything was hunky-dory just as well as he could. “Novexia is at the forefront of the pharmavation industry, as I’m sure you know, Mr. von Roth. It’s a great place to work.”
Boom. Straight out of the company playbook. James would be proud of me. I was leaning in to the new regime. Growth mindset on lock.
If the Douche King wanted me to just shut up, smile and move on, then fine.
“A great place to work, yes. I think you mentioned that before.” He looked like he’d dropped a mirror tint over his eyes, so he could see out, but I couldn’t see in. “You’ve got your client engagement approach well-polished, if I recall, Ms. Jones. Still expensing a lot of baked goods?”
Oh crap.
It’s pretty much just slinging muffins and flirting with doctors—was that what I’d said?
I could almost feel the blood vessels in my cheeks start to fill. Should I set the record straight? I mean—obviously sales involved more than bribing people with cakes and implied sexual favors. It had just been a joke. I didn’t totally love my job, but I needed it. And I was good at it.
He raised a single brow, his expression self-satisfied.
This wasn’t the Liam I’d met before. This was the Wilhelm von Roth we’d been worried about.
Smug and judgmental. Maybe not eighty, but a corporate sociopath, nonetheless.
Poised to shred Novexia and kick any staff to the curb who didn’t fit with his “strategy.”
How had I ever seen anything else?
I felt something hot and victorious unfurl in my chest, like I’d just discovered I had claws.
I set my gaze on his. “At least I don’t walk in, take what I want, and leave before the coffee’s cold.”
His eyes opened wide for a second, the mask slipping.
Visions of whipping my future redundancy letter out of his hand and setting fire to it with a Bic lighter in the middle of the office floated before me.
I didn’t care. I’d get a job at a gallery, retrain as an art teacher. Eliza and I would make do. I’d make it work. I didn’t need to kiss the butt of this spoiled nepo baby.
It was deathly silent. He blinked.
What in God’s name had I just said?
Probably not something James would describe as covering my arse.
I stood and extended a hand.
“I’m so glad we could do this, Mr. von Roth.”
He stood too, like he hadn’t expected me to end the meeting, and brushed both hands down the sides of his thighs.
“Yes, of course. And it’s just Roth. Liam Roth.”
His palm was dry, but his eyes were ice. After a second too long, he released my hand like he didn’t want to touch it anymore.
He was cold, detached. I had the unsettling feeling I’d crossed a line I could never uncross.
He pulled out his chair and sat, turning his head back to his laptop … like I didn’t even exist.
Seeing him like this, it became very clear. The man I’d met—slept with—had been a figment of my imagination. The real man was in front of me, in all his emotionless, ruthless glory.
Well. At least I knew what I was dealing with now. I was just glad I met the real man before I got too carried away thinking there had been more to him.
*
“Right, Andy, how about this?” James flipped open his screen and angled it toward me.
To: Employee Relations, Novexia
I am submitting this statement to formally record concerns regarding an incident involving Mr. Liam von Roth, which occurred shortly after his arrival at Novexia.
At the time of the incident, I was not aware of Mr. von Roth’s identity, role, or seniority within the organization. The interaction took place outside the workplace and, to my understanding, was informal and unrelated to my employment.
Following Mr. von Roth’s formal introduction to the company, I became aware of the significant power imbalance between us. This led me to reassess the circumstances of the encounter and to experience discomfort and concern regarding the implications for my professional position.
While no explicit threats, inducements, or promises were made, I am conscious that consent and autonomy can be affected where there is a substantial asymmetry of authority, particularly where one party is unaware of the other’s status at the time.
I believe it is appropriate to place this on record in the interests of transparency and to protect my professional standing and well-being should any future concerns arise.
This statement is submitted in good faith, and I am willing to cooperate with any process the company deems necessary.
Andrea Jones
Pharmaceutical Sales Representative
“Happy with it?” he said.
“I … ah … it’s very legal sounding?”
“Yes, that’s the point.” He looked at me.
“It just says you didn’t know who he was when you shagged, you’re not accusing him of anything, but now that you know he’s basically God, it’s made you uncomfortable.
So you’re sticking a flag in the ground noting that ‘this happened, I didn’t have all the info, please don’t screw me over later.
’ It’s not a complaint. It’s a receipt. Okay? ”
“Okay. I guess?”
“Good. I’ll print it out and keep it in your paper file. Nobody’s ever going to look in there unless a whole load of other things have turned to custard.”
I looked at the formal language, the careful phrasing. It made the whole thing feel sordid.
“He wasn’t like that on Monday,” I said, more to myself than to James. “In the meeting today he was … cold. I was just a problem to be managed.”
“Yeah, well.” James leaned back in his chair. “Billionaires don’t get to be billionaires by being warm and fuzzy, do they? They step on people. It’s a job prerequisite.”
“I suppose.” But it still stung.