Chapter 50
Fifty
C hristmas nears, and with the office closing for two days, I’m scoring a four-day weekend. I’m not crazy (or rich) enough to fly home, and I’ve already told my parents I’m staying put. They understood, and as expected, didn’t fight me on it or offer to buy my plane ticket. Shocker.
It seems a bit much to believe the Hamiltons will adopt me for such a significant holiday. Although they’ve been nothing short of welcoming, I’d never presume an invitation, nor does the idea make me super comfortable. It’s their family time.
As if he knows, Butch broaches the subject on the phone.
“You could drive down Christmas Eve and stay through the whole weekend.” When I pause, he barrels forward. “If you want. Because I want it. Emmy will too. In fact, pretty sure everyone here is a big fucking yes.”
God, this man. No hesitation at all. Just open arms. He was the one who said we’d take it slow, yet he’s done nothing but mash the gas and redline the RPMs. He makes it easy to take the ride even though a part of me wonders if we’ll crash .
Emmy’s voice chirps in the background, and Butch tells her he’s speaking with me. After a bit of scuffling, she commandeers the phone.
“Hi, Jacqui.”
“Hi, Emmy.”
“Are you coming for Christmas?”
Oh lord. “I’m thinking about it. Your daddy just invited me.”
“I think you better. He gets darn tootin’ grumpy when you’re not around.”
“Emmy!” Butch scolds.
I can’t help but laugh. “Is that right? Are you sure I’m the reason?”
“Uh huh. He’s been mister cranky pants ever since you left.”
This girl and her vocabulary. “I’ll bet you’re excited for Christmas. What do you want Santa to bring you this year?”
“Presents. Lots and lots of presents.”
“You want to be surprised then? I like it.”
“Give me the phone, you spoiled brat,” Butch says in the background, doing something that makes her shriek then giggle. After a beat, he’s back.
“Your daughter’s a trip.”
He sighs long and hard. “Affirmative. And I have not been grumpy. Much.”
I chuckle. “I miss you already too.”
“Good. That means you’ll come back. Now, don’t you want to know what I want for Christmas?”
“I’m pretty sure I’ve got Daddy Lumberjack’s wish list covered.”
He barks out a laugh. “Here I thought lumberjack was bad. You’re absolutely not allowed to say that in front of Liz—or anyone. Even my grams made a lewd comment.”
“Are you forbidding me… daddy ? ”
He groans. “Christ, woman. You’re killing me.”
My grin widens, then fades. I’ve been on the fence about asking Butch to accompany me to our office party, only because I don’t want to go…which is one hundred percent due to my skeevy boss. Mr. Possessive Gorgeous Hulk by my side would equal a giant, intimidating, human security blanket.
“I know it’s super late notice, but the magazine’s throwing a holiday staff party next Friday. Any chance you could be my date?”
He pauses, then hisses under his breath. “Shoot. Wish I could, but Emmy’s got a dance recital that evening. We meant to invite you, but it obviously slipped through the cracks.”
Damn. “I’d much rather join you than attend this company affair, but it seems like bad form to skip it.”
“I’m sorry, baby. Really. How about I try coming up that weekend? We can walk downtown and check out the department store windows, see the lights, have dinner.”
“I’d like that.”
“And you’ll think about Christmas? I’m dead serious about you staying all four days.”
His words burrow into the intended spot. “Mm-hmm.” It sounds perfect, honestly. Not like I want to sit home alone, crying into my pillow. “Thank you. It means a lot, Butch.”
He makes a little scoff. “Baby, you’re all I need for Christmas.”
Swoon . “Feet-sweeper-offer.”
“Who’s your daddy?” he says, lowering his already sexy timbre, and we both burst out laughing.
The office closes promptly at five on Friday, with the holiday party immediately following at a restaurant two blocks away.
Most people dressed up for work, but some scramble to change before heading over.
I’m still wearing my day-to-night outfit: a scoop-neck crimson sweater with a black skirt and matching heels.
Val and I touch up our hair and makeup in the restroom, then walk over together, keeping a brisk pace despite our coats barricading us against the frigid air.
Welcome heat blasts us upon entering the establishment. We navigate through the crowded bar to the reserved back room, where Virginia Now employees mingle. An open bar beckons, alongside tables brimming with appetizers and desserts.
“Alcohol first,” Val says.
“Definitely,” I agree.
We wait in a short line, then score our drinks. The first sip of my gin and tonic slides down easily, hitting the spot and serving as a primer to get through this party.
Val and I join a group of coworkers, where a discussion about a new Oliver Stone movie is underway.
I half-listen. A Vietnam War setting. Platoon .
Starring Charlie Sheen, the memorable degenerate in Ferris Bueller’s Day Off .
Based on Stone’s personal experiences. Academy Award buzz.
Maybe Butch and I will see it at the theater.
The room grows louder as staff filters in. A band threatens to douse conversation with its cringey covers. Currently: Beat It . I give them twenty minutes until they trot out Y.M.C.A.
I slip away to fill a small plate with nibbles, then stand in line for another drink. After a wait lengthy enough to polish off my food, I get my second cocktail in hand. As I crane my neck searching for Val or anyone recognizable, Don sidles up alongside me.
My whole body stiffens. I’m trapped.
He leans in close. “You look ravishing, Jacqueline.”
Gross. It takes effort to force my lips into a weak smile.
“Hav…a…time?” he asks.
I don’t catch what he said over the music, and he repeats it next to my ear.
I flinch, my body jolting away from his hot breath. I school my features, lift my drink, and lie. Yes, having a great time, boss.
He grins, those hazel eyes twinkling, then leans in again. “I thought … see … before…” I’m only catching about half of what he says.
Pulling back, I shrug, pantomiming that it’s impossible to hear him above the noise. The band launches into Macho Man . Still the Village People, and ten bucks says Y.M.C.A. is on the finale playlist when people are drunk enough for dance moves.
Don presses in so close to my ear that he touches the shell. This time, his voice rings loudly. “Follow me.”
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
My blood chills in this now-humid room crammed with bodies as we navigate through the throng. The lyrics to the song they’re butchering only makes it worse.
Body…wanna touch my body
My boss gazes back, ensuring I’m following along like a dutiful puppy. Everything in my head screams RUN, but at what cost? How should I handle this? What are his intentions?
Every man wants to be a macho man
He exits the banquet room into the expansive bar, leading me to the darkest corner.
“This is better,” he says with a smile, then holds out his glass. “Cheers.”
“Cheers,” I reply, politely tapping my drink with his as he clearly expects.
His eyes pin mine, his expression turning wolfish. “I thought I’d hear from you by now.”
I raise my brows .
“About the mentorship offer.” He winks.
Those fucking winks.
He moves closer, and one of his arms snakes around my waist to pull my head near his mouth. “I’m a powerful ally, Jacqueline. And powerful…in other ways as well. I believe you’d find it a very satisfying experience.”
My heart races, fear and disgust rioting behind my sternum. I balk, but his vise grip holds me hostage.
“You scratch my back, and I’ll scratch yours, if you catch my drift.” His breath reeks of alcohol. “For now, how about a friendly holiday kiss?”
I recoil as his lips graze my cheek.
He chuckles, releasing me. “Playing hard to get? You have no idea how much I love that game. And how patient a man I am.”
He eyes me hungrily, and it reminds me of a hyena circling a fresh kill on one of those old episodes of Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom .
I shrink, wondering how I can continue working at Virginia Now if this is my future.
If there’s going to come a day when he takes instead of asks.
Or fires me without cause other than his warped expectations that I acquiesce to his request—demand—for sexual favors.
His raises his glass. “Relax. It’s just a bit of fun.” His lascivious grin creases the corner of his mouth.
For whom? My stomach roils.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to the party, make the rounds. Merry Christmas.” He winks, his palm grazing my ass with the barest of touches through my skirt.
He doesn’t wait for a response before striding off, leaving me with my pulse pounding in my ears. I slam my drink on the table with such force the liquid sloshes out, splashing my hand. Without a word to anyone, I bolt outside and back to my car.
My thoughts spin. What are my rights? How has Don incriminated himself?
Should I be logging all of his comments somewhere?
Can I report him? How…when he’s the publisher where the buck fucking stops?
Or damn close. There is a parent company but would they even believe me if it’s my word against his?
Fuck. How can I deal with this? Protect myself? Will I have to quit my job?
By the time I make it to my Toyota, my breathing’s so ragged, I strain for air. My keys clang to the pavement. My heart races as I scan the area, my nerves threatening to snap out of my skin.
Get in the car. Get in the car. Get in the car.
I finally slide into the driver’s seat, lock the door, and speed off.
I clutch the steering wheel so hard my knuckles whiten.
Adrenaline tears through my body, undiluted rage throbbing within.
I can’t afford not to figure this out. Don made it perfectly clear he’s looking forward to the chase and has every intention of reigning victorious.
He’s sat on his throne, unchecked, for a decade.
How many victims have bowed to his harassment?
How many were unceremoniously canned for resisting?
How many have cried themselves to sleep feeling cornered, helpless, and alone?
I make it to my building’s garage. Pulling my purse to my chest, I make a mad dash for the elevator, relieved when it’s empty and hauling me to my floor. With trembling hands, I open my apartment door and quickly lock it behind me. My forehead slumps against it as I steady my breathing.
There’s only one person I long for right now. Butch. I desperately want to tell him about my slimy boss, ask his advice, see if I’m crazy…
But I can’t. His father has a longstanding relationship with Don, and Butch would probably want to kill the motherfucker for doing this to me. No matter how I dissect it, there are consequences at stake, so I can’t—won’t—involve the Hamiltons .
Not telling Butch seems wrong—like a lie—but I don’t see an alternative. I sink into my couch, cloaked in the familiar loneliness I’ve fought against my entire life. Regardless of how hard I fight, it finds me again and again, returning like a boomerang.
I’m in this by myself. I have no one else to turn to.