Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 122382 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 612(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122382 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 612(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
I inhale deeply, not quite sure how much I’m ready to tell Matt. But I need to tell him something before they get back.
“Once upon a time, everything in the office was fine. I had a boyfriend, and my colleagues mostly treated me as though I was one of the guys. Not ideal, but I could deal with their lame jokes and zone out during their embellished tales of who they banged the night before. Fast-forward a little, and now I no longer have a boyfriend but an office nemesis, though Pete pretends that only one of us is affected by our split.” Bull. Shit.
“And since the split, the office banter, if you like, has taken a turn. The kind of turn that some people would describe as sexist.” It’s me. I’m some people. I rub my lips together, not wanting to sound like that girl—the one who needs a man to fix things for her. “They’re mostly harmless—”
“Even with the bet they’ve got going?” he demands.
“It sounds worse than it is. The issue isn’t so much them as a collective as it is one of them.”
“What’s his name?”
“Brandon.” My lips curl. “For reasons clear only to himself, he’s under the impression it’s his turn now.”
“His turn?” Matt demands, his gaze flinty.
“Now that Pete’s done with me, I guess.”
“Fuck.” Matt swipes his hand across his mouth as though tasting something offensive.
“He asked me out, and I turned him down,” I rush on, wanting to be done with this. “And it’s like that’s made me some kind of challenge.” It’s gone from crude comments when he thinks no one else is paying attention to straight-up abuse.
“That’s fucked up.”
“It is, but it’s a reality for more than just me. I was being harassed long before I could spell the word. I learned early on that I needed to harden the hell up and get used to being called a bitch—and worse—in the workplace. You get hit on, you turn them down, you get labeled a bitch, fine. But if you call them out, suddenly you’re difficult.
“And before you say I should make an official complaint, it would be no use. He’s too popular with the C-suite. His numbers are good,” I add with a weak shrug. “But the fact that I faked a boyfriend in the first place is down to him.”
“That’s not surprising.”
“It was to me,” I say with an unhappy huff of a laugh. “At least, in the moment.”
“What happened?”
“We were having drinks after work to christen the new guy’s first week at work.” I swallow and slide my hair behind my ears. “He’d survived that baptism of fire, and you’ve got to be a team player, right?”
Matt smiles, and I hate that I see pity there.
“An hour in, and I was getting ready to leave. I visited the restroom only to find Brandon lounging in the dim hallway on my way out.”
Matt’s smile falls, his expression a mixture of concern and trepidation.
“Come on,” Brandon had said, all hands and beer breath. “The more you fight it, the more I want it. It’s gonna happen between us.”
Shock had washed through me like a tsunami. Fear, if I’m being honest. He wore such a feral look in his eyes.
“Nothing bad happened,” I say. “I just pushed him out of the way as I uttered that lame phrase every girl whips out when she’s not interested. ‘I have a boyfriend.’”
“Hanging around dark hallways. Making you push him. Fucking hell, Ryan. That’s the behavior of a predator.”
I wave his words away. “I decided I might as well run with that story. Embellish it, even. So I began weaving my tale. I’d met a guy on vacation. An artist from Madrid.” With my hand, I indicate him. “Interesting, glamorous, and not on the same continent. A perfect creation, really.”
“Long distance?” I hear Brandon scoff. “Never gonna last.”
“Fun while it does, though” was my retort.
He didn’t like the idea of that.
“So that was my story, and I’ve stuck to it.” Especially when his efforts intensified. Hair touching, fingers tracing the base of my spine or briefly touched to my hip, his opportunities chosen when he knew I wouldn’t make a scene. An elevator dick brush that I tried to tell myself was an accident.
“We will fuck, Killer.” This he said as late as last week, his assertion like a lover’s whisper as he hung over my shoulder as though helping me with something. “It’s only a matter of time before it’s my cock you’re riding.”
“Pretty sure anyone willing to fuck you is just too damned lazy to jerk off.”
“That mouth,” he said, all growling and entertained. “One of these days I’m gonna use it as a—”
“What part of ‘I have a boyfriend’ don’t you understand?” I demanded, rolling my chair back over his foot.
“The part where I’ve never seen him.” His retort, always with an air of having the upper hand.