“Do you now?” That shark-like smile again, all gleaming teeth and predatory intent. He leans in closer, his cologne surrounding me. “Are you quite certain about that, Miss Jones?”
I blink rapidly, stalling with another burning sip of my drink as my heart kicks up a nervous gallop. “What’s this about?”
His smirk widens as he settles back. “Funny thing, that. Your diary tells a rather different story about your feelings toward me.”
Icy tendrils of fear slither up my spine. “What?” I croak out.
What diary? What feelings? What fresh hell is this?
“You didn’t realize you’d shared it with me?” He tsks, shaking his head in mock disappointment. “I must say, I’m shocked at such a glaring oversight. Especially from you.”
Terror clogs my throat. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“The diary, Gemma. Where you chronicle all your precious thoughts about the company.” His eyes narrow to slits, glinting dangerously in the low light. “And about me. What was it you called me again?”
I swallow hard, trying to get my voice back. “A . . . visionary leader?”
He lets out a harsh, humorless chuckle. “No, try again. It was something a bit more colorful.” He pauses, clearly enjoying this. “Ah, yes. A ‘tyrannical, control-freak, big swinging dick,’ I believe.”
His gaze drops pointedly to his tie, then back up to brand me with its intensity. “Tell me, is this the tie you imagined strangling me with?”
I gape at him, frozen. Not breathing. Not blinking. Is this what a stroke feels like? An aneurysm? Surely my head can’t contain this level of horror without exploding.
“I . . . I don’t understand,” I finally rasp. “No. I couldn’t have . . .”
That slow smile of his is the cruelest thing I’ve ever seen. “And yet, here we are.”
With trembling hands, I dig through my bag for my work phone, navigating to the shared folders with numb fingers. The harsh, choked sound that is ripped from me as I see it there, glaring back at me, is barely human.
“That was a mistake!” I blurt out. “It was just . . . a joke!”
“A joke?” He arches a brow. “For my amusement, I assume? Did you intend for me to find it funny?”
I swallow hard, fighting back the urge to be violently ill right here. There’s no coming back from this career-annihilating disaster. “No, no, a private joke. For myself. I thought I’dsaved it locally. I must have uploaded it to the remote server by mistake. Just a stupid IT blunder!”
He regards me through narrowed eyes. “Ah, I see. A simple mix-up, was it, Gemma? Just like the cat feces you so thoughtfully left on my desk?”
“Y-yeah, let’s go with that,” I squeak, hating how pathetic I sound. Fuck my life, this is it. My worst nightmare playing out in real-time, just like Lizzie and I were talking about the other day.
In a desperate attempt to salvage the situation, I hear myself say, “Some might consider ‘big swinging dick’ a compliment.”
“I’m touched. Truly,” Liam drawls, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Although somehow I don’t think you were trying to compliment the size and swing of my cock when you typed out that little gem.”
I didn’t think it possible for my face to flame any hotter, but here we are.
He studies me intently, his dark eyes boring into mine, seeing straight through me. Into me. Like he knows all my filthy secrets.
Because he fucking does.
I think I might break down and sob, right here, in front of Liam McLaren. My boss and the unwitting star of my most scathing diary entries.
“Did you bring me in here to fire me, then?” I whisper, my voice cracking. Might as well rip the Band-Aid off and get this over with.
“Oh, I should absolutely fire your ass.”
In that moment, I know everything I’ve worked for—my professional reputation, my tireless work ethic—has been demolished. Obliterated by my own careless mistake.
I’m fired. I’m so fucking fired.
