His gaze slides to me. “You want some of this, huh? I’ll tell you what. You can have it, and as payment, I’ll bend you over the couch and fuck you hard from behind.”
My jaw drops, and my hands come up in silent protest. Then my shock wears off, and I glare at him. Before today, he was never this crude and abrasive. I can’t help but wonder whether his sexual harassment is intended to drive me back and keep his walls fortified lest I slip through a crack.
He digs into the food and takes a bite, his eyes never leaving my face, which I’m sure is as red as the chilies in his dinner. He chews and then holds out the carton to me. “Take it. I dare you.”
My heart slams against my ribs, and things low in my body come alive. “No thanks. Just lost my appetite.”
“If you say so.” His voice is sexy and rough, which makes my nipples tighten. I’ve never heard him sound like this before. No wonder women all chase him like catnip.
I glance at the clock, relieved I’ll have a distraction soon. My video call with the annoying men I’m doing a project with is in ten minutes. I’m the only woman in the upper level entrepreneurial e-commerce class, and all the guys are super arrogant and aggressive. Two asked me out. One I actually kind of dated. But now, because I’ve made it clear that hooking up is off the table, they’re all surly or dismissive.
I’ve had the top score on two exams and a paper, but I’m not sure anyone knows. Sometimes, when none of them will let me get a word in during discussions, I want to wave my paper in the air like a banner. See what Professor Smith-Hall wrote?Best in class. Top score.
But if I did tell any of them the truth, it would only make them hate my presence in the course even more. And it would make me feel like an insufferable show-off. I want my hard work to speak for itself, so I keep calm and carry on. British Empire, all the way.
Still, I know the pressure is on. I need to show Smith-Hall more than my ability to memorize and to craft a clever paper. The internship will include doing pitches and presentations. The application outright says those without leadership potential need not apply. If I want a shot at an interview, I need a strong letter of support from Professor Smith-Hall.
I set up my laptop on the screened-in porch. It’s cold, but at least it’s quiet. I forgot to bring my heavy winter coat to Shane’s. I’ll get it after class tomorrow, but for now, I’m huddling in my jacket as I log into the meeting.
My two classmates, Todd and Daniel, are already onscreen and engaged in conversation about our project. Am I late? I glance at the clock. No, I’m on time.
“Hey,” I say.
Daniel offers a quick greeting before launching back into conversation.
Daniel and I went on a few dates. He’s tall and wiry, with a beanie and short beard, and I liked his hipster style, which he counterbalances with a dry, self-deprecating wit. Too bad my first impression of him wasn’t his true self.
After a decent first date, we met a couple of days later to study over coffee, and he was rude to our overwhelmed waitress. His voice carried when he said scholarship students should stick to cafeteria work, not drag down businesses where efficiency is key.
I told him to ease off, feeling the sting personally since before Mom married Ethan, we lived paycheck-to-paycheck a lot. Instead of being nicer, he doubled down with digs like “so many women are too sensitive to run a business. You guys don’t have the killer instinct.” When I countered with, “Companies with women on the boards are more profitable,” and coolly spewed examples, he turned surly.
When we left, as if to hammer home his disdain for the weak, he was nasty to an elderly homeless person who was panhandling for change. That left me momentarily breathless. Completely mortified, I gave the man my last five dollars and apologized while Daniel fumed, rolled his eyes, and muttered.
I told him to lose my number.
Crazily, he texted on and off for several days after, saying we’d just had an off day and should go out again. I resorted to ghosting.
So it wassuperawkward to be assigned to a group project with him. Though, to give him a small amount of credit, he did apologize for acting so arrogant that day and has tried to be nice since. Unfortunately, when he’s with Todd Bardoratch, I see shades of the pretentious asshole he was on that coffee date.
The screen door creaks, and I look up to see Shane step out. I don’t have time to ask what he’s doing. I need to understand why they’re talking about accounting and the spreadsheets I created. I was supposed to go over that in the second part of this meeting.
“Hey, hang on a sec, guys. I thought we were going to review the mock-up of the website first?”
“Did that. And the product choices. We went with the graphic t-shirts,” Daniel says.
“Wait, you made a product decision without me? And which t-shirts? Not the Trekkie ones? The margin on them isn’t great, and there’s so much competition that I—”
They talk over me, going on with a discussion of the spreadsheets and my automated workflows. I wonder if Todd’s over-the-top dismissiveness is a show of solidarity with Daniel or if Todd’s just always a fellow asshole.
“I like the workflows,” Todd says. He’s got floppy hair that he’s always tossing like a wanna-be model. Tragically, he’s our team’s de facto leader because he hails from a long line of investment bankers and dabbles in investing with money he acts like he earned but didn’t.
“They’ll work fine,” Todd continues. “And the recurring reports feature is really good. Great work, Daniel.”
“That’smycode,” I say, my voice rising. “I wrote it. I created the workflows and reports.”
“What?” Todd demands impatiently.
I lower the pitch of my voice, careful to not give them an excuse to call me hysterical or some other sexist adjective. “It’s obvious you guys met up without me. When? And why?”
