I pin my glare on Chris. “Does he pay you?”
The guy shuts up.
“To laugh at his bad jokes. Does Mark pay you?” My heart still pounds, erratic. Partly because I’m still coming down from kissing Corrine just minutes ago and partly with rage.
“Hey, Chambers—” Mark cuts in.
“And you.” I stand up to my full height. He might have twenty pounds on me, but I know I still look intimidating when I stand a half foot over him. “Call her that one more time,” I say. “You don’t even have to say the word, just think it. I dare you.” My voice shakes with rage.
His face flushes a shade of angry red. “And what are you going to do about it if I do?”
“If you’re lucky I’ll report you to HR. If not, I will lay you thefuckout.”
He steps forward. His cologne is a noxious haze around him. “I’d fucking love to see you try.”
I’m not exactly sure what my response will be. I’ve never been in a fistfight before. And I’m positive that punching a coworker will get me fired, regardless of the fact that my father is a friend of the boss. But I never get the chance to find out because Emily sashays into the kitchen, unfettered and untouchable in a rose-colored satin pantsuit. She stops a few feet from us.
“What is going on here?” she asks sharply.
I swallow, step back. I try to plaster a smile on my face but it feels lopsided and fake. “We were just going over the Code of Conduct,” I say.
She eyes both of us suspiciously and I start to edge my way toward the door. “Do I need to speak to Richard about anything?” she asks me, specifically.
I catch Mark’s eye over her head, his mouth contorted in a childish sneer.
My smile is a little less artifice this time. “No. I think we’re all good.”
I stalk back to Corrine’s office. I’ve already got my statement to HR ready in my head. I’ve never felt surer about anything in my whole life. Mark is about to strike out for good. I rap my knuckles on the door once before letting myself in and shutting it behind me.
Corrine pushes back from her desk when she sees my face. “What happened? Did they say something? Do they suspect something?” she asks, rapid-fire. She cups her forehead in one hand. “What was I thinking? Kissing like that? In the middle of the day? In the middle of theoffice?”
My parents would fight when we were kids. My mother’s quiet, calm voice would slowly rise in volume and urgency. My father’s anger sounded like a caustic, bitter weapon, seeping under their bedroom doorway and down the hall to Amy’s bedroom, where we’d usually be sitting together, trying to ignore the sounds of their marriage collapsing, failing. At the time I couldn’t understand how a man could let his rage take over. How he could let the disdain and annoyance thicken each syllable to hurt the people he claimed to love. Now I understand that the anger is like a cloak, one I didn’t know I put on until it was too late and now I can’t get off. I don’t want to speak another word to Corrine before I get it off. I pace back and forth in front of her sitting area, my hands in my hair.
“Wesley,” she says, coming toward me.
I hold my hands up, palms out. “Just...give me some space.”
She looks hurt for a heartbeat, but then hides it away with a practiced, cool expression.
“What happened?” She tucks her hands underneath her elbows.
“They didn’t suspect anything. Mark is just...a fucking asshole.”
“Keep your voice down.” I didn’t even realize I was yelling.
“I want to report him to HR,” I tell her, my pulse finally slowing.
She shakes her head. “Don’t bother.”
“Why the hell not?” My voice echoes again and I take a deep breath to try to gain some calm. “You know what he says about you,” I say, quieter.
“Yes, and I know that his frat brother coined the name and that he started a rumor that we were sleeping together and I know what Ted the CFO says about my qualifications and I know that the three soccer moms in Accounting call me a bitch when they talk about me in the bathroom. If I reported every little thing someone said about me, the only thing I would accomplish would be to make myself look like a complainer. Being a team player is more important.”
“I think this is bigger than a complaint. He calls you acunt,” I hiss and she flinches. “Do you really believe they’re team players?”
She turns to the window. After a moment, she says, “I believe that no one believes women when they talk about their experiences anyway. I believe instead in rising above the noise.” She wraps her arms around her middle. “I still don’t want you to say anything.”
I step closer to her in the hopes that will make me less likely to yell again. “Are you fucking serious right now?” I growl.
