“I’m not sureyou’re considering the best interest of the client, sweetheart. We’ll tablethis for now and see how our initial meeting goes before we discuss itfurther.”
I bit my tongue,swallowing bitterness at being scolded for having a brilliant idea. The meetingwent on. We—and by we, I mean the Little Tucker—decided that Ethan and I couldbe present for the meeting, but as creative director, he would take lead. Whichwas fine, except he hadn’t actually done any work. He was going to pitch ourideas and take all the glory while Ethan and I cheered him on from theinvisible background.
By the time wewrapped up, I was stewing with silent fury. I gathered my things with the poiseof an angry bull while Ethan hurried out of the office like his desk was onfire.
“Molly, can I talkto you for a minute?” Henry asked in a much gentler voice than he’d used duringthe meeting.
I looked up at him,hating that I hadn’t been as quick as Ethan. Somehow, I managed to sound politewhen I said, “Yes?”
“Look, I know Icame down hard on you today, but I want you to have the right perspective goinginto the meeting on Thursday. You’re innovative, Molly. And light years aheadof your peers. It’s why you’ve done so well here. It’s also why I put you onthis project. But what you need to understand is that not everyone speaks yourtechy language.” He got up from behind his desk and walked around to put a handon my shoulder. “The most important piece of advice I’ve ever gotten at thisjob was to know the temperature of the room. You can have the greatestmarketing plan in the world, but if you don’t know who you’re pitching to, themessage will never make it to the audience.”
I breathed indeeply through my nose, hating that he made a good point. It was an intuitive ideato feel out Black Soul before I pitched a giant giveaway. It physically hurt meto admit, “You’re right. It’s smart to hold back for now.”
His hand moved overmy bicep, brushing up and down in a slow caress that grabbed my attention.Abruptly, my priorities shifted from the Black Soul project to Henry’s inappropriatetouching. Was this the right time to say something?
He stepped closer,smiling serenely at me. “I’m so glad you see it my way.” His hand squeezed mybicep but didn’t let go. “How are your other projects going? Specifically, I’minterested in the EFB Enterprises account. It’s not too big for you, is it? I’mhappy to step in and help out where I can.”
“That one is goinggreat.” My voice shook with nerves, so I pasted on a plastic smile to hide howuncomfortable I was. “I have a meeting with him later today.”Er, tonight… “He’s very open to my ideas.”
“And why wouldn’the be?” Henry asked, but his words were facetious and patronizing.
He had single-handedlymade me feel like a child playing pretend at the grown-up job where she didn’tbelong. I took a step to the side, desperately trying to shake Henry’s hand offme.
It worked. But itworked too well.
To my utter horror,as Henry’s hand disengaged with my arm it passed over my boob, resting therefor a second too long. His whole palm flattened against my breast before hepulled it away.
“Oh my god,” I gasped,feeling dirty, molested and small. So, so small.
“What?” Henry asked, totally unfazed.
I stared at hisshoes, my voice shaking as I choked out a horrified whisper. “D-did you justgrab my b-boob?”
His voiceflattened, turning sharp as a knife. “Excuse me?”
I was onlymarginally more confident when I asked the question for a second time. “D-didyou just grab my boob?”
“What? Are youserious? Of course not!”
His outrage soothedsome of my worst fears. “It-it felt like you did.”
He laughed, but itwas bitter and accusatory. “Do you mean just now?” His voice dropped low in asnarl, “I didn’t grab your boob, Molly. For god’s sake. You moved and my handaccidentally bumped into you. I didn’t realize it was your breast until youaccused me of assaulting you.” He pumped his hands. “You need to settle down.”
My spine started tocrack and crumble beneath the weight of his defensiveness. “Henry, your handrested on my breast.”
“MissMaverick, thatwas a complete and total accident. If you’dlike to drag my name through unnecessary mud, you’re welcome to complain aboutme to HR. But good luck getting the charge to stickwhen it was an accident. Do you really think I’m in the habit offondling my employees during the middle of the morning? On a Monday for fuck’ssake?”
The hysterical partof my brain wondered why it made any difference that it was Monday? Was he justnot usually up for fondling on Mondays? Did he prefer to fondle closer to theweekend? Was there a specific day of the week that was best for fondling?
Regardless, he wasadamant that he’d touched me on accident. And while it didn’t feel like anaccident to me, in fact, it felt very, very on purpose, right now it was hisword against mine. I wanted to call him out on his bullshit. I wanted to gostraight to HR like he’d suggested and file a formal complaint. But there wasno proof that he’d done it on purpose. I couldn’t even be sure myself. So whatgood would it do to complain about the son of the founder of the company I wasworking for?
Nobody wouldbelieve me.
And while I felticky from the inside out, an accidental brush of my boob wasn’t the end of theworld.
It wasn’t, I told myself again. And then once more with feeling.
I took another stepback, debating. Hewashandsy. He’d made me feel uncomfortable on severaloccasions. But if I drew the line now, then maybe it would stop him fromreaching out and grabbing my boob whenever he felt like it.
