“Give him hell, girl,” Ashley says.
I storm next door, painting a polite smile on my face as the security officer inside the store lets me inside with a smile. The staff recognize me now. Sullivan even gave me a staff ID, one with a better picture on it than Cara took.
Riding the staff elevator up to his level, I take slow, deep breaths to calm my racing heart. I need to say what I’ve come to, then I’m walking out of here with my head held high.
Cara’s handbag is on her empty desk as I stomp past. But there’s no sign of her or any other staff.
Sullivan’s office door is closed, and the blinds are shut. I don’t knock. The bastard’s lucky I don’t boot the door down as way of an entrance.
He’s sitting, leaning over his desk, one hand over his mouth, the other holding his cell phone to his ear. His eyes are red-rimmed and glassy.
I stall on the threshold as his throat contracts with a strained swallow and he ends his call without saying a word to the person on the other end.
“What’s wrong?” My voice comes out far too soft. Far too caring. But the ashen color of his face suggests whatever the call was, it was bad news.
“Nothing.” He blinks, his expression morphing back into his usual terse one with practiced ease.
I stare at him for a beat. He’s lying. I shouldn’t be surprised. It seems that’s all he does.
“You’re here to discuss last night, I presume?” he says smoothly, slipping into business mode like I’m nothing more than a client he needs to manage.
“I’m here to hand in my resignation.”
That gets his attention.
“No.”
So simple. So confident. Like he has control.
“Yes.”
“No,” he snarls.
“Yes!” I step inside his office. “Do you seriously expect me to work for you after you used me like that? You don’t respect me?—”
“I do.”
I snort. “You don’t. You don’t care about my feelings?—”
“I do.” His voice is so deep, so sure of himself.
So fucking arrogant.
“Stop talking!” I snap. “You’re a liar! You wouldn’t throw me out like trash if any of that were true. At least admit it.You’re nothing but a selfish jerk with charm. And I fell for it.”
He stares at me, his nostrils flaring as he flattens his hands on top of his desk like he’s fighting to remain calm. “I’m sorry, Tate.”
I walk over to his desk, wanting to make him see what a terrible bullshitter he is, show him I can see right through him.
It all happens so fast. I’m not paying attention, too intent on glaring at him. I slam my hands down on his desk and bring one straight down on top of a letter opener, catching it at an awkward angle.
“Shit!” I yelp as white-hot fire races up my arm.
My finger throbs, bright red blood dripping from it and dropping onto the desk.
“Jesus!” Sullivan barks.
He flies out of his chair. His eyes widen as more blood runs down my finger and onto my hand.
