“Excuse me?”
“We’re supposed to be in this together. I signed your shitty contract because it was supposed to be giving me quite the cushy life that would sleepwalk me into a rich retirement, and then you call that damned meeting and start talking about closing shit down?” He storms toward me, sniffing hard like the air pressure is the only thing keeping his damn nose attached to his face.
“I think you have your wires crossed.”
“Do I?” he roars, prodding me in the chest with a stumpy finger. “You’re sleeping with an employee? You know how fucked thatis? I’ve got books of rules upon rules that fuck you right up the ass, you know that? I’m going to bury you for… for disrespecting me, for breaking God knows how many HR rules and worker laws, for screwing over the entire company, for bringing yourlewdrelationship intomyoffice!”
A disgusting, subtle spray of saliva lands on my cheek as Jimmy rages, and it takes all of my control to remain calm against my desk.
“And that whore you’re fucking?” Jimmy sneers. “I’m going to sue her too. I’m going to take her to court and rob her of everything she owns until her and that blasted kid of hers end up begging on the street, and then we’ll see if she sucks my cock for—rhk!”
He trails off as both my hands grip onto his shirt and I haul him upward, bringing his face so close to mine that he has to balance on his tiptoes.
“Say that again,” I growl low as anger seeps through me like molten hot iron. “Day in and day out, I’ve had to listen to your fucking sniveling, acting like you have power to lord over the poor people who work here. Every damn day poring over your terrible bookkeeping, your even worse attitude to your workers, and that sickening line you toe between polite and offensive. It’s a wonder this place is still standing after your thick-headed business decisions. But you know? I could have overlooked it all if not for the fact that your fucking coke habit has destroyed your nose to the point that you can’t even breathe without sounding like a snotty fucking toddler. It grates on me so I say this with my whole fucking heart.”
“Let—me go!” Jimmy gasps, struggling against my hold. Behind him, my door opens once again, only this time, several police officers walk in.
“Mr. Baird?” The leading officer glances between the two of us.
“Yeah,” I mutter. “Buster’s friend?”
“Yes, sir.”
My eyes slide back to Jimmy as he cranes around, trying to glimpse who I’m talking to. “Fuck you, Jimmy. I hope you rot.”
Twenty-four hours later,I arrive on Calliope’s doorstep with a large bouquet of flowers and a prayer. Jimmy, of course, didn’t go quietly, which turned into yet another fiasco, and before I knew it, time got away from me. Knocking quietly on the door, I cradle the flowers to my chest and wait.
The sound of running footsteps up the stairs catches my attention, followed by a distant cry of ‘I don’t want to’, and then silence. A moment later, the lock clicks and the door slides open.
“Listen, I don’t care—oh.” Calliope’s face falls immediately. “It’s you.”
“Calliope.”
“Whatever it is, I don’t want to hear it.”
As she moves to shut the door, I hold out my hand to block it and wince as the impact sends a shock of pain up my wrist. “Sorry. Calliope, please let me explain.”
“You said you’d call.”
“I know.”
“You didn’t. I’m done. I’m not here to be trailed around like some idiot. Find someone else to mess with, Elijah.”
“No, please. I’m here because I wanted to explain in person. I would have called but I ended up spending hours talking to the cops, and time got away from me.”
That catches her attention and she looks at me with a distinct warmth of concern in her eyes. Seeing it gives me hope that she still cares about me. “The cops?”
“Yeah. It’s… it’s a long story. Please, can I come in?”
Calliope chews on the edge of her lip for a long moment, studying me, then she sighs deeply and steps aside. “Fine. Wait in the living room.”
Per her instruction, the living room is where I head and I settle onto the couch as I wait for her. Her footsteps track upstairs where muted yelling comes from her, Nick, and her mother. An argument of some kind ends with several doors slamming, and then footsteps rush down the stairs. Calliope walks into the living room with her hair now scraped back into a ponytail and she crosses her arms just under her bust.
“You have five minutes.”
“These are for you.” Standing, I offer her the bouquet and when she doesn’t move to accept it, I lay the flowers down on the table.
“Four minutes,” she says stiffly.
