I watched my chances at this date quickly slip away as I eased myself out of his office. My hands shook violently as I made my way for the elevator, and I waited until the doors closed before I let my tears trickle down my cheeks. I hated that he could still do this to me. That he could still make me cry as if I were nothing but a scared little teenage girl again. I felt helpless, and consumed, and disposable.
But, after brushing the tears away from my cheeks, I charged back into my office. Because as God as my witness, I’d prove to that motherfucker that I wouldn’t take this treatment lying down. I’d do the work, and I’d make it exemplary, just to show him how much he didn’t affect me anymore.
And maybe I could fake it until I actually made it to that point.
5
Rebecca
After shootingTommy an email apologizing for having to miss our date, I spent the rest of my Friday evening in an open and airy conference room getting all of the work JoJo dumped into my lap out of the way.
And while I spent the rest of the weekend trying to recuperate from the rollercoaster ride that was my first week, I woke up Monday morning feeling accomplished.
Sure, I might have looked a little frumpy in my wrinkled pencil skirt and faded black blouse. My hair might have been a bit fuzzier than usual and no, I didn’t have enough time to put on makeup before I left the house.
But I was here, I was ready, and I was incredibly proud of what I had accomplished.
“I’m sorry, but you can’t go in there.”
JoJo’s secretary caught my ear just as I placed my hand on the knob of his office. “He said he wanted to see me this morning before I started.”
“Well, he’s in a board meeting. You’ll need to sit and wait until he’s done.”
Thank fuck I emailed that shit to him.“Does he know that’ll make me late for work?”
She snickered. “Honestly? He probably doesn’t even care.”
“At least he’s consistent,” I murmured.
“What was that, ma’am?”
I gave her my most pleasant smile. “Nothing. Just talking to myself. May I sit here and wait?”
“Of course.”
Not going to lie, part of me wanted to sneak into his office and snoop around for a little while. Maybe there was some dirt somewhere in his office, tucked away from the public eye that I could retrieve and hold over his head. After all, if he was going to continue to berate me, why not give him the same treatment? What’s the worst he could do, fire me?
I’d come clean to the press in a heartbeat about my treatment, if it came down to it.
“Are you sure I can’t go into his office and sit?” I asked.
His secretary shook her head. “He doesn’t like people waiting in his office.”
I came up with my excuse on the fly. “Not even when we need last-minute documents for the meeting that I have to access on his computer?”
She scoffed. “Why didn’t you say that in the first place? This meeting is very important. Get in there!”
Bingo.
I eased my way into his office and closed the door behind me, my eyes raking along the expanse of books and shelving units that had goldmines of information to dig through. After peering over my shoulder to make sure no one was looking in through the tinted glass wall, I raced to his desk and started rummaging around.
But the more I pulled out, the more it painted a picture of a JoJo I’d never seen before.
The man who owned these files was meticulous. There were neatly-crafted notes in the margins of the minutes from board meetings. There were highlighted financials with red and black scribbles all over the place. He had hard copies and electronic copies of every contract from the past ten years filed away, and as I read through a few of the contracts I noticed a trend.
Not only were they incredible generous, but they were—dare I say it—fair.
These documents painted the picture of a fair and honest man.
