“No,” I answer with faux sweetness. “She had other responsibilities. Family. A child.”
Aspen flinches. Does she have a kid? There’s no ring on her finger, but that doesn’t mean she hasn’t been with other men or that she hasn’t had some douchebag’s baby. Surely she’s gotten herself a new meal ticket after that disaster in college…when she must’ve realized she could’ve wrung me much drier.
The notion slides into me like a blade. It’s a struggle to maintain a glib façade. “Are you going to tell me you have a kid too, like Renée?” I ask, my tone infused with mockery.
Aspen pales like I just pushed an ice pick into her heart. She looks at me like she can’t believe I could be so cruel, and it makes me feel like an utter douchebag. The fact that she has the power to make me feel like shit only intensifies my fury. How can I react like this when I know she’s faking it? Everything about her is a lie, designed to manipulate me.
Steeling myself, I stare back at her.Your reaction means nothing to me.
Finally, she says, “No.”
“Then there shouldn’t be any problem.”
“So what are we doing?”
“Running for an hour.”
“Running?” she repeats.
“Yes. That’s how I build my team.”That’s how I plan to punish you.
“By forcing people to run at four thirty in the morning.”
“Correct. A little cardio wakes you up better than coffee, it’s healthy and it provides a great bonding moment.”
“Andit’s an exercise to turn your people into homicidal maniacs.”
“Mm. Well, if anything happens to me, my lawyer will contact the police and let them know who the last person to see me alive was.”
“You want to put me in jail?”
“If it’s deserved.” But Aspen in jailisn’twhat I want. I want her to be defeated, to feel the pain I felt when I found out about her selling off all the nice things I’d given her because I cared for her. And that means I’m going to do everything in my power to ensure she quits.
“Fine,” she says. “Well, no time like the present.”
“I’ll set the pace, and you’ll follow.”
“How come?”
“I’m the boss. You don’t expect me to follow you, do you?”
“Oh, no. Not at all. Your ego probably couldn’t handle it.”
“Ego, schmego. I know I’m the best.” I usher her outside.
The garden is huge and well lit, and making a circle around the periphery of the property will do. Besides, the view is nice—there’s the water lily garden that looks like it popped straight out of a Monet, the tennis court, the colorful flowers, currently in full bloom, and the impeccably trimmed trees. The lime trees in particular smell fabulous this time of year.
I start at one of my faster paces. Although I work like a dog, I also keep up with my exercise regimen, and I run three times a week. Most people aren’t that diligent, and Aspen probably isn’t either. I expect her to cry uncle. Beg for mercy. If she says she’ll do anything, I’ll tell her the only way to end this is to quit.
She keeps up for about ten minutes, but after that, she starts wheezing. Part of me wants to slow down a bit, but I steel myself. Jesus, I’m trying to make her so miserable she surrenders and gets the hell out of the firm. Who cares if she pukes in the middle of the run? I’ll make her clean it up, or it’s going into her performance eval.
Assuming she lasts long enough for one.
When I realize she’s falling behind, I make a half-circle and run back. “Faster! We don’t have all morning!”
She glares at me. If she could, she’d strike me with lightning.
Lucky for me, she doesn’t have that kind of power. I turn forward and pick up speed. I hear her feet slapping the ground faster. She’s breathing like she’s dying.
