“This doesn’t mean anything,” I mutter to myself.
And I eat every bite.
The next daystarts normally enough.
I arrive early; the office is still mostly empty. I make a pot of coffee in the break room, then settle in at my desk with my laptop and the stack of files Sarah left for me yesterday.
More people filter in. The usual morning chaos of greetings and coffee runs and complaints about traffic.
I keep my head down, focused on my work. By mid-morning, Ineed to make copies of a territorial dispute agreement. I gather my files and head over to the copy room, which is tucked away in a corner of the office, quiet, and usually empty.
The copy machine whirs to life when I hit the button. I set up the first document and watch the green light scan across the page.
Footsteps approach from behind. I glance over my shoulder.
Marcus.
The colleague I’ve heard whispers about. The one with a reputation for inappropriate behavior that HR never seems to address properly.
He leans against the doorframe, blocking the only way in or out. Wearing that same smug expression I’ve seen him direct at other women in the office.
My stomach tightens.
“Hey there, Violet.” His voice is a little too casual. “Fancy meeting you here.”
“Marcus.” I turn my attention back to the copier, keeping my tone neutral. Professional. “Excuse me, I’m working.”
“Oh, I can see that.” He pushes off the doorframe and moves closer to me. “You know, I’ve been watching you. You’re pretty good at this job. Smart. Capable.”
I don’t respond. Just focus on the copies sliding out of the machine.
He steps even closer, and I can smell his cologne. Overpowering and cheap. “It’s too bad about, you know, your situation.”
“My situation?”
“Being weak. Unable to shift.” He says it like he’s discussing the weather. “Must be hard, working in a division full of strong wolves.”
My hands go still on the papers.
“But you make up for it in other ways, don’t you?” His voice drops lower, taking on a tone that makes my skin crawl. “I bet you’re real accommodating when you need to be.”
I turn slowly to face him. He’s standing close enough that I’d have to press against him to get past. His eyes rake over my body withobvious intent.
“I mean, look at you.” He gestures at me with one hand. “That dress is pretty tight. Shows off all your…assets. You must know what you’re doing, dressing like that.”
Heat floods my face. Not from embarrassment, though. Rage.
“This dress is professional and appropriate.”
“Is it?” He takes another step closer, and I back into the copier. “Or are you trying to get attention? Because it’s working. I’ve noticed. So has every other guy in this office.”
Through the glass wall of the copy room, I can see Darius all the way across the office. He stands up, his body rigid, his eyes locked on me.
He starts moving toward us, but he’s so far away.
And I don’t need him.
“You want to know what I think?” Marcus leans in, his hand reaching out to touch my hip. “I think under all that ice queen bullshit, you’re just desperate for someone to—”
