Through the window I catch Blaire's expression — somewhere between surprise and hatred that I don't want to look at too closely.
I watch the car pull away from the curb and disappear into the city.
Fucking Blaire Alexander.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
BLAIRE
The entire weekend passed without a word from Bennet. I've shuffled from angry to sad to frustrated to mortified and back to angry so many times I've lost count.
He told me it was my job to be fuckable. Told me to stick to what I was good at. So, I did exactly that — played it up for the cameras the way he wanted, gave him exactly what the narrative needed — and he disappeared for the entire weekend when we had plans to meet both Saturday and Sunday for more fake fuckery. Two days of scheduled public appearances, gone, without so much as a courtesy text.
Saturday morning, I slept until nearly eleven and woke up wanting to curl into a ball and stay there. The pain was equal parts physical and mental, the kind of hangover that sits in your chest as much as your head.
Something in my gut told me I wouldn't be hearing from Bennet.
I stared at my phone for a long time before I typed anything at all.
Blaire: Hey. Just wanted to apologize for last night, but at least it's good publicity, right?
I stared at that for another full minute, turning it over, and then added one more line before I could convince myself not to.
Blaire: Also, it's almost one, and I wanted to check in if we're still on for today?
He read them. Both of them. The little read receipt sitting there like a small, specific humiliation.
He didn't respond to either one.
By Sunday night, I'd cycled through every emotion available to a human woman and landed firmly back at angry, which is where I function best and where I intended to stay. By Monday morning, I'd made a decision. I was done absorbing whatever this was. We had a job to do, and he was going to do it whether he liked me or not.
We had a scheduled board meeting today. Ten minutes before it was set to begin I went to the ladies' room to freshen up and collect myself. I'd worn a shirt with no bra again, intentionally this time. I don't entirely know what game I'm playing anymore, but I know that I like the way his eyes go dark when he looks at me, and I am not above using every weapon available to me when someone has declared war.
I lined my lips in the mirror and put on a fresh coat of lipstick before taking a deep breath. It didn’t do much to calm my nerves, but at least I looked good. As I went to the bathroom door, my phone chimed with an incoming email. My stomach had already been nervous, but it knotted seeing the message was from Bennet’s assistant canceling our meeting not five minutes before the start time.
I read it twice.
Then I put my phone in my bag and walked directly to his office. He is not going to avoid me again today.
Bennet’s assistant was with him when I walked into his office. He was reaching for something on the bookshelf behind him, so she saw me before he did.
"Oh, hi Mrs. Monroe. Are you here for the board meeting? I'm so sorry, I sent a cancellation email a few minutes ago — you probably didn't have a chance to see it yet."
Bennet turned around.
Our eyes met and held, and neither of us moved for a beat.
"Actually, I did see it." I kept my voice completely even. "I still really need a few minutes with Mr. Sullivan, if that's alright."
"Umm—" Claudia's forehead creased, and she looked to her boss.
He raised one hand. "It's fine, Claudia. Shut the door on your way out, please."
She looked between us again but didn’t say anything more. I stayed rooted in place, just a few feet inside the office, as she walked out and closed the door behind her.
Bennet gestured to the guest chairs. “Would you like to sit?”
“No, I don’t want to sit. What the hell is going on, Mr. Sullivan? We had a plan for the weekend.”
