It seemed too good to be true, but he had kept his word. He had chosen 105 Isabella Street for her because an old friend from the war was living there. Mr. Moore had lost part of one leg and badly damaged his spine, so he mostly stayed in his apartment with his wife. Other than her father’s requirement of holding down a full-time job, all he asked of Sassy was that she visit the veteran on occasion.
The arrangement worked out for everyone. She was working and making a bit of a living, the Moores were cheered when she visited, and her father seemed content to have the huge, quiet house to himself. She thought he might even be dating a little.
Miss Drummond waddled by and set three pages in Sassy’s basket without looking at her. Sassy strained to see what was written on them then gave up.
“Five minutes.”
Sassy hated Mr. Brown, one of the firm’s partners. She had never felt comfortable around the short, balding man. Two months ago, he had said hewanted her in his office to take dictation every Tuesday at four thirty sharp, and he paid her an extra dollar for doing it. Every penny counts, she kept telling herself. Working was tedious, but spending was simple.
“Of course, sir.”
Mr. Brown’s office was oak-panelled, his floor carpeted. The lamp and ashtray on his imposing oak desk were polished brass, and the chair behind it was leather. The odorous smoke from his cigars had ingrained itself into the wood and the flooring. It all seemed a little much for such a small man, but truthfully, he was a skilled lawyer. That was obvious from the status of his clients.
As Sassy went to her small chair and typewriter to take dictation, Mr. Brown observed from behind his desk. She pulled out the chair, tucked her skirt behind her knees, sat, then waited. She knew the routine. Once she was prepared, he strolled across the room toward her and clamped one bony hand over her shoulder. At first she’d flinched at his touch. Now she just rolled her eyes.
“Now then, Miss Rankin. Are you ready?”
Sassy had no idea what his letters were about. He composed them in his head, hands clasped behind his back while he dictated, then he flipped his fingers in the air and said, “Now sign,” which meant she was to put in theSincerelypart, leave a space for his elegant signature, then type his name. Sassy was there to type and get paid, and she didn’t care what he was going on about. Probably wouldn’t have understood it if she tried. Which she didn’t.
After the fourth letter, she pulled the paper from her typewriter then froze, feeling both of his hands on her shoulders. This was new.
“Um, Mr. Brown?”
His fingers squeezed, in and out, in and out, then he leaned over, his breath stirring the hair on the top of her head.
“Have I mentioned how pleased I have been with your work, Miss Rankin? Both professional and conscientious.”
She didn’t move. “Thank you, sir.”
“There is an opportunity for you to do very well here. Financially, I mean. I wouldn’t think your income is substantial at the moment, but we can work on that, if you’re interested.”
“I’m sorry, sir. I don’t understand.”
Oh, but she did. She squeezed her eyes shut and thought she might be sick when he leaned down and pressed his cold lips to her bare neck, near her right ear. “The president of the company will be looking for a new secretary in a couple of weeks. I’d like to recommend you.” His fingers dug in a little deeper. “Let’s discuss it over dinner, shall we?”
“No, thank you, sir. I… I have plans.”
“You should change those plans, if you want to improve your position in this firm. I can explain all about it over dinner.”
Tears burned. She had heard girls complain about their bosses and the corners they’d been backed into, but Sassy hadn’t had to deal with that in all these months. This man was a toad. He revolted her.
And he was offering her a prime new job.
What if she said no? Would he fire her? If she lost this job, her father would stop paying for her apartment. Then what?
She inhaled and held her breath. “No, thank you, sir.”
His breath tickled her neck, and she shuddered. He must have misinterpreted, because in the next moment, she felt his mouth on her neck again.
“Well, I can explain it to you here, I suppose. The president will be pleased to meet you, once you receive my personal recommendation,” he said, kissing closer to her clavicle. Goose bumps rose involuntarily all over Sassy’s body.
“Sir, please stop.”
“Don’t be stupid, Susan.” His voice felt like a hum in her ear. “I can make you a wealthy woman. Well,” he said with a chuckle, “relatively wealthy, anyway. Besides, girls these days—”
Done with this awful thing, she put her hands on the edge of the desk and began to rise, but he shoved her back into her seat. His hands slid down the front of her awful tweed jacket and she shot out of her chair, shoving them off her.
“Stop!” she cried. “You… you have no right to do that, Mr. Brown.” She blinked away tears. This was no way to represent a strong feminist, crying in the hands of a man taking advantage. Still, she couldn’t stop her voice from shaking. She gritted her teeth. “You have no right.”
