What was wrong with me? What was wrong with him?
Finley had scared me once—that look in his eyes in the hallway, the hatred I hadn’t seen coming. But this was different. This wasn’t hatred. I didn’t have a word for what it was and that was somehow worse.
I found the bathroom and locked the cubicle behind me. Pressed the toilet seat down and sat on it and focused on breathing.
Slow. Steady. One breath at a time.
He’s an animal.The voice was quieter now, but certain.Territorial. A destroyer.
I stared at the pale grey cubicle door.
Kill or be killed.
I pressed my fingertips to my temples and pushed in, trying to physically silence whatever was happening inside my skull.
I waited.
And waited.
Then stopped.
The voice had gone. Just—gone. Like something that had said its piece and retreated.
The bathroom door squeaked open.
“Nika.” Francis, whispering.“He’s waiting.”
I stood. Flushed the toilet. Stood at the door for a moment and let one thought land cleanly before I opened it.
No one was going to make me feel less again. Not my ex. Not my colleagues.
And not this CEO.
I slid the bolt back harder than necessary.
Francis was watching me through the mirror as I washed my hands, the question written all over her face. I didn’t look back at her reflection. She was dying to ask and I had no answers, so I kept my eyes on my own hands and said nothing.
My mind forged ahead as I dried my hands.
I wouldn’t be running away with my tail between my legs.
That was the old me.
“Let’s get this over with,” I said to Francis.
??????
“…and this is where the current problem lies,” I said, completing my final statement.
I still hadn’t looked at him. All throughout the presentation I could feel his eyes on me. Steady. Unmoving. Like a weight pressed against the side of my face.
“If you have any issues, take them up with Andy. All this is above my pay grade,” I said stiffly.
“Andy?” he asked, while I busied myself with my laptop.
“Andrew.”
“And what’s your job title?”
