Page 85 of Hating the Boss

“Sarah,” said Brittany softly as she rubbed the small of my back. “We have to call 911.”

“Shit,” I whispered, remembering I hadn’t actually called them because I was too distracted by Brad’s message.

I quickly dialed 911 on my keypad for the first time in what felt like forever. The last time I had called the number was when I had found Jessica passed out on the kitchen floor with the refrigerator door open. She had grown weak and fainted, and all I kept thinking about was how thankful I was that she was still breathing and that the stove hadn’t been on while I was working at the restaurant.

I swallowed hard, remembering that moment. Remembering the fear. Remembering the guilt. It hadn’t been all that long ago, but now, it seemed like it was a lifetime ago. So much had changed since then. She now had a motorized wheelchair, her very own nurse who went with her to appointments, and a sensor that alerted paramedics if she had fallen. All of that was made possible by taking the job at Stellar Industries and by taking the job as Brad’s posed fiancée.

As much as it hurt right now, I couldn’t regret any of it because I was able to take care of my sister in a way I hadn’t before. I was able to pay off her hospital bills that felt like weights pulling me down to the center of a dark lake.

The worst part about it was that Brad knew all of this. He knew how much my sister meant to me and all of the awful and ugly parts of life we had to endure too soon. We were all each other had, and he had jeopardized our safety by tangling me into whatever web he had spun to get ahead.

“911, what’s your emergency?” asked the female operator calmly.

“I received a threatening note on my door this morning,” I said, wondering if this was even cause for a call to emergency services.

“And what did this note say?”

“’Stay away from Brad, or else,’” I said, clutching the note in my hand as if I hadn’t memorized the words. The ink smudged against my thumb as I read it over.

“And you know this Brad? This isn’t a mistake on the sender’s part?”

“No. I know him.”

“And do you know who might have left you this note?”

“I have a good idea, yes. Her name is Angela.”

“Angela…”

“Langley,” whispered Brittany, holding up her phone. On the screen was an image of Brad and Angela with their arms around each other at a red carpet event. She had pulled it up on the search engine while looking for Angela’s last name.

“Langley,” I repeated back to the operator.

“And this Angela Langley has cause to want to pose a threat to you?”

“I believe so. I just met her last night, but I had been involved with her ex-fiancée,” I said meekly, feeling my stupidity start to get the better of me as I spilled everything to this operator.

“And is she dangerous?”

“I don’t know…but Brad, the man that, well, you know, he said that I’m in danger.”

“What’s your address, ma’am?” The operator sighed, as if not taking this seriously. I really couldn’t blame her. This all seemed a little silly.

“I’m in Brooklyn,” I said, then giving her the address to my apartment.

“I’m sending someone now,” she said.

“Thank you,” I said, before hanging up.

“Well?” asked Brittany expectantly.

“They’re sending someone now,” I said with a shrug, not sure if I believed there would be any urgency on the officer’s behalf. I was in the middle of a lover’s spat with Manhattan’s elite, where the only real problem any of them ever had was not having enough money.

“Okay.” Brittany nodded. “Then we will stay put. I’m here with you. I’ll protect you.”

She pulled me in for a side hug and squeezed gently.

“I’m sorry about all this…” I said with a shake of my head.