Page 88 of Brutal

It’s one of the juniors from earlier, I realize. Fuck, I’ve already forgotten his name.

“Look at it this way: if he shows up looking like that to the board meeting, they’ll have the power to ditch him.”

Ditch him.

Ditch me.

My blood runs cold, and I stay as still as I can, not wanting to draw attention to myself while Fuckwad A and Fuckwad B talk about me.

“What do you know about the board meeting?”

“You just whined about nepotism, man. My dad’s on the board. He’s tight with George Browning, and they were saying they’ve got the shares to do it.” He pauses for a few seconds, then adds, “Which is why I’m selling my few piddly shares now. You know the stock price will plummet when they kick him out.”

I can’t breathe.

I can’t fucking breathe, and as the two of them walk out of the bathroom — still gossiping about me like fucking teenagers — I let my head fall back so that I’m staring at the ceiling.

I’d forgotten about the board meeting, which had been the whole reason I could only take two weeks off. I’d deserved a lengthy vacation, which I’ve more than earned in my time working here building this company from the goddamned, motherfucking ground up.

I pull out my phone and check my calendar. My brows furrow as I flick through it, going ahead a week, then back, then slowing down to look at it more closely.

The only thing I see is a few evenings blocked out for “date night.” Had I put those there?

I don’t know, but I do notice one glaring thing — or rather, the lack of something important.

There’s no board meeting listed.

I distinctly remember Caroline saying I needed to be back in time for it, and after this little water cooler chat, I know it’s coming up soon. If the douchebags think they have time to sell their shares, I have a little bit of time, but…

I don’t know how much time.

I don’t know when it is.

Rage howls through me, and no matter how hard I try to tamp it down, I can’t. I barge out of the bathroom, startling the two juniors who are still standing outside. I ignore them and their alarmed expressions, heading to the elevator and going straight back to my office.

I go through my phone while I wait for the elevator to slowly take me back to my floor.

I don’t like what I see at all, and it only makes that anger escalate even more.

I half-heartedly try to hide what I’m feeling, but Caroline actually pales when she sees me.

“Hey, Caroline,” I say, trying for casual. “What am I paying you for again?”

She sits up straight. “To be your executive assistant, sir.”

I nod and sit down at the corner of her desk. I pick up the photo of her and her husband and what I assume is her daughter. “Right, right. That includes… what? Emails, scheduling, doing menial shit?”

“I wouldn’t put it quite like that, sir,” Caroline answers. She tries to take the photo back, but I pull it out of her grasp.

I’m just itching to tear into pieces and throw it at her, but instead, I stare at it. “You have a beautiful family, Caroline,” I say. “How do they feel about all the nights and weekends you work?”

Her smile is strained. “Oh, they’re used to it.”

“I see,” I say. “I probably shouldn’t work you so hard.” If it wasn’t for the fact that I’d be utterly fucked without her, I’d fire her right here and now. It’s so close, though, the urge to just do it — fuck the consequences — that I can barely stand it. “Maybe you were projecting a little when you suggested I was burning out, huh?”

I laugh.

She laughs nervously with me. “No, I don’t think so.”

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