Page 83 of The Redemption of Remy St. Claire

She held fast, and Henrikson blinked first. Silently, he followed his lawyer from the room.

Gathering her papers, she sprinted from the room, heading straight for the ladies’ washroom—the one place she’d have safety.

Right now, the terror was so acute, it’d likely strangle her.

Chapter thirty-five

“Whatthehelljusthappened?”

Remy stood in Zach’s office, still reeling from the shock of her encounter with Henrikson. Her boss’ tone was pure rage.

“Remy.”

He said her name with venom unlike she’d ever heard from him. She jumped and her eyes widened as they flew to his.

“You undermined my authority and went against what we agreed to. We always put up a united front—you know that. So, I’ll ask again. What the hell just happened?”

“I…” Words failed her. Rare was the time that words failed her, but this was one of those moments.

“You have thirty seconds before I fire your ass for insubordination.” He drew a deep breath, obviously trying to find some calm.

Normally so implacable, this burst of anger was unexpected. He was a big man—several inches over six feet—and she’d never felt scared of him.

Until this moment.

Rationally, she understood he’d never hurt her. Irrationally, terror reared its ugly head. Very little effort on his part would inflict major damage on her.

She must’ve telegraphed her naked panic because he took a physical step back and held up his hands in a gesture of appeasement. “I won’t hurt you. I’d never hurt you.”

“I know.” A broken whisper wrenched from her gut. “In my mind, I know.” She sought her equilibrium, but it didn’t work. Groping her way to his couch, she dropped because her legs could no longer hold her. She clenched her arms around her waist, but couldn’t stop the shivers wracking her body.

I’m safe.

But she couldn’t stop the feeling she was coming apart at the seams. Soon she’d burst open and explode.

Suddenly he was in front of her, crouching but not touching.

“You need to put your head between your knees. You need to take deep breaths.”

Zach’s voice was so soothing, so coaxing, that she leaned forward. Awkwardly, given she was wearing a pencil skirt, she got her head between her knees.

A panic attack. I’m having a panic attack.She could figure that much out, in her rational mind, but she couldn’t make it stop. Cogent and logical Remy’d given way to a younger, panic-stricken woman.

Trapped in fight or flight mode, her fear was so profound the shivers couldn’t ward off the feeling that her life was in peril. This wasn’t just going to cost her the job she loved. This was going to cost her everything. Tears ran down her cheeks as she fought for breath. Fought for life. Fought for everything she held dear.

After what seemed like an interminable length of time, the tears abated and the gulps became more normalized breaths.

Her boss pulled up a chair facing her. He still didn’t touch her.

“Are you up to drinking some tea?”

She glanced up. He had a steaming mug of tea in one hand and a box of tissues in the other. How long had panic engulfed her? In memories?

Grateful, she snagged two tissues and indelicately blew her nose. She then reached for the tea. She gingerly held the hot mug. Grateful her hands no longer shook, she took a sip and looked up at her boss quizzically.

“Betty made it. Just the way you like it, she said.”

The older woman’s thoughtfulness humbled Remy. English Breakfast with honey. As he said—just the way she liked it. She took another sip, ignoring the shock of pain as the scalding liquid hit her tongue. The discomfort was welcome. It brought her—kept her—in the moment. Another grateful sip. Then she took a deep breath. “I’m sorry.”

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