Page 38 of Resist

It’s not on my to-do list. I simply intend to investigate the hell out of her piece-of-shit father, get all my ducks in a row, and bring her all my findings to get justice for the victims.

If that doesn’t work, I’m not above attaching a rather large price tag to our silence. She’ll undoubtedly want us to sign a non-disclosure agreement in exchange for it, but the price will be such that it’ll be worth it.

It’s not about the money, though I can’t say it won’t help Mom’s peace of mind. His attack on her destroyed her from the inside, it systematically broke her down until she couldn’t physically function. If it wasn’t for government assistance, and the help of friends and family after that piece of shit parading as my father left, we’d have been out on the street.

If it wasn’t for my grandparents, we’d have been destitute.

I shiver at the thought. I pride myself on working hard, on contributing to society, paying my way, giving a little more so those who have nothing can getsomething.

Sometimes, I allow myself a full sixty seconds of my day to think about how things would be if Mom hadn’t been raped, if she hadn’t slipped into a depressive pit so deep no one could pull her out, if Dad hadn’t left us to fend for ourselves.

In those sixty seconds, we’re all still together, we didn’t grow up in our grandparent’s basement, Dad never left, and Mom has tenure as an academic librarian.

In those sixty seconds, I didn’t have to go out and get a job when I was fourteen years old to take care of my mom and little sister.

I steeple my hands together, elbows on my new desk and exhale. I’m safe, I’m comfortable, and Mom rebounded, not entirely, but enough that after we graduated college and with the help of a shit ton of therapy and medication, and her own master’s degree in library science, she found a job as a librarian.

My family is okay.

The newly familiar flutter of incandescent rage simmers right under the surface of my skin. I’m in his space. That man who assaulted my mother, and god knows how many other women. Because men like him, well, it’s never just one victim, is it?

Mom said when she asked why her predecessor had departed, the HR manager at the time told her she moved on to greener pastures. But I can’t help but wonder. Did she move on for the same reason Mom did?

A knock on the door pulls me from my darkening spiral as Georgia pops her head in. “You ready to meet the new boss lady?”

Am I fucking ever? Game face on. I sail the smoothest smile I can muster in the direction of Georgia. “Absolutely. Can’t wait.”

I wipe my clammy hands on the thighs of my dress pants and follow Georgia into the corridor in front of my office. This is it, the moment I get to meet the woman I’ve vowed to bring to her fucking knees to get vengeance for the acts of her father against my mother.

Outside my office there are two other new hires. A young guy who’s working as a runner, paperwork, coffee, lunch, mail.Whatever Her Majesty Blackwell needs, this intern will bring. And the other newbie is a woman who I assume is the new copy editor.

“Sue.” She holds her hand out to me. “Nice to meet you.”

“Christian.” The younger kid looks like he might shit his pants if I shake his hand, but to his credit, he doesn’t look away as I accept his hand and shake.

“Hi. I’m Sterling. Nice to meet you both.”

Georgia glances at her watch like taking the ten extra seconds to introduce ourselves to each other may be problematic to her timeline. She claps her hands together. “Now we all know each other, let’s head upstairs to meet Cora.”

There’s an uncomfortable, heavy silence on our way along the hall to the elevator. A couple of people look up from their desks to wave at Georgia and stare at the fresh meat. The elevator ride is just as quiet, just as awkward.

When the elevator dings to let us know that we’ve arrived at the penthouse office—Do you call it a penthouse in an office block? Either way, when it dings, I stay back, holding open the door so the rest of our merry band of newcomers can step out onto the plush carpet first.

I bring up the rear of the group. Georgia’s already introducing people by the time I close Cora’s office door behind me. When I spin to face my new boss, my heart’s already threatening to escape through my ribcage.

“And finally, this is our newest addition to the acquisitions team.”

There’s a gasp that draws my attention to the woman standing behind the desk staring at me like I’ve grown three heads and my skin has turned blue.

Unfortunately for me, she’s not a monster.

Not at all.

Standing in the place where her father was only a couple of weeks ago, is the curvy, dark-haired bombshell that rode mesenseless less than twenty four hours ago, holding her trembling hand outstretched in my direction.

Cecelia is Cora.

Cora is Cecelia.

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