Page 49 of Man of the Year

He doesn’t answer.

“Tell me or I’m going to the police!”

“We don’t discuss these episodes,” he says. “We just deal with them.”

“Oh, you just go along?” I mock him. “You need to report Rosenberg.”

“We’ll all lose our jobs.”

“So what?” I shout.

He looks around, then steps closer. “No one needs to hear that,” he says in a hushed voice.

“Oh, yeah? So he can keep drugging women and do god knows what with them while he’s drunk?”

“That’s why we keep him at bay. And we can’t go to the police. He’s about to make IxResearch public. Thousands of people’s well-being depends on that.”

“Screw the company! Screwyou,Julien! I used to bartend. I’ve seen this sort of thing all the time. I know how it goes. I know guys like you who sweep shit like this under the carpet.”

“Natalie—”

“You watch others do this sort of stuff and you are, like, none of my business? Yeah? Bravo, Julien.”

“Nata—”

“Someone’s life gets ruined, and you don’t care. Except when it hits too close to home.”

“Natalie, you are wrong and?—”

“Darla was an employee. Despite her unprofessional behavior, she didn’t deserve what she got.”

I shut up and watch his expression change.

Yeah, I struck a nerve. It makes me wonder why he covers for Rosenberg, why everyone in this house does. What does Rosenberg have on everyone that they all dance to his tune?

“I need to know that the blonde girl is fine,” I demand.

Or I swear, I’ll make sure everyone in this house goes to jail. But I don’t tell Julien that. I need to get home safe first and talk to the detective.

“The girl is fine,” he says.

“And you know that how?”

“I just received a report that she is logged into the hospital system. She’s stable.”

Somehow, I believe him, my anger dissipating in seconds. But I’ll ask the detective to confirm that.

“Please, don’t discuss this with anyone, Natalie. It’s in your best interest.”

Oh, look who’s being nice now. “Is it? Are you threatening me?”

I’m sure he’s alluding to my conversation with the detective, but you bet I’m going to have a talk with her.

Nothing changes in his face. “I’m asking you. You shouldn’t be in this house, not around Rosenberg, not involved in this whole business.”

Why is he so afraid that I’m around, afraid that this gets out? He doesn’t show it, but he’s wary. His tone has changed.

The silence between us is razor sharp, and when he reaches inside his suit, I flinch. A split-second thought crosses my mind that he can overpower me in seconds, make me vanish, or I’ll end up unconscious at a bus stop tomorrow morning. One injection?—

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