Page 72 of Craving Francesca

“Who said I’d beat him up?”

I shot him a look of disbelief as I lit the joint. After taking a drag, I held it out to him.

“You know you would,” I answered, letting the smoke roll out of my nose as I side-eyed him. “But don’t. I’m handling it.”

“Up to you,” he said with a shrug, handing the joint back.

I went to bed that night full of half-burned steak courtesy of Lou, who hadn’t quite figured out how to grill them, and a fuzzy head courtesy of the excellent joint I’d shared with Brody. It was a good night. I hadn’t realized how badly I’d needed a chill night at home with my best friends, just joking and laughing and being weirdos.

I knew with absolute certainty that if they’d known all the shit swirling in my head, we wouldn’t have had that night. Their concern would’ve been overwhelming. No one would’ve been thinking about the way Lou had looked at me when I’d informed her about the missing propane tank. Myla wouldn’t have heckled me about the way my hair dried in little horns on each side of my head after my shower. Brody would’ve stormed off before dinner even ended, rounding up the boys while I tried to call them before he could so I could talk them out of whatever stupid shit they were about to do.

I loved how protective everyone was. It was so different from how I’d grown up that it had taken a really long time to get used to—but I couldn’t imagine my life without that layer of protection anymore. Sometimes, though, I needed to get my own head straight before I could deal with everyone else’s opinions and help.

The weekend went by quickly—they always do—and Scott’s shit started up again on Monday morning when he planted himself in one of my office chairs and refused to leave. Oh, he was cordial about it, charming to anyone looking in, but he wouldn’t fucking go. No matter how many times I tried to ignore him so I could get things done, he just sat there. When I told him that I didn’t have time to chat, he brushed me off.

It wasn’t until he was ready that he stood up and ambled back to his own desk. A power move to prove that he had it all, and I had none.

Tuesday, he left a note on my desk with a restaurant and a time. I threw it away.

Wednesday, he loudly complained about me standing him up and alluded to the fact that I must be on my period.

Thursday, Linda called me up to the front desk because a huge bouquet of wildflowers had been delivered. I told her she could keep them.

Friday, Scott walked by my office at least fifteen times before lunch, making jokes and trying to flirt with me. Thankfully, after lunch he must have had meetings or something because I didn’t see him again.

I started out strong, believing that if I could wait him out, he’d eventually give up. He wasn’t doing anything alarming, after all. I’d dealt with him up to that point. He wasn’t scary. He was just persistent.

But the anxiety of waiting for what he would do next started wearing on me, and by the third week after he’d asked me if I’d reported him to HR, I was a nervous wreck. All of the pep talks I gave myself weren’t working. I’d cut him out of my life, I’d made it absolutely clear I didn’t want anything to do with him, but it didn’t seem to matter. He was still there. All the time. Watching me. Asking me out. Making flirty comments. Telling me how this skirt was nice or that pair of heels made my ass look good.

I searched high and low, applying to anything I could find that was even remotely related to the field I was already working in—but I hadn’t gotten a single interview. The jobs weren’t exactly thick on the ground, and none of them paid what I was currently making. I was well and truly stuck, and it was more demoralizing than I could’ve imagined.

I had to force myself to eat because my stomach was always in knots. I barely slept, falling asleep most nights only a few hours before my alarm went off. I hid it well from my friends, who had their own lives going on, but I was pretty sure that Lou suspected something was wrong when I stopped wearing makeup to work.

I went shopping and found looser and less flattering business wear for the office. Flats only, so he couldn’t comment on my heels again. I pulled my hair tightly back from my face after he murmured in passing how much he’d loved tangling his fingers in mywild hair. I didn’t even care about my Dumbo ears at that point. I just wanted to do anything and everything to seem less attractive to him.

The crazy thing is that I knew I could go to human resources and get his ass handed to him—but what then? If he was moved to a different office or got fired, I’d still have to work there. I couldn’t find another job. So, I’d just have to spend every day with coworkers who knew I’d ratted him out to the administration. That’s assuming his uncle didn’t inform them to find any other reason to fire me.

Our field was tight and closely connected. People talked. I’d be the woman who started a relationship with a superior and then complained about it later and got her boss in trouble. Any chance I’d had to get a new job would be ruined. No one wanted that kind of person working with them.

So, I showered less. I wore unflattering clothes. I spent most of my time in my room at home, trying to catch up on sleep that I couldn’t seem to get at night. It wasn’t working for its intended purpose. Scott didn’t give up, but it almost felt like it was working because no one else around me noticed that it was happening.

On the bright side, worrying about the next time I would have to deal with Scott had taken up all of my energy and attention and left me with very little time to obsess about Gray. He’d become a memory that I pulled out at night when I lit up a joint and tried to relax enough to fall asleep.

By the time I was invited to the Aces end of summer party, I’d maintained the façade for so long without anyone saying anything that I’d thought I was getting away with it. Maybe I got sloppy about hiding it…or maybe everyone around me had seen it happen so gradually that they hadn’t even noticed that it was.

I should’ve anticipated that at some point someone was going to realize that I was hanging on by a thread.

And of course, that someone was Gray.

Chapter 8

Gray

“This might bethe longest quiet we’ve had…ever,” my dad said with a huff, lifting his beer to his lips. “Fuckin’ brace, boy. If history is any indication, shit’s gonna go real sideways before too long.”

“You think?” I murmured, leaning against the wall as I looked over the crowd. Everyone had shown up for the end of summer party, and there were kids and wives and Aces covering the entire yard. The forecourt was filled with bikes and cars. Someone had even set up a kiddie pool and sprinkler in the grass, and the kids were screaming with glee.

“Wish it wasn’t true,” he said with a shrug as he met my mom’s eyes across the yard. “But it usually is. Never stays peaceful for long.”

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