Page 139 of Happily Never After

Her heart thumped against her ribcage. Cologne guy was definitely in ESA. Measured breaths crawled out of her. Thank god she had taken her meds earlier.

She pulled her phone out of her pocket and sent a quick green check emoji to the group. Should she text Jack now? But what good would it do for the FBI to catch him here? If she could follow him and find out where he was staying, they could watch his house to see who came in and out. Either way, Jack was going to want a picture.

Glancing around to be sure no one was watching, she rested her arm on the back of the chair and dangled her phone in her hand like she was just holding it. She opened the camera app and triple-checked that silent was on before snapping a quick picture and closing the app. It was sideways, but better than striding to the front of the room and capturing him in portrait mode.

She snapped one of the guy in her row too. The more faces she could provide, the better.

“Gentlemen. Thank you all for being here today. Today I’m going to talk about a subject that’s more important than anyone realizes. For decades now, women have been forsaking their divine duties and flooding the halls of higher learning in order to ‘better themselves,’” he said, throwing up air quotes.

“Did you know that women currently make up almost sixty percent of total college students? The balance is shifting, my friends, and we need to be very worried.”

Several of the men in the audience shifted. One was staring at him, open-mouthed. It wasn’t that crazy of a statement, but okay.

“Women haven’t stopped there, though. Let’s back up a bit. Let’s say, to the decades following World War II. Unsatisfied with their sacred duties of homemaking and child-rearing, women started demanding jobs. Instead of applying their nature-given abilities in the home where they’re meant to be, suddenly they were in the workforce. Sure, some moved into appropriate careers, like nursing or waitressing.”

Her ears perked up. He was talking about the acceptable five!

The guy in her row shifted, and he pulled something out of his pocket. A second later, he was doodling on his program with a pen. A very familiar pen, in fact.

Her breath caught in her lungs. That was absolutely an ESA pen. Silver, weighty, expensive-looking. She still had the one she had found in the woods in a drawer at home. She slunk down in her seat and adjusted her suit jacket. If he recognized her as one of their failed targets, it was game over.

The professor’s droning crept back in. “And we applaud those women for wanting to contribute to the household income. But suddenly, women were moving into inappropriate roles. Instead of changing diapers and cooking dinner, they were answering office phones and making presentations. They were making decisions and taking clients. And finally, slowly but surely, they started to take jobs away from men who need them. Promoted above their male peers. Above men who are the head of their household and need to provide for their families.”

A man in the front row harrumphed.

Dr. Taylor folded his arms on the podium and stared into the audience. “Having a woman in charge is incredibly dangerous, friends. They are fundamentally, hormonally unstable. They take months off at a time to care for their newborn children, expecting others to pick up and shoulder the burden of their work. Instead of leaving things the way they have been proven over decades to work, they come in and change things. They bring dangerous new ideas, and worst of all, once they’re in power, they promote more women. And then you have companies like Grenfell, whose entire advisory board is made up of women. Can you imagine that place one week out of every month?”

Several of the men laughed. Claire’s fingernails bit into her arms. Who had emasculated this tool so badly that he was lumping every single woman with a job into the same category?

“As men, it is our right, it is our obligation, to work,” the professor continued. “To be the heads of our families. Just as it is the obligations of our wives to stay home, tend the house, and raise children. Now that model doesn’t always work for every family. Sometimes a supplemental income is needed. Women have a proficiency in certain careers, that much is true. But should they be leading Fortune 500 companies? Can they be trusted to run a hospital or a bank? Will they be able to make the hard decisions and sacrifices?”

Several men shook their heads. Claire’s hands balled into fists. The coppery taste of blood stung her tongue. This motherfucker needed a swift punch in the dick.

“How many of you in here know a woman who has a job opportunity that she hasn’t earned?”

Several hands shot up.

“How many of you have been passed over for a promotion in favor of a woman?” Three or four hands remained in the air.

“Herein lies the problem, gentlemen. These women are not worthy. They have stolen the American workplace from us. And it’s time we take it back.”

Several members of the audience applauded.

Claire unfolded her arms and clenched the seat of her chair until her knuckles ached. And there was another sensation that she hadn’t counted on—the Saran Wrap stranglehold on her torso was squeezing her very full bladder. If she didn’t do something about it, she was going to pee her pants in a room full of misogynists. She crossed her legs and squeezed, then immediately uncrossed them. Mouth-breathing misogynists probably didn’t cross their legs.

Stupid, stupid. She could barely even focus on whatever crap the professor was spouting. Could she sneak out to pee and come back? The professor had been notoriously long-winded at Venor—not even pausing his lecture when a power outage had shut down the entire business building. What were the odds that he would wrap things up quickly during a convention about his favorite subject?

This idiot wasn’t worth a urinary tract infection. Claire rose to her feet as silently as possible. Her slightly oversized shoes caught the corner of a chair and she pitched forward, barely catching herself. Heat rushed into her cheeks, and she hurried out the door without looking behind her.

The hallway was empty. Perfect. She pulled up her baggy pants and shuffled as quickly as she could to the bank of bathrooms. She barged inside and finally, mercifully, relieved herself. After sending a quick check-in text, she washed her hands. As she looked in the mirror, her stomach dropped into her butt.

She had waltzed right into the women’s restroom without thinking. At a men’s rights convention. While disguised as a man. Panic fluttered in her belly, and her throat tightened likeshe was coming down with something. If someone caught her coming out of this bathroom, she would absolutely be stopped and questioned. What if they noticed that the mustache didn’t match the wig? What if they recognized her?

Her stomach was in a vise as she gripped the handle. She pressed her ear to the door. There was a shuffling sound in the hallway. Footsteps thudded outside. Maybe three sets. Shit. If she didn’t get back to that conference room, she was going to lose the professor.

“It’s him. Hartley’s boyfriend,” a gravelly voice said.

Blood froze in her veins. Her heart pounded so hard it ached. Someone had recognized Luke.

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