Page 12 of Loathing My Boss
Crisis
“And that—” I say, smiling without letting on to even anounceof the anxiety I feel, “—is why I believe the data supports you waking up at roughly seven o’clock and going to bed around midnight.”
Still as death, Viktor watches me across the private, curtained-off single dining space at his favorite restaurant—The Black Swan. The circular table between us does not omit the chill working its way into my blood as his relaxed amber brown eyes slip over the charts on my laptop screen, then return to me. Slow as frozen blood, he broaches, “You mean…” He pulls his reading glasses off, frees a breath, and tucks them in their case in his breast pocket. “…what I was doing before these past few weeks?”
Oh? Were you?
Silly me.
I hadn’t noticed.
Wounded, I lose all my joy as I say, quite feebly, “But…now we have the data to support it. Now weknowthis schedule is the most productive. We don’t have to spend energy thinking that any other schedule might bemoreproductive. Which might even make this onemorelucrative.”
His broad shoulders sag, and he swipes a hand over his groomed stubble, which defines the cut of his square jaw as a muscle pops in it. “Right.”
Very sad, I close my laptop, set it back in my computer case, and reach for a crepe cup housing a rich cheesy spinach concoction in a crisp layered pastry dough. I nibble on the delicacy. Just. Sosad. With all the somber neglect of a woman who expected a raise for her thrilling spreadsheets, I lift my gaze to Viktor.
He hasn’t touched our appetizer.
He has drunk half a glass of water.
Stupid man.
I bet without me there today, he didn’t take any of the vitamins I spent hours researching and ordering. Without them to remind him to drink his water, he’s likely also dehydrated. Because the—stupid—man does notlikewater. He sayswaterisboring. And then he bathes his teeth in sugar.
The only reason, I’ve told him, he’s not in dentures is because he can afford regular dentist visits. I used to have to guilt him into drinking water by suggesting he was squandering a gift that third-world countries do not have easy access to.
Now, defeated, he downs whatever I hand him—whether it’swateror whether it’s sludge.
Crimson’s right.
With that kind of power, it would be too easy to poison him and get myself in all kinds of trouble. Not that I would ever. After all, I don’t want himdead. I want himmiserable. Death is easy. You just die. Butmisery? Misery loves company, and I’m ever so lonely.
“Did you drink water today?” I ask.
He flinches. “I’m drinking water right now, aren’t I?”
I hum, despondent. “That’s what I thought. You’re hopeless.”
“Without you, yes.”
That’s right. Very good. Glad we still know this after the great Ice Bucket Challenge.
Relief settles some of my nerves concerning whatever he wants to talk about tonight. I’m pretty good about weaseling. Even if he tries to upend my evil schemes, I’ll get back to them in a matter of weeks.
It’s classic abusive relationship tactics. The second your victim seems to become more aware, you love bomb them back into complacency.
When he starts to escape from my clutches, I say,You’ve been so good recently. Here. I brought you coffee this morning. A little treat once in a while is okay.
And there you have it. The questions. The doubts. Themaybe she does care, in her own way.
Make no mistake, I accept that I’m a horrible person.
I am, in fact, so horrible that being horrible helps me sleep at night.
Getting back at people who have hurt me is what I’ve chosen in lieu of therapy.
If I’m not recalling the way Viktor’s whole body convulsed when I threw ice water on him, I’m plotting my next, worse move. Currently, my big scheme is very devious indeed.
