Page 2 of Between Passion and Revenge: Part Two
“Sign the document, then leave my building,” I say. “Melissa, get him a pen, would you?”
Melissa whips a pen from her skirt pocket like a magic trick, holding it out to Derrick. She’s been standing sentry at my shoulder, not saying a word. I’m sure she’s trying her best to mean mug the little thief in front of me, but Melissa’s such a damn sweetheart, I’m sure she looks like a Yorkie trying to take on a Rottweiler.
“This is some bullshit,” he grumbles, his leg starting to bounce.
“Derrick, let’s wrap this up,” I press. Zane moves across the room to stand opposite Melissa.
I guess that triggers the little thief in front of me.
“Fuck you!” he booms, standing and vibrating with what I assume is rage—which, the fucking audacity of this man—and shouts in my face.
“You stupid, cold-hearted bitch. If you’d open your eyes, you’d see why everyone in your employ is fucking miserable. It’s becauseyou’rea miserable cunt. So what? I pulled a bit off the side here and there. But why the fuck do you care when this firm is pushing nearly a hundred billion in assets a week? It’s because you’re out to get me. Youhatemen—and it’s a good thing you do because I’d feel bad for any motherfucker who tries to slide in your frigid-ass pussy!” He throws the papers onto my desk to punctuate his rant.
My face burns, but not from fear or shame.
No, it burns bright with anger.
Not only did this asshole spit in my face with every word, he has the audacity to call me out of my name.
Unacceptable.
And to call me out on my misandry.
With a grace born from having to diffuse many proverbial bombs in the middle of the night, I stand in one smooth movement and put my palms flat on my desk.
“Let’s get something straight,” I say, my voice as calm as Julie Andrews narrating a BBC special. “I’m being tolerant of your actions thus far, but there’s no universe in which I can’t squash you like a bug within thirty minutes of dedicated time.”
Derrick takes one step back, then another, his face going pale.
“You have five seconds to decide your fate. Sign the document and leave or face the consequences. Your choice.” I hold the position as I lean over my desk. When Derrick doesn’t move, I start counting.
“Five,” I say. “Four. Three—Melissa, go ahead and call security to detain him. Tw?—”
“All right!” Derrick exclaims, snatching the stack of papers off the desk and flipping through them. “Let’s negotiate the terms.”
I lift an eyebrow, still maintaining the power pose.
Derrick growls, scribbles his name on the final page, then flicks it at my face.
With a roar, he bellows, “Fuck!” and storms out of my office.
With his retreat, my office quiets, but still vibrates with energy. I’m still going to do some sageing or something because what the actual hell.
I straighten, taking the Kleenex from Melissa’s hand and dabbing at my face. It’ll do for this exact second, but as soon as everyone leaves, I’m beelining it to my in-office bathroom for a shower.
The negative vibes have me feeling crawly.
“Thank fuck that’s done,” I grumble and slump back into my chair. Then I catch myself and straighten.
I don’t relish being a bitch. In fact, it’s the part I hate most about being in business.
Playing with rich people’s money is easy. If it weren’t, white boys without two brain cells to rub together wouldn’t be out here making millions off their jobs.
I had to prove myself.
I had to prove that I’m un-fuck-with-able—and make sure people know that I’malwaysun-fuck-with-able.
The soft, nurturing Shae Rivers I used to be had to die.
