Page 64 of Fractured (Not Quite a Billionaire)
I told myself, as I finished pulling on one fragile, barely-there stocking and clipped it to the garter belt, that lots of people thought of “life” as “what happens outside of work,” which made my situation exactly normal, and never mind that I’d hoped for more. Nobody got everything they wanted, and maybe nobody else would complain if they were in my situation.
On the other hand—so what? I wasn’t anybody else, and I was allowed to have an opinion, wasn’t I?
For now, I fastened the side tie on a full-skirted, sunny yellow cotton dress, then buckled on a pair of nude pumps in embossed leather that was so pearlized it was almost gold, with a delicate ankle strap and a three-inch heel Not over the top for the office, but pretty enough for that Friday-night drink and dinner, and glamorizing the casual dress very satisfactorily indeed.
And all right—maybe they whispered, “Do me hard against the door” like no footwear I’d ever seen. Or maybe that was just my unruly imagination, to say nothing of my insistent body, which seemed to think that I ought to be catching up on years of self-denial with one prolonged, breathless orgy of sexual experimentation. I wasn’t sure you could have an orgy with one man, but if you could, that man would be Hemi.
Josh had come through with the store cards within a day of Hemi asking him, because Josh was like that, and…well, that had been alotof temptation, and I may have succumbed to a different kind of orgy. I might have gotten a little freaky with those cards over the past weekend, in fact, which had resulted in some sweaty palms and a pounding heart when I’d had to sign the receipts. But now…well…I wanted Hemi to see my new shoes.
Confession time. They were Jimmy Choo, they’d cost six hundred dollars, they represented about six months’ worth of clothing budget in my not-too-distant past, and we’ll just gloss over everything else I’d bought that day and what it had cost, except to say that I was wearing it.
The shoes were gorgeous, though, and Hemi was going to appreciate them. If my lifeweregoing to be about what happened after work, at least I’d be ready for that part of it. And if I ended up having to talk to him about my job status, I’d be dressed for battle. Deceptively innocent right up until the moment I sucker-punched him.
A few hours later, I wasn’t thinking about dinner, and I wasn’t thinking about Hemi. At least I wasn’t thinking happy thoughts about him.
I’d finished updating the spreadsheet Simon had left for me that morning and sent it back to him, and as usual, I was out of things to do. I sat for a few minutes, debated, and finally got to my feet and went to his office.
He was at his desk, frowning intently at his computer, looking as harassed as everybody in the department but me. In the past, that would have fazed me, but I’d grown accustomed to intimidating male frowns. Or maybe I was just fed up enough not to care. I tapped on the door and, when he looked up, asked, “May I talk to you for a minute?”
“Sure. Please.” He gestured to his visitor’s chair and waited, looking attentive and polite, if extra-twitchy.
I sat down, swallowing down the nausea and ignoring the racing heartbeat that seemed destined to accompany my attempts at assertiveness. I didn’t touch the jade pendant at my throat, but I felt it there, resting in the fragile spot between my collarbones. Worn on purpose today as a reminder of what Hemi had told me, what I still struggled at times to believe.
When you need to remember that you have a power and a light inside you that nothing and nobody can ever put out.
I said, “I don’t have enough to do.”
Simon laughed, the sound bitter. “Ha. That’s one I don’t hear every day.”
“Come on, Simon,” I said, and saw him sit up straighter and twitch a little more at my tone. “You know what I’m talking about. You’re giving me work a high school intern could do for you, and meanwhile, everybody else here is running around like a chicken with its head cut off. Why? Are you afraid that if you assign me something remotely challenging, you’ll have to correct me, and I’ll run to Hemi and whine that you’re being mean? Or do you really think this little of me? Because this isn’t working for me, and I can’t believe it’s helping you.”
I watched his eyes slide away from mine and said, “See? You’re doing it right now. You’re thinking, ‘Is she going to Hemi? What does she want from me? I’m damned if I do and damned if I don’t.’ I’mtellingyou what I want from you. I want you to treat me like everybody else. I want to feel like I can’t get it all done, like I’m pushing hard. I want to wonder if I’ve done it well enough, and to have you tell me where I’ve gone wrong, so I can learn. I want a job. Arealjob.”
“Then you should go get it somewhere else,” he snapped, then looked like he wished he could swallow the words again. He picked a folder up off his desk, opened it, then set it down again. “I mean,” he said, “you’re right. I’m in a tough spot here.”
He snapped his mouth shut, looking like a turtle determined not to swallow that fly, or whatever it was turtles ate, and I sighed and said, “So do you have something else for me?”
“I’ll find something. Go take a break.”
I didn’t.
I hadn’t been in Henry’s office since that first interview. I’d barely seen him, in fact. But now, I marched straight there and knocked.
He frowned, too. A lot less scared and a lot more annoyed than Simon. Fine. I was annoyed, too.
I walked in and sat down before he could invite me. And, yes, that probably wasn’t the best way to announce that I was here as a lowly peon, but I was fed up.
“Yes?” he asked, nothing in the least warm about his manner.
I didn’t talk to bosses like this. Except I did. “When I told you I was here to work,” I said, “what part of that wasn’t clear?”
“Are you dissatisfied with your job?” he asked, his tone icy, his blue eyes boring into mine.
“You bet I am. And I’ll tell you why. I’m taking money for nothing. I’m bored. I’m underworked. I’m being condescended to.”
The silent seconds ticked past, and I lifted my chin and waited him out. Finally, he said, “I told Hemi it wouldn’t work.”
“Well,” I said sweetly, “maybe you’d better assign me to somebody with…spine instead. Somebody who’ll tell me the truth.”
