Page 105 of Fixation
An unhinged man who took care of my mail. Anderson placed it in neatly organized stacks on the dining table: bills to the right, personal letters in the middle, and ads to the far left.
My phone was waiting for me here too. Logically, it shouldn’t be.
I shouldn’t be here.
Anderson couldn’t have guessed that I’d change my mind about him. That I wouldn’t press charges as soon as he let me go.
I resisted him, I told himno. Tried to escape.
Except I didn’t mean any of it. Deep down, staying there had been a nourishing experience.
His mind games, his touch, his persistence, they worked. He predicted they would, which is why I’m here.
Freed.
Emersyn goes on, telling me about something she forgot to mention. A new silver supplier emailed her proof that his product is of top quality. He offered us a competitive price for the chance to work with Harper’s.
I listen to her opinion and the research she’s done on them.
Halfheartedly.
The heaviness in the pit of my belly steals my attention.
Anderson has been watching me. He’s been studying me.
I wish I could say he’s superficial and shallow. That what matters to him is how I look and sex.
That isn’t the case.
He cares.
It’s in the small, unhinged things that no one would’ve noticed but him. My clothes, my shampoo, how I write my emails…everything.
Including my deepest, darkest desires.
The ones I haven’t even admitted to myself.
The ones forced on me.
A shiver wracks through me. I resist it, pushing down the need and fear he’s planted in me before standing up.
There’s laundry to wrangle. A business to run. A life to live. It waits for no one, especially me.
Oh, wait. It has.
Thanks to Anderson.
“…we aren’t bound by an exclusivity contract with our current supplier.” Emersyn’s warm yet determined voice filters into my thoughts as I kick off the flip-flops Anderson gave me. “And yes, we hardly get any returns. However, this could be an opportunity for us to offer them better-quality products. We could start small, as always, then…”
She continues while I consider Anderson’s flip-flops.
While I think of him.
Wondering what he’s doing right now is a bad. Really bad. Loving the fact that he bought flip-flops in my size and my favorite color, black, is just as awful.
The wheels in my head start spinning, design ideas bursting in little explosions before my eyes.
They’re not exactly the ideas I had during my time with Anderson.
