Page 51 of The Vegas Rerun
I stepout of the elevator, glad to finally be back in the office after my meeting. I knew it would go long, because meetings with that particular client always go long because she likes to chatter and waste time around the important stuff, but she’s one of our big spenders so I put up with it.
Even though I knew it would happen, and I even told Molly I wouldn’t be in until after lunch, I’m still irritated by how long it ran over and how many other things I could have gotten through instead, and now I feel like I’m already behind on everything before I even get started.
As I stride down the corridor towards my office, my frustration deepens when I notice something - or rather, someone - is missing.
Molly isn’t there. Her desk is empty. The computer is on, her chair slightly pulled out like she just stepped away for a moment, but there’s no sign of her. I double check the time. Even if she chose to take a late lunch break, she should be back by now. My jaw clenches. We’ve talked about this already. She knows that outside of her breaks, I expect her to be at her desk during workhours unless she has a damn good reason to be off somewhere else.
I exhale, pushing the annoyance aside. Maybe she’s just in the bathroom or grabbing herself a coffee. There’s no need for me to overreact just yet. I’m only thinking like this because I’m on edge about seeing her again after the weekend. I can’t help but think she knew I was on my way in and went to hide somewhere so she didn’t have to face me. That’s why I’m annoyed, but I tell myself that Molly isn’t a child; she won’t be doing that.
I think it threw her when, on Sunday morning, I made her breakfast and drove her home without asking to see her again or showing any interest in doing so. It’s not that I don’t want to – I’m just sick of her rejecting me. She knows how I feel by now – she will either get over whatever obstacles she has that stop her from seeing me, or she won’t. My keeping asking her isn’t helping.
I don’t want to play mind games with Molly, and the main purpose of me stopping showing interest in her is for my own sake. I will only allow myself to be used for so long, and I can only put myself out there so many times and be rejected before I give up. But I have to admit that there is a small part of me that hopes that Molly will get her ass into gear if she thinks I’m losing interest in her.
That doesn’t mean I’m going to be nasty to her though, and kicking off because she leaves her desk for a minute would definitely qualify as nasty. I’m glad I’ve realized this before Molly comes back.
But then I see that my office door is open, and I see her sitting there. Sarah. My anger floods back. If Molly had been at her desk, Sarah wouldn’t have been able to just march in there and make herself at home. And she definitely looks like she’s making herself at home.
She’s sitting in my office chair behind my desk like it’s her damned office. She’s turned slightly toward the window, her posture relaxed. Too relaxed. Something about it puts me on edge. She’s never this comfortable in my space, and although I don’t want her to be uncomfortable, I don’t want her this comfortable either.
“I think you’ll find that’s my chair,” I say, keeping my tone clipped, showing my annoyance but not shouting.
Sarah slowly turns to face me, and my irritation at her being in my chair shifts into something else entirely when I see her. My stomach tightens as I take in her appearance.
She has bloody streaks smeared down the front of her white blouse, and there is more streaking across her top lip and her chin. It looks like she’s tried to wash it away, but she’s missed some and the water she’s used is tinged pink and it’s dripping onto her collar. The red is stark against her pale skin, and for a brief, surreal moment, I can’t process what I’m seeing.
She starts to stand up and I wave my hand at her, telling her to stay seated which she does.
“What the hell happened to you?” I demand, striding toward her.
Sarah dabs at the blood around the base of her nose with a damp tissue, wincing as she does so.
“You’re not going to like this,” she says, her voice a perfect mix of apprehension and satisfaction.
I don’t like the idea of any of my employees getting hurt at work, but something about Sarah’s tone stops me from being completely sympathetic. The satisfaction in her voice makes me suspicious, and I really don’t have patience for games right now.
I lower myself into the chair across from her, and I feel like it is her office and I’m the one intruding on her. I remind myself that’s not the case, that where I sit isn’t what allows me tocommand a room. I straighten up and look at Sarah with a hard stare.
“It doesn’t matter whether I will like it or not,” I say. “Just tell me what happened.”
She sighs, like this is difficult for her, like she’s burdened by the truth she’s about to reveal, but I know what Sarah is like. I keep her around because she is good at her job, but as a person, I am not her biggest fan if I’m honest. She is sly and ruthless and if there is any office drama, Sarah is almost always at the center of it.
I feel like this is one of those moments, and I get the distinct impression that Sarah is enjoying this, dragging out the moment and loving having this extra attention on her. Still though, she is obviously hurt, and I need to tread carefully with her.
“It’s about Molly,” Sarah says.
If she was really worried about telling me this, I feel like she would have looked away when she said this, but instead, she holds eye contact with me, like she’s waiting for my reaction. She’s going to have to wait a long time, because one of the first things I learned when I took over as CEO of the company was how to not show my reactions or emotions on my face.
Despite me being able to hide it, at the mention of Molly’s name, I still feel something sharp twisting in my gut. I school my features, keeping my expression neutral when I speak again. I’m starting to get annoyed that I’m having to drag this out of Sarah line by line, question by question.
“What about her?” I demand. “Just tell me what’s happened for God’s sake.”
Sarah bites her lip, hesitating just long enough to seem reluctant, but she can’t conceal the gleam in her eye that tells me she’s enjoying this.
“I wasn’t going to say anything to you Mr Redfern. I know it’s personal and kind of embarrassing, but, well, if it was me,I’d want to know, and I think you deserve to know too,” she says. She glances down at her bloodied blouse – ah breaking eye contact, better late than never – and then she looks back up at me with wide, almost innocent eyes. Almost. That gleam still gives her away. “She’s been bragging about you.”
My frown deepens.
“Bragging about me?” I repeat, making it into a question as Sarah stalls over her story once more. “What, you mean about her getting the job as my personal secretary?”
