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SCARLETT
Do not snap your boss’s fingers in half, Scarlett.It would be a seriously bad mark on your résumé and probably give you a rap sheet.
My hands curled into fists at my sides, nails biting into my flesh as I tried to focus on anything but his palm on my thigh. The Chicago skyline stretched beyond his office windows, the city humming with life, yet somehow, I'd never felt more trapped. One wrong move, and two careers would end today: his for harassment, mine for assault.
Make no mistake. He deserved for his to end, but after years of seventy-hour weeks, of missing holidays to handle crises, of turning the North American division’s biggest failure into the greatest success, I had fought too long and too hard for him to ruin my career in one meeting.
Actually, let me clarify a couple of things.
First of all, he wasn’t my boss. Not technically. He was an executive at this company. One, unfortunately, with immense influence over promotion decisions.
Which brought me to my second point. This wasn’t a meeting; it was an interview. The coveted promotion I was up for—vice president of North American operations—wasthe most pivotal moment in my career, and this wasn’t supposed to be how my big moment played out. After six interviews this week (the others had gone brilliantly, thank you very much), I was one step away from getting my first executive role. One step closer to my dream of running this company someday.
The promotion wasn’t just another rung on the corporate ladder either. In this company, making it to the executive level was like getting inducted into an exclusive club. Once you were in, doors opened. Opportunities appeared. The kind of opportunities that came with salaries big enough to help someone start a new life. Someone like Mom.
I’d promised her, standing in that tiny apartment, watching her shaking hands, that I could cover her rent for at least a year. That she wouldn’t have to worry about money while she rebuilt her life. That she could finally stop looking over her shoulder. I’d sworn it on everything I had because the alternative—her getting kicked out,himfinding her again—was too unfathomable to even consider.
Right now, I was barely keeping that promise, one missed paycheck away from disaster. This promotion would change everything. Every interview, every late night at the office, every sacrifice had been building to this moment. But if you didn’t make it through the evaluation process? The company didn’t believe in second chances. If you failed to get the promotion, you’d become a carton of eggs with an expiration date.
But back to the point at hand. Namely, his hand on my goddamned thigh.
Deep breaths, Scarlett. You’ve handled worse. You’ve watched worse.You will not let this man reduce you to that frightened twelve-year-old who couldn’t stop?—
No. Focus. File that trauma away in the mental cabinet labeledThings My Therapist Will Need Extra Sessions For.
I glanced down at his thin fingers giving my thigh a squeeze.
Maybe this is a test,my brain scrambled to rationalize.You know, like if you want to be an executive, show us that you canhandle yourself in the unfathomable position of sexual harassment in the workplace.
But his thin-lipped smile and wandering fingers suggested this was no HR-approved scenario.
I grabbed his hand, removing it from my leg with what I hoped was just enough force to make my point without landing me an assault charge. Shifting back in my chair, as far as physically possible without being obvious about it, I cleared my throat.
“I see big things in my future here too.” I tugged at my knee-length skirt, which suddenly felt about as protective as tissue paper.
Grabby Hands compensated for my retreat by leaning forward, head cocked like a predator sizing up prey. If predators wore appalling cologne and had receding hairlines that fought losing battles with their foreheads, that was. “I’ve been watching your progress since the moment I got here.”
Three months. He’d been here three months. Barely long enough to figure out where the good coffee machine was, and somehow, he thought that gave him the right to?—
“You have a certain …” His eyes had shifted, taking on an unsettling gleam that made my skin crawl. “Spark about you. Something special that sets you apart.”
Annnnnd the hand is back.You know what else came with it? Visions of snapping his penis off. Bet he wouldn’t do this to women if he was missing his dick.
This time, I clutched his fingers hard enough to hurt him and shoved them off me.
“I appreciate your recognition of my passion, but I believe my work speaks for itself.”
I needed to escape this room. Now, without blowing up my career in the process.
He shifted forward, his elbows on his knees, his face wayyyy too close to mine for comfort. The scent of expensive cologne couldn’t mask the stench of entitlement.
“A role like this would open the door to a fantastic career trajectory for you.” His voice dripped with suggestion.
“I believe my skills and experience make me a very strong candidate for this position, and I’m eager to let my qualifications shine.”
“And what do you feel sets you apart from all the other candidates?” His eyes raked over me in a way that made me want to shower for ten years.
