by Sierra Hill
We’ll be hundreds of miles apart living in different cities in different states. I’ll be returning to school in the fall for my final semester before I graduate in December and he’ll be running his business, focusing his energies on new products and designs, and shipping and global distribution. He won’t have time to deal with a girlfriend in college.
“So good to see you again, Peyton. I’ve wanted to touch base with you about how things are going since before your absence, but my schedule always seems to fill up so quickly. And then my youngest had to have a tonsillectomy and well, as you can imagine, I’ve been pulled in a lot of directions. Please, take a seat so we can talk.” Jessica motions toward the chair in front of her desk and I sit down, smoothing out the material of my skirt that has bunched up over my knees.
“I’m sorry to hear you’ve been dealing with such a difficult family situation at home. I hope everything has been resolved and your mother is safe?”
I’d had the wherewithal to notify Jessica on my flight to Phoenix and gave her a brief rundown about Dave’s release from prison and my need to help my mother get out of her current living situation. Jessica had informed me of the state’s domestic violence victims leave of absence and the reasonable accommodation the company could provide me. While it was unpaid, it eased my mind tremendously that I could be absent without losing my internship.
“Yes, thank you. We were able to move her out her current apartment and she took up residence in a temporary shelter for domestic violence victims. She’s now searching for a permanent place to live.”
Jessica leans forward, elbows on the desk and chin propped on her fists, concern etched across her petite face.
“That must’ve been horribly difficult. I bet she’s not only happy to be out of harm’s way, but so grateful to have a daughter who will stand by her through it all. I’ve read many cases where family members give up on those in abusive relationships because there’s nothing they can do to help and watching the violent and vicious cycle continue breaks their hearts.”
I nod but remain silent, offering only a slight smile. And then Jessica swiftly changes the subject and throws me a curveball.
Leaning back against her chair, she picks up a file from her desk and opens it up.
“I met with Brody yesterday at his request.” Her eyes flick from the papers to me, her expression unreadable.
Something thick and sour climbs up to the back of my throat, threatening to escape in a very humiliating way. I swallow it down and tilt my head.
“Okaaay.” My tone is flat, and I try to hide my growing concern.
Will I be fired for sleeping with the boss?
She smiles tightly, with more reserve than warmth. Pinching the document between two fingers, she places it on her desk and slides it in my direction, flipping it around for me to read.
I scan it briefly. I see the word consensual.
Oh, dear baby Jesus. This is awful. I could just die of shame.
“Brody came forward and told me that the two of you formed a bond while in New York – or rather, before that – but it was consummated during the trip.”
I want to hang my head in embarrassment and disgrace. No matter what happens from here on out, Jessica will never remember the work that I performed and completed while on this assignment but only the fact that I had a sexual affair with my boss.
I dip my chin, hiding my humiliation as I read over the document that discusses the policy on dating in the workplace. It clearly denotes that the affair is consensual, as well as that Brody will remove himself from anything having to do with my work performance, mentorship or management during the remainder of my internship.
There’s also a non-disclosure agreement included, requesting that I sign away my right to sue in the event the affair ends badly.
The thought of Charlotte Blankenship and what I overheard about her pops in my head. If she worked with Brody, did he go through the same process with her? Or is he just more careful now that she sued and has this to prevent that very thing from happening?
I practically choke on the words as I inquire about my concerns.
“Jessica, may I ask a question?”
She nods, gesturing with an upturned palm to go ahead and spit it out. “Of course. What is it?”
Shifting in my chair uncomfortably, I second-guess myself, but decide just to blurt it out.
“Um, did a Charlotte Blankenship ever work here?”
Jessica’s eyebrows raise in acknowledgment. “Yes, she did. She started as an intern in our Supply Management and Distribution Channels group. But it was several years ago. Why do you ask? Did you meet her while in New York?”
I shake my head, but my gut feels like it’s been struck with a baseball bat.
Those women I overheard talking about Charlotte must’ve been referring to her when she was with Jensen’s. Which I can only conclude meant she had an affair with Brody, it went south between the two of them, she either quit or got fired, and then promptly sued and settled with Jensen’s after leaving the company.
Oh my God, I’m such a naïve and stupid girl.
Why did I believe him when he said he’d never slept with anyone from the office before?
He only said what I wanted to hear, and I walked right into his trap like a doe-eyed fawn in a hunter’s rifle sight.
“Peyton, are you okay?” Jessica asks, concern evident in her soft tone. “Do you need some water? You don’t look well.”
I wave her off with a flick of my hand. “No, thank you. I’m fine. Probably just all the adrenaline from the weekend and lack of sleep catching up to me. I should really get back to work, though.”
I flip through the documents she presented and read through them carefully, selecting a pen from her cup holder and signing at the bottom of both the policy and the NDA. Recapping the pen, I hand her the forms with shaking hands.
She accepts them and swivels in her chair to put them in the copier to scan. The whir of the machine is both comforting and at the same time ominous. It’s sealing my future with the company and with Brody.
It’s carving out in writing, like a big scarlet letter, that I’m a rule breaker and harlot.
I suppose the only good thing in all of this is that I haven’t been fired and I’m not a homewrecker. God, that would’ve been the worst.
Jessica hands me my copies as there’s a knock on her door.
“Jessica, your next appointment is here. It’s Mrs. Jensen. She can’t get a hold of Brody and wants to discuss the check that he promised to give her for some charity that the board voted on.”
My head reels. Spins like a topsy turvy ride at a carnival. Mrs. Jensen? As in his wife?
I don’t even have to ask who Mrs. Jensen is because it’s written all over Jessica’s face and tells me everything I need to know.
Brody lied.
And my mother was right all along.
Never trust a man in a suit. He’s simply a wolf in disguise.
Chapter 34
Brody
I was hoping to get a chance to talk to Peyton this morning, but my schedule was already double-booked, and I couldn’t get away. I was able to send her a few texts here and there, letting her know how badly I wanted to see her, but they were never returned.
Now it’s going on three p.m. and I’m walking into yet another meeting, but this one I’m actually looking forward to because Peyton is on the invite list.
Will it be difficult to keep myself in check and not ogle her over the conference room table, or stare at her too long? Yes, it will be very hard. As will my dick be in my pants.
This is the exact reason why I’ve kept myself out of any potential office relationships. Even if they go smoothly without breakups or disagreements, the temptation that exists and consumes you during the course of the workday is almost too much to bear.
In fact, in my lunch meeting with Tom and Jan from the samples department, the slices of melon in my fruit salad reminded me of the brunch I took
Peyton to on Sunday. We went to a Sunday Farmer’s Market on the ASU campus and bought fresh fruit, which I fed her while sitting at a park as we enjoyed the fall temps and sunny afternoon. The way she moaned as the melon passed her lips had me wanting to spread her out on the blanket and take her right there on the lawn.
My focus is shit, plain and simple. Jan had to repeat herself twice to gain my attention. Peyton has turned me into a horny and infatuated schoolboy. The only thing on my mind was getting her home tonight and fucking her until she couldn’t walk properly. And that didn’t help my cause whatsoever.
As the crew files in the meeting room, some chatting and others face down in their phones, I see Peyton stride in gracefully. Her hair is no longer tinged pink on the ends, but a solid white blonde that had been trimmed shorter to chin-length. Her black pencil skirt fit snugly around her waist and hips, and the red blouse billows loosely over her breasts, demurely tucked into the skirt. She is classy and defined and her appearance makes my mouth water and my heartbeat stutter at the sight of her.
I’m about to walk toward her when Manny from accounting steps in my line of sight.
“Hey Brody, can I run this by you for your approval?”
I catch Peyton’s eyes as she takes a seat next to where Manny and I stand. I smile but she looks away too fast.
“Yeah, sure. What’s up Manny?”
He flips through some papers. “Well, your wife stopped in earlier and requested a check to be written. She indicated you approved some sort of charity donation to the L.A. Fire Fighter’s Fund? Jessica Yu sent her up to me and I just need your written authorization.”
Peyton visibly stiffens in her seat and I notice her fingers turning white as she clutches her hands together on the table in front of her.
Oh shit. I’ve never mentioned anything about Tiffany, my ex-wife, to Peyton. It just didn’t come up and because our divorce isn’t recent and I haven’t been with her for years, I guess I just neglected to talk about it.
I quickly correct Manny and sign the documents. “Yes, my ex-wife mentioned it to me a few weeks ago. Thanks for checking, though. I appreciate your diligence.”
Manny smiles proudly at this and nods, turning to find a seat at the table as everyone gets ready to start the meeting.
I know Peyton overheard me speaking to Manny and I hope she caught the ex-wife comment, but I want to talk to her and explain and not have her sit through the entirety of this meeting with the idea that I somehow lied to her. She knows that dishonesty is a deal-breaker for me, and I would never lie to her about anything. Yet, the truth about my past hadn’t come up and I failed to do the right thing and explain it.
Leaning over Peyton’s shoulder, close enough to speak to her directly, but not too close to cause the rumor mill to begin to swirl, I say, “Peyton, can we talk after this meeting?”
Her head springs up and she locks eyes with me. In her gaze I can see a ripple of anger. She probably wants to slap me silly. But God that anger makes her come to life, just like it did when I spanked her ass the other night.
Her eyes flashed with surprise when I rubbed a spot over a butt cheek and then smacked it so good that the sting of it reddened her ass nice and bright.
Unfortunately, this particular heated stare has nothing to do with my hand, but everything to do with my lie of omition.
“Of course,” she snaps, refusing to meet my gaze again. Her tone is biting mad. “Whatever you want.”
Ugh. Yep, I fucked up. And now I’m going to pay the price.
We conclude the meeting, and everyone leaves the table, walking out of the conference room one-by-one, as I watch Peyton from the head of the table. Once everyone is out, I get up and casually flick the lock on the door, checking out the window to the hallway to make sure no one is there, and close the blinds.
We’ll need privacy for this conversation.
I move to Peyton’s chair and stand behind her, placing my hands on top of her shoulders. Her response is swift, jerking her shoulders roughly and brushing me off with a “Don’t touch me.”
Inhaling deeply, I let it go and sit down next to her. Everything in me screams to touch her. Hold her hand. Bring her to my lap. Anything to have contact with her, but she’s made it abundantly clear she wants her space.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, baby. I really am. I didn’t keep it a secret on purpose. It just never came up.”
Her head whips over to me and she glares, a stormy blue-sky lighting into me.
“You mean, it didn’t come up when you were inside me? Or maybe just got lost in all the discussions we had this weekend about our lives? Those conversations where you opened up about your childhood, going to Europe with your dad and assuming the leadership role of the company after you graduated college? So, it just slipped your mind?”
I give her a regretful half-smile, apology laced in my words. I reach for her hand, looking for that connection so she knows I’m telling the truth.
“I swear, Peyton. I didn’t think about it because, a) it’s not a secret that I was married right out of college to Tiffany. I thought you might know that already. And b) it didn’t last. We didn’t love each other enough for the long-haul and we divorced amicably two years ago, having been separated a year before that.”
She pulls just outside of my grasp. “Yet here she is, strolling into your office as if she still owns part of it…oh wait, she does! Yes, doesn’t that complicate things? But Brody, she is still a big part of your life. Which means one thing. You. Lied.”
I drop my head back against the executive chair and close my eyes to shield myself from the hurt I’ve caused her. This is my mess and while I didn’t realize it was a significant aspect of my current life to tell her about it, I can see why she’s upset. I would be too if the situation was reversed.
“Okay, you have a right to be angry at me and I’m truly sorry. I own it and I fucked up. But I want to make it better. I don’t want this to ruin what we’ve begun together.”
I can see she’s struggling to find the words to express how much pain I’ve caused her as she leans forward and drops her head into her hands. This eats at my gut and isn’t at all how I wanted things to go between us. Not now. Not after she’s back in L.A.
“And then there’s the little matter of the NDA and your past with Charlotte.”
“My what?”
My tone is sharp, marked with confusion and distress. Peyton tilts her head to look at me before straightening her spine, her features marred with resignation and sadness.
“Charlotte, the one you had breakfast with the other day. The one you failed to mention used to work for you and that you had an affair with. The very same woman who sued your company and then used the money to start her own business.”
My jaw drops to the floor as I’m truly at a loss for words. I have no idea where she got this information, but it’s completely out of left field and categorically incorrect.
But before I can respond further, Peyton slides a sealed envelope across the table between us marked, Brody Jensen – Confidential. I look at it briefly before I return my gaze to her as I watch her rise to her feet.
“Consider this my formal and immediate resignation and withdrawal from this internship. Goodbye, Brody. And thanks for the very educational experience.”
Chapter 35
Peyton
I have been the recipient of both acute physical and long-lasting emotional pain several times throughout my life.
Once as a child, maybe six or seven, my mother was blindingly drunk, and Dave had to pick her up at the bar she was at. I was at school at the time while my mother was day drinking. Dave picked her up after his shift and then came by my school to pick me up.
They were arguing in the front seat as I opened the back door to get in. He was leaning over and choking her, so I ran around the driver’s side, opened his door and with my tiny little first-grader hands, trying valiantly to stop him.
My efforts were not in vain and seem
ed to work, but unfortunately, in his rage, he reeled back as his elbow connected with my eye socket. I screamed and yelled in pain, worried that he poked my eye out and I’d have to wear a patch the rest of my life like Captain Hook.
The second time I felt that pain was not from a physical punch, but a punch in the gut none-the-less when Dave cut me down to size by calling me a “fatty” or “chubby cub.” The emotional pain was a knife that began to ever so slowly rip my self-confidence to shreds. And it just continued to gain in momentum and grow worse until I started purging that pain out of my heart through my food intake and outtake.
Even now, as I sit at Brooklyn’s dining room table back in Scottsdale, crying my heart out and eating edible cookie dough, none of that pain I experienced is as excruciating as the sharp dissonant pain of being lied to by Brody.
“I still can’t believe he didn’t tell you about his ex-wife and divorce. I mean, who does that?”
Brooklyn leans over, scooping a spoon in the bowl and bringing it to her lips, licking the remnants from the utensil with a groan.
I would generally shy away from gorging like this because it only leaves me with an emotional hole fighting the demons of my disease, but I want to be supportive of my pregnant friend.
Although they haven’t told anyone else about the baby, Brooklyn confided in me two weeks ago after she’d had her first ultrasound. She and Garrett are going to make his son, Caleb, a big brother. It makes me so happy to see how far she’s come in bringing joy back into Garrett’s life. He was a widower and single dad before Brooklyn made her appearance in their life as his live-in nanny, and now they’re engaged with another child on the way.
Funny how fate works in mysterious ways.
