by Stasia Black
The elevator doors open and I scrunch my trembling hands into fists. I can do this. I’m more than just trash, and I won’t let anyone treat me like it anymore. Isn’t that what Jackson’s always reminding me of, in little ways and big? He sees my body and my mind as two completely separate things, and he’s attracted to both. Just the memory of all our time together makes me stand up straighter.
I cross the small, chic lobby and enter Bryce’s office without knocking, ignoring Madison’s protests. Bryce looks up in annoyance at the unexpected entrance. His wall was frosted, after all, which means that everyone is supposed to leave him alone without Madison checking through the intercom with him first. But I’m not going to get through this by submissively waiting my turn. It’s time to stand up for what I deserve and stop letting myself be pushed around by Bryce or any other bully.
“I’ll talk to you later, Mandeep, something’s come up.” Bryce laughs but his face looks anything but amused. “I’ll do that. Talk to you next week in our teleconference.” Bryce pushes a button to disconnect the call and then the full weight of his displeasure turns my way.
“You know you’re not to disturb me while I’m on a call. Or ever when the glass isn’t clear.”
I know what he’s doing, trying to put me on the defensive. Normally I’d be stumbling over myself to apologize.
Not today. I continue standing, my chin out slightly.
“I’m here to give my notice.” I slip the envelope with my written and signed resignation out of the top of my purse where I kept it for easy access. I slide it on his desk over to him.
“I know that it’s traditional to give two weeks’ notice,” I continue, “but I’m sorry in this case I can’t.”
I force the next words from between clenched teeth. “Thank you for the opportunity you gave me.” After all, without him, I wouldn’t have met Jackson. “I’ll have all the clothing you provided dry-cleaned and returned by the end of the week.”
Hoping for a nice, clean exit, I spin on my heel to leave.
I expect a lot of responses—curses, shouting, even Bryce’s low, commanding tone that is enough to make businessmen the world over sit up and pay attention. But I didn’t foresee the loud chuckle that comes from behind me. Or the words that make my feet falter right before I can get to the door: “Oh, you think you can leave? Just like that?”
What does he mean by that? I decide it’s not worth engaging him any further and continue for his door.
The sound of his palm slapping sharply against his desk jolts me to a stop again. “Have you forgotten the little matter of the contract you signed with me?”
“What do you mean?” I don’t turn around. I knew he wasn’t going to make this easy, but what does he mean about the contract?
“Look at me, you little conniving slut. You think I didn’t foresee this the first day you walked into my office?”
At this, I can’t help but to spin back around. I don’t understand. Foresee what?
He’s standing, both fists planted on his desk. A slow smile grows on his face as he observes my confusion. He has the look of a satisfied hunter, and I feel like an animal who just stepped into a trap that’s snapped shut around me. “Didn’t anybody ever tell you to read the fine print on things that you sign, Miss Cruise?”
“I did read the fine print,” I object. “I read the entire employee contract before I signed it.”
After his initial come-on during the interview, I wanted to make sure there weren’t any weird required sexual obligations within the contract itself. I would have questioned the legality of such a document, but still—I specifically read the tiny print at the bottom of each page.
Bryce pulls out his keys and thumbs through them before finding a small silver one. He unlocks the bottom drawer of his desk. “Ah, here we are.”
He pulls out several stapled papers with a flourish and flips through them to the second to last page. Then he begins to read. “You do covenant and agree that, during the term of employment with the company and for five years after the termination thereof, regardless of the reason for the employment termination, you will not,” he looks up and smiles, “—and here’s the good part,” he directs his attention back to the paper, “—directly or indirectly, anywhere in the territory, on behalf of any competitive business, perform substantially the same job duties or in any other capacity.”
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Bryce glances up to make sure I’m paying attention and for Christ’s sake, of course I am. How did I miss a non-compete clause? I could have sworn I’d read through every line of that damn contract. FUCK.
“If breached, you agree to a legal reimbursement pursued insofar as a factor of ten of the employee’s starting salary.”
I cough in shock. Does he mean—? He can’t be saying—
Bryce smiles in delight. “That’s right, at your current contracted salary, you would owe more than three-quarters of a million dollars if you expect to stop working for me and go work for a competitor of mine in any capacity.”
“No.” It comes out as a horrified whisper. No, no, he’s bluffing. I read through the entire employee contract. I swear I did. “Let me see that.” I step forward and grab the papers out of his hand.
“By all means,” he says, still with that satisfied grin on his face. “I have copies.”
My eyes scan the paper, first glancing down to see that my signature is indeed right there. I initialed each page to indicate I’d read it. Then my eyes scan back up to see the line Bryce so helpfully highlighted in bright yellow. I shake my head, about to accuse him of tampering with it when I realize that these pages aren’t part of the employee contract at all.
It’s the nondisclosure agreement. The highlighted sentence is in the center of a dense paragraph of long-winded legalese glossary definitions, on the second to last page of a thick packet. Just that one sentence about not competing and the consequences if I do.
My stomach suddenly feels like it’s been scraped out like a carved pumpkin. Oh my God. I did sign this. My eyes must have just skipped right over this bit. It was just the NDA. It was just about information disclosure—not my actual work contract! It’s not supposed to have anything like this in it. So yeah, I read it, but not as closely as I should have.
Bryce didn’t hide this noose in the fine print, he put it in plain sight but camouflaged by all the other jargon.
I slam the papers back down on the desk, my chest heaving. My hand goes to my stomach. Oh God, I feel sick. Bryce lets out another low chuckle, and I can only look at him, horrified.
“Why?” I back away from the desk. “What do you want from me?” This guy is one sadistic fuck. Why would he put that in the contract if he didn’t want to put me in this exact position? He’d done this from the beginning. How—? I mean, why—? I look over at him, lightheaded with confusion. “Did you hire me just to fuck with my life?”
Bryce holds out his hands magnanimously. “Not at all. I’m a very generous man. I want only the best for my employees. You can understand that for a man in my position it’s important that I don’t have employees going off and immediately giving my trade secrets away to my competition.”
“But I’m just your personal assistant,” I protest. “I don’t know any trade secrets!” I might have, but he never shared the algorithms or any other proprietary information. The things I do know he already shared openly with Jackson.
“True,” Bryce says. “Which is why I’m willing to negotiate with you.” The affable smile is still on his face.
My hackles immediately go up. I feel like the mouse that a cat is playing with before it pounces. What the hell is this bastard’s game? I could’ve sworn just a moment ago he was taking glee in the fact that he had maneuvered me into this exact position.
I think back to my random theory from a few days ago, that all of this was somehow Bryce’s endgame—from hiring me, to taking me to that lunch with Jackson, to encouraging me to work with Jackson so we’d connect like we h
ave, only now to… what? Is this, whatever this is, what it’s all been leading up to?
But no, God, that’s ridiculous. It’s not like we’re puppets and Bryce can know which strings to pull to get us to respond exactly how he expects… I shift on my feet uncomfortably at the thought before shaking my head.
It’s ludicrous. And what is it he could even hope to get out of all this?
“What do you mean, negotiate?” I ask through clenched teeth.
“Well, you see, I’m arranging a last-minute meeting this morning for some friends and potential investors who happen to be in town. It’s for the same project that you just proposed to Mr. Vale. Considering it’s he, I assume, who’s offering you the job that has you so quick to render your notice to me,” Bryce’s smile widens at the stiffening of my posture, “we know how good you are at giving a presentation. Plus, a pretty face never goes awry when negotiating deals.”
His posture is too genial, too easy going. If the preposterous theory that he’s been maneuvering toward this for months is true, then what he’s proposing seems too easy and off the cuff. Which just goes to show I was being too paranoid about it. This is only about Bryce being an asshole, wanting to take his pound of flesh out of me for quitting and going to work for Jackson. The question is, will a pound of flesh be enough?
“And then what? I do the presentation at this last meeting and you just let me out of an eight hundred-and-fifty thousand dollar fine?” I scoff.
Bryce shrugs. “I’m not an idiot. That’s money I’ll never see out of you. You don’t own a house or even a car—it will just bankrupt you and I won’t see much more than twenty thousand, if that. No,” he shakes his head. “Like I said, I can be magnanimous. All I ask of you is to come, give the presentation and provide a certain degree of hospitality to our honored guests.”
My entire body goes on alert. “What does hospitality mean?”
For the first time since I came in, I see a glint in Bryce’s eyes that makes me suspect I’m seeing the real man. He always was a shark and for a moment he doesn’t bother to veil the predator within. It’s gone the next second, but it’s enough insight to send chills from the top of my spine down to the tips of my toes.
“It’s an hour of your time in exchange for getting to walk away scot free, no strings tying you to me or this place.” He raises his eyebrows as if he’s giving me an obvious gift and I’m a fool for not jumping at the opportunity.
Christ. If he’s trying to make it sound so casual, I’m sure it’s the opposite. Shit. Fuck. Shit, fuck. What do I do? Eight-hundred-and-fifty thousand dollars. Almost a million. Just thinking about that number gives me hives. Obviously, he’s right, I’d never be able to pay even a tiny portion of it. The alternative? Not being able to work in the field in any capacity for five years?
I turn away from Bryce and my hand goes to my forehead. I swallow hard. Christ. How did I get myself into this position?
I ball my fists and I want to scream at myself. Oh yeah, Callie, you were going to be so different, a voice inside my head mocks. Make a stand. Be strong for a change. And the first time I try to take charge of my life, here’s this fucker grinding me back down into the dust.
My shoulders slump. Because he’s going to win.
Once again, I’m in an impossible situation. So much worse than when I stepped in this office two months ago. Now I don’t even have Charlie. I made myself a pathetic whore and for what? So I could debase myself in front of yet another man, fall into the role of weak submissive, let myself be shit all over emotionally, and still lose what was most important to me in life?
I can feel Bryce’s stare on the top of my head and I can just imagine how triumphant he feels. It’s what he’s always gotten off on—making people cower in his presence.
God, was that what he saw in me at the interview? That I was a girl who’d be so easy to control? That I could be easily bent? Easily broken.
Bryce likes to break people. Jackson’s words echo in my head.
Is that why Bryce hired me, out of all the people who interviewed for the job?
Even the idea pisses me off.
I’m so much stronger than any of them think. I might just be realizing my own strength now, but screw that—I didn’t survive all I have, support and raise my baby and be fighting to get him back because I was weak-willed.
So fuck Bryce fucking Gentry. I raise my head, widen my stance, and stiffen my back.
I knew there would be consequences when I resigned today. Bryce’s a twisted fuck. Whatever his agenda, be it some long-thought-out thing or a spur-of-the-moment fuckery he’s come up with, I’ll handle it because I have to. Because I’m embracing my inner queen bitch who can handle whatever life throws at me.
I glare at Bryce. Fuck him and every other man who’s kept me down all my life. “How many people will be at this business meeting where I’m to make the presentation?”
He leans back in his chair with his fingers steepled under his chin. “Nine.”
I let out the breath I was holding, but I try not to show anything on my face. I don’t want to give a single inch to the bastard in front of me. No reaction, no response. Internally, though, I’m preparing. Nine people. Okay. Bryce can’t do anything too crazy to me with nine respected businesspeople in the room.
I turn my iciest glare on him. “Nothing happens in that room that I don’t okay beforehand?”
Bryce holds up his hands. “Of course. This is your decision. Just remember what’s at stake if you try to pull out of the deal at the last minute.”
I fill my lungs with another deep breath. “All right.”
Bryce starts to stand, but I hold out a hand. “Not so fast. I want it in writing that after the conference today, anything I’ve previously signed is null and void.”
He bows his head with a nod of what looks like respect—though it could just be another form of manipulation, it’s impossible to tell with him. “Well played, Miss Cruise. I’ll send it to your printer within the hour. The meeting is at ten a.m. in Conference Room B. Do be prompt.”
I head toward my office for what I hope is the last time. Whatever Bryce throws at me, I’ll be prepared. And I vow, this is the last day I’ll let myself be in a position like this ever again.
Chapter Eighteen
I’ve never been in this conference room. It’s much smaller than Conference Room A where the project managers convene every Tuesday for project updates. Instead of being a more industrial office space like the other conference room, it’s a sleek modern design.
The central table surface creates the top of what’s essentially a large ornate Z. The ten chairs set all around the table look more comfortable than the normal fair as well, with white overstuffed cushions held together by chrome supports also shaped like Zs. It’s always about presentation with Bryce.
I’ve arrived twenty minutes early. No way I’m going to be accused of tardiness today. I glance nervously around the room. Right. Time to prep. I might have only been at this job a little more than a couple months, but it took just one false start at a conference to learn Bryce’s expectations of his personal assistant—not that he gave me a checklist ahead of time.
I’ve made my own list since then: Get a piping hot travel carafe of high-end brewed coffee from the coffeeshop on the ground floor of the building (God forbid I try to brew it myself, lesson learned from my second conference attempt). Second, get a platter of finger pastries delivered from the boutique pastry shop that Gentry Tech has on contract—not from the coffeeshop downstairs, no matter that it might be much more convenient on short notice. Third, arrange notepads and pens at every station just in case, even though everyone uses laptops now. Every once in a while, there could be an older holdout who still expects pen and paper as a matter of course.
I look around me as I get started. God, this conference room better be as equipped as the other one, or I’m gonna have to haul ass down to Conference Room A to get the nice coffee set. But when I open up the small c
abinet in the back of the room, I let out a sigh of relief. This coffee set is even fancier than the one I’m used to using. Not that it’s silver or anything. No, of course not. Nothing that reeks of the antique or traditional for Gentry Tech. The coffee set is a modern slate matte black.
I pour the coffee from the cardboard travel carafe into the nice serving one and set up the coffee cups. Then I arrange it all nicely on a tray at the back counter. I put everything else together and am just filling up the ice water pitcher when I hear the door open behind me.
I spill a few drops of water as I turn off the filtered tap at the back sink. It takes all my self-control not to swear a blue streak.
I swipe at the small spill with my hand as I swivel to see Bryce holding open the door for several distinguished looking older businessmen. I wipe my wet hand on the side of my skirt and plaster on a smile, taking several steps away from the counter. Shit. Do I go and greet them or wait here like a nice little submissive secretary?
I hesitate midstep and then just pause where I am, halfway between the counter and the doorway. I drop my hand by my side, but then that seems dumb so I put them behind my back. Christ, what am I, five years old? I drop them back by my sides.
Meanwhile, Bryce’s completely ignoring me and welcoming more and more men into the room. I silently count. Five, six, seven. Okay, almost all of them. Breathe, Cals, breathe. My chest is certainly moving up and down. All right. That’s good. Except, shit, now I’m getting light-headed. Goddammit. Breathe slower.
I try to take slower, deeper breaths. I can do this. I’m a professional.
A professional what, exactly? asks an inner voice.
Yeah. I tell the inner voice to shut the fuck up. Get through this hour, then I’m free.
“Forgive me,” Bryce says, “I’ve been completely neglecting to introduce my associate, Miss Calliope Cruise. She’ll be helping me present the next in our proposed product line.”
Bryce holds out a hand to me, gesturing me forward. I’m glad to finally have some indication of my role here, but the butterflies in my stomach start swarming as I step forward. Butterflies is probably the wrong word. They bring to mind a nice image. I should say moths. Yes. It’s definitely creepy fuzzy closet moths swarming my innards that I feel as I shake the first man’s hand.
