by Nadia Lee
“Are you driving me to work?” I ask, praying Tolyan says yes.
“No.”
“But it’s not like you have anything to do today, right? I mean, you can drop me off at work without having to bother Antoine.”
“No. I’m busy.”
“Doing what?”
He gives me a flat, impassive look. “Alphabetizing Lizochka’s new files.”
My jaw drops. “You’re kidding, right?”
He continues to stare.
Maybe he really means it. “Fine. Alphabetize her files.” I stand up. The light isn’t trying to gouge my eyeballs out anymore, and my eardrums seem to still be intact. It’s a win. A good omen.
I shower under extra hot water. I read that heat aids in circulation, and hopefully it will make the coffee and aspirin work their magic faster. I need to be one hundred percent sober and myself to face Antoine after yesterday.
Because I have things to say. Important, critical things. And he better do me at least this one little favor because he owes me that much.
Once again, I take extra care with my appearance. My hair hangs in straight, silky lines, and the teak-colored kohl is artfully smudged around my eyes, making them look larger and darker. My lips glisten bright red from the new tint I bought last week. I look fantastic. Not a hint of last night’s excess.
A tight scarlet silk dress and matching pumps complete my look for the day. I’m going for a “determined with a plan” effect, and I think I’m pulling it off fabulously, even though the dress is extra sexy. Jo has a great eye for that sort of thing.
When I finally make it downstairs, Antoine is seated at the kitchen counter, sans coffee. Tolyan probably made just enough for me and him, and I didn’t think to make a fresh pot for Antoine.
I start to feel just a tad bad, then shake myself mentally. What the hell am I thinking? I no longer care. If he wants coffee, he can damn well make it himself.
Antoine’s expression is guarded as he scrutinizes me. “Morning.” He sounds careful, like he’s approaching a rabid dog. Or a crazy woman who he’d rather cut vital bits of anatomy off than engage with romantically.
“Morning,” I say. See? I can manage careless. And casual. I even flash him a carefree smile for good measure.
I go straight to the door. He stands with a small frown and follows. Our descent to the garage is quiet, although I’m painfully aware of him standing next to me. His body seems to radiate extra heat today. The aftershave on him smells like wood, mint and a hint of citrus. Maybe a mix of lime and orange. It sends warm prickling sensations from my chest all the way to my clit, as usual. But instead of taking a few infinitesimal steps toward him like I normally do, I steel my spine and stay as still as possible, taking shallow breaths through my open lips to avoid letting his scent get to me any more than it already has.
I can do this.
We exit from the elevator together and walk toward the SUV. Before he can reach the passenger door, I open it myself and climb inside. Antoine’s dark brows pinch together for a moment, but he gets in the driver’s seat without commenting and starts driving.
“Kristen, about last night—” he begins.
Humiliation burns, but I’m going to do this even if it makes me spontaneously combust with shame. “I’m glad it happened. I mean, think how awkward and uncomfortable it would be if I kept imposing myself on you. That would be sexual harassment, which I don’t want to do.”
“Kristen—”
“But I also want you to take responsibility for…you know”—I shrug—“making me think there could be more. You knew how I felt about you. Even though you protested you’d never see me romantically, you always acted like you cared…it made me think one day you’d change your mind.”
“Listen, Kri—”
“I did listen last night, so I want you to listen this time.”
“Okay, bu—”
“Are you listening? Is this Antoine listening?”
He shuts his mouth and sighs. “All right. I’m listening.”
“I want you to be a douche to me.”
“What?”
“It’s hard to crush on a guy who’s being nasty to you. So I want you to help me out.” And for the sake of my own sanity and pride, I’d much prefer Antoine do something really gross to turn me off for life. Like…I don’t know. Fart a lot. Or kick a puppy… Maybe throw a pie in my face. “And don’t worry. You won’t have to do all the work. I’ve been setting up dating profiles. I’m going to get myself a new man, one who’ll help me forget all about my ridiculous infatuation.”
Antoine’s knuckles grow white around the steering wheel.
Almost out of habit, I start to say something to cheer him up, then catch myself in time. It would undermine everything if I did that. I pull out my phone and check the dating app notifications.
“Listen, Kristen. Without interrupting,” Antoine says suddenly as the SUV stops behind a BMW convertible. “My family and I are complicated.”
“Everyone’s family is.” I tap on my phone and look at the messages. Some of them are so stupid, they aren’t worth replying to, but one catches my eyes. Nicolas1B. Based on the message, he’s pretty witty. I check his profile. He’s in his late twenties or early thirties, gorgeous with bright hazel eyes and a brilliant smile. Dark brown hair frames a face that is just a little too pretty, but hey, as flaws go… I bet he wouldn’t rather get castrated than marry me—assuming our dates go well enough for us to head in that direction.
Antoine continues, “There’s nothing wrong with you…”
Oh no. He’s not doing this. He isn’t going to be nice and chip away at my resolve to hang on to my humiliation and anger from last night. I need them to be able to get over my feelings for Antoine and move on. Unrequited love freakin’ sucks, and I don’t want to continue bashing my head against a rock, hoping it turns into clouds. And a wedding.
“You know what, Antoine? I’m really tired, so I’m going to get a little shut-eye until we reach the office.” And because the fact that I’m wavering is pissing me off, I message Nicolas1B, If you work downtown, maybe we can have coffee? then close my eyes.
Antoine sighs softly. I want to turn to him and say something comforting, but I don’t. I asked him to be a douche. It’s going to be harder for him to be a dick if I’m nice to him.
It’s about time I grew up.
Chapter Nineteen
Kristen
Another bouquet of red roses is waiting when I reach my cubicle. I pluck the white envelope from the middle of the blossoms and open it.
I watch you all the time. I think of you all the time. Do you think of me, Kristen?
I hate seeing people use you and hurt you. You’re too special to be treated that way. I want to keep you safe in all ways. Not just your body but your heart too. Let me.
–Your Number One Admirer
I frown, then notice another stiff sheet stuck to the note card. I pull it away. My blood turns to ice.
It’s a photo of me in the lobby, taken from inside the building. I know exactly when it was taken, too. Yesterday after work. I was going to Mrs. Lim’s cafeteria to use the back door again.
Who could’ve taken it? Who’s sending me these flowers? The picture was taken from inside, so it has to be one of my coworkers…or someone with access to the building. Security hasn’t let any paparazzi in.
My hands shake as I grab the flowers and the notes. I’m not letting them stay on my desk and remind me that someone close by is violating my privacy and threatening me out of some sick enjoyment. I consider dumping them in the waste basket next to my cubicle, then change my mind. I don’t want them anywhere near me.
I walk rapidly toward the break room. It has a huge gray plastic trash bin with a lid. I almost run into Preston in my rush.
“Whoa! Are you okay?” he says. “Nice flowers, by the way.”
“Yeah, fine. Sorry.” I give him a small, pat smile, then continue my march.
“Where you goi
ng?” he asks, following a step behind.
“To the break room.” Which is three feet away.
“Need some help?” he asks.
“With what?”
“Carrying coffee back to your office. I’d hate to see you drop those flowers.”
“Thanks for the offer, but it won’t be necessary,” I say firmly as I dump the flowers and notes into the trash bin.
He gawks. “What are you doing?”
“Tossing ’em out.”
“But why?”
“I don’t like the way they smell.”
“You didn’t throw away the ones from yesterday.”
“Because I forgot.” And they seemed harmless back then. But now?
Preston gapes like I’m nuts, but whatever. I make myself a coffee and leave. A few of my coworkers walk past, staring, but I can’t muster a response, not even an empty, polite “good morning.”
Which of them sent the flowers? And took my picture? Maybe I wasn’t totally paranoid yesterday when I thought somebody was snapping photos of me in the meeting.
I resent it so much that I can’t even find solace in work, which I’m normally able to do. And the only “silver lining” in this whole debacle is anything but. Well. At least I know the truth about where Antoine and I stand. Instead of humiliation, all I feel is bitterness. I’m such a fool.
I sit at my cubicle and turn on my laptop. There’s nothing I can do at the moment except work. So I’m going to focus on that. I’m not giving up control of my life over some crazy stalker or some dumb photo or some stupid man who’d prefer to lose his balls rather than be with me.
Karen struts over in a deep blue low-cut dress and short, strappy silver heels. Her hair’s pulled smooth and high in a ponytail, and the effect is striking, bringing out her high cheekbones. “Good morning, Kristen. Can we talk for a moment?”
I give her a small smile for treating me like a human being rather than the subject of a lurid scandal. “Sure.” I pull back from my desk and swivel my chair around.
“Not here.”
Karen gestures for me to follow. She leads me along a wide corridor, its walls covered with photos of our past collections. We end up in a private conference room with a frosted glass wall for privacy at the end of the hall. It’s one of the smaller ones we have for two- or three-person meetings, with three wheeled chairs and a contemporary carbon fiber table.
“Please sit down,” Karen says, gesturing at one of the chairs. She waits until I’m seated, then leans her hip against the edge of the table. “I’m sure you’re aware more than anyone else about what’s happening.”
“Can you be more specific?” I ask in case it’s about something other than the Hollywood Blaze “article.”
“I’m sure you’ve heard about #PedHo.”
“Ugh. Yes.”
“We’ve been getting a lot of complaints about you working here.”
“Complaints about my work? Or is it something else?”
“A lot of people are expressing hostility toward our brand because of your employment at Lola, Inc.”
Great. “You know a lot of those people are probably just keyboard warriors who never bought any of our stuff anyway.” Lola only does high-end fashion items, priced at hundreds of dollars, if not thousands. Most people can’t afford them.
“Perhaps, but we still have to consider our public image.”
This can’t be going where I think it’s going… “Karen, we’ve been working together a long time now. I was with you in Europe.”
She looks away for a second before turning back, her arms crossed. “And your point is…?”
“You know me. You know I’d never do the things I’m being accused of.”
“Yes, of course I do. But do they?” She gestures impatiently. “What have you done to fix the situation, Kristen? You’ve been hiding, and haven’t bothered to issue a single statement to defend yourself.”
Because Liza’s going to help me figure this out, and she’s having her brother’s team to handle it. But I don’t bring that up. I hate looking like I’m name-dropping. And I don’t want Karen to consider keeping me just to please a Hollywood megastar. She needs to believe in my innocence and character. “The tabloid article isn’t worth addressing. The kid is actually a teenage punk who yanked down my bikini top. If anyone was harassed, it was me.”
“Then you should’ve said that. Because now, it sounds like you’re just making an excuse to save your job.”
“You’re really going to fire me over this? When you know I did nothing wrong?”
“It’s not about what I know. Lola agrees with me.” Karen sighs. “Kristen, I like you a lot. You’re incredibly talented, and you work very hard. But business is business. No matter how progressive L.A. is, people aren’t that open-minded. If you wanted to keep your job, you should’ve done some damage control.”
My fingers shake. I’ve worked so hard to earn my place here. This isn’t just any company, but my dream company, in my dream industry. I can’t believe that all of it is going away. I put my hands under the table so Karen won’t notice.
“I’m really sorry, Kristen. But circumstances have spiraled out of control here. Lola, Inc. doesn’t have much choice.”
I stand slowly, taking my time. “You’re making a mistake.”
She gives me a look. “Don’t make this uglier than it has to be. A lawsuit would only make things unpleasant for everyone.”
That was a low blow. It’s like she doesn’t know me at all. “I wasn’t thinking of a lawsuit,” I say, numb and feeling like I’m an outside observer in all this. “I’m talking about you losing one of your best employees over something that’s going to blow past in a few weeks. A year from now, how many people do you think are going to remember this?”
She blinks.
“That’s right,” I say. “None.”
I return to my cubicle, my steps measured. The skin around my eyes stings with unshed tears, and I blink them away. Curious, morbid stares from my coworkers hit like lances. It truly hurts that not one of them is looking at me with anything resembling sympathy. Maybe they share Karen’s opinion. They think I’m guilty because I’m not out there in the spotlight, making dramatic statements and trying to fight everyone on Twitter and Facebook.
As I pack my things in a box, grief and anger spark in my heart. These people should know me better than this. I deserve better. I can’t believe I gave four years of my life to this company, only to be treated like garbage.
Purse slung over one shoulder and the box in my arms, I step into the elevator, my eyes dry. I tell myself I’m done with the company. Just done. I’m not going to waste the teeniest bit of mental energy on something that never deserved it in the first place.
But when the elevator doors open in the lobby, tears fall anyway.
Chapter Twenty
Antoine
I drive into the alley and get out of the SUV. Where’s Kristen? Tolyan told me she would be here, waiting for a pickup.
It takes a moment before I spot her, sitting on a wooden crate, arms hugging her knees, her face buried and hidden. In all the years I’ve known her, I’ve never seen her looking this defeated and sad. And it does something crazy to my heart.
Not wanting to startle her, I place my hand on her shoulder and whisper, “Kristen. Hey.”
She lifts her head and blinks a couple of times. Her eyes are wet and red from crying, and I want to punch someone for putting that look on her face.
“I texted Tolyan,” she says in a small voice.
“Yeah, I know. But he asked me to come. Something about being busy with Elizabeth’s files.”
She chuckles weakly. “He said that to me, too. Earlier, about something else, not when I asked him to pick me up.”
I look at the box at her feet. And it’s all I can do to not march inside the building and demand to see Lola. Just who the hell does she think she is? How could she treat Kristen this way?
“I’m going to go kic
k your boss’s ass,” I say.
“You shouldn’t. She’s not going to change her mind.” Kristen stands.
I pick up the box. It isn’t heavy, but it has lots of little stuff—a couple of framed photos, a pot of faux ivy, and some pencils, books and personal items. I put it in the SUV, while she takes the passenger seat.
As we drive toward Dominic’s penthouse, I say, “I’m sorry.”
She leans her head against the window and sighs softly. “You aren’t supposed be nice to me, remember?”
“I know. But as a fellow wage slave, I can sympathize. I can be made redundant at any time.”
She gives me an oh, please look. “Like Dominic’s going to fire you. He loves you.”
Kristen the Reassurer. Even after what just happened.
And the thing is…she has no idea how badly things could go between me and Dominic. The reason we get along so well is that we don’t cross certain lines, especially ones involving his baby sister. I don’t want a repeat of Eddie.
I carry the box up to Dominic’s penthouse. “Where do you want this?”
“Anywhere. It doesn’t matter.” She grabs a bottle of white and a glass and plops down on the sectional. “Thanks, Antoine.”
“Anytime.” I sit down. I should go, but don’t want to. I need to make sure she’s going to be okay. Yeah, I know she told me to be a jerk, but she doesn’t need a jerk right now. I can start being a dick tomorrow. “So what are you going to do? Look for a new job?” I ask, watching her uncork the bottle and pour a big glass.
She shakes her head, then drains the whole glass as though she’s chugging down ice water in a desert. “Not for a while. Everyone knows why I lost my job, so I doubt people are going to be eager to hire me.”
“Things will get back to normal soon. I’m working on it.”
A beat of silence. “Thanks.”
Somehow, that simple thanks makes me want to explain the situation to her. I want her to understand I only had her best interests at heart. “Ryder’s people want to create a diversion. Another scandal. It isn’t that difficult to release a sex tape.”
