Ego Maniac

I’d said it just to be an ass, but her sudden deer-in-the-headlights face told me I’d actually hit the nail on the head. Well, shit. Coming to work just got even better. A part of me (a very large part of me, of course) wanted to stay and push that interesting tidbit of information even more, but I’d suddenly turned into a twelve-year-old boy and could feel my cock swellin

g. Thanks to her dirty thoughts, Little Miss Oklahoma with the great ass got a reprieve after all.

“That’s not the fucking problem. The problem is your inability to cook a decent meal without burning it.”

Hearing that type of statement yelled wasn’t new to these walls. Only this time, it wasn’t coming from one of my clients.

I’d just returned to the office after a late lunch with Henry Archer, and the sound of an angry man echoed through the hall. Emerie’s office door was slightly open, and I debated checking in with her, making sure everything was okay. Listening, I heard her ask the guy to settle down and then another woman began to speak. So I went back to my office to mind my own business.

Fifteen minutes later, there it was again. I was on the phone when that same guy’s voice carried down the hall and straight into my office.

“I was on the fence about marrying you in the first place. Should have called it off after you couldn’t even carry our kid.”

The hair on the back of my neck rose. What he’d said was horrible. But I’d heard spouses spit vile things back and forth at each other during a divorce. Not much shocked me anymore. Yet this guy—it wasn’t what he said but how he said it. His voice was laced with anger and intimidation, threatening while insulting. I hadn’t even seen his face, but my gut told me he was more than just a verbal abuser. Unfortunately, I’d seen physical abusers over the years, too. There was just something about the way the scumbags yelled that set them apart from your run-of-the-mill, I-hate-you-and-want-to-injure-your-soul spouse.

I rushed the client I’d been speaking to off the phone and went to check on Emerie. Before I could reach her office, a loud crashing sound sent me running.

When I got to the door, the guy was sitting in his seat while his wife knelt on her hands and knees to clean something up. Emerie was standing.

“What’s going on in here? Everything okay?”

Emerie hesitated and caught my eye when she spoke. She was trying to diffuse the situation. I saw it in her eyes, heard it in her voice.

“Mr. Dawson was a little excited and knocked over a glass award I had sitting on my desk.”

The heavy paperweight she’d lugged on the subway in her box was shattered all over the floor.

“Take a walk and cool off, buddy.”

The asshole’s head whipped around. “Are you talking to me?”

“I am.”

“Who the hell are you?”

“I’m the guy telling you to take a walk and cool off.”

He stood. “And what if I don’t?”

“You’ll be physically removed.”

“You’re going to call the cops on me for breaking a piece of glass?”

“Not unless Emerie wants me to. But I will toss your ass out on the street myself.”

I folded my arms across my chest and kept eye contact. Men who abused women were pussies. I’d kick his ass and enjoy every fucking minute of it.

After a few seconds, the guy looked at his wife. “I’m done with this counseling shit.” Then he stormed out. I stepped aside to make room for him to pass.

Both Emerie and her client stayed quiet until we heard the front door slam closed.

“You good?” I asked.

Emerie nodded, and for the first time, the woman turned and faced me. Her cheek was purple and yellow with a fading bruise. My jaw clenched. I should have punched the fucker while I had the chance.

“He’s not usually like that. It’s just been tough at his job lately.”

Sure he isn’t.