They’d clearly had a hard time accepting me as an adult, as a woman.
It wasn’t a bad thing. In fact, it spoke volumes to their integrity. Their minds couldn’t even conceive the idea that a girl they had spent so much time with could ever be considered grown or sexual.
It was commendable that they didn’t sexualize a girl who should never be sexualized.
But it meant that Lincoln was struggling to see me as anything other than the young girl who first walked into that office, telling him that the sugar he put in his coffee was bad for him like the know-it-all teenager she was.
By the time lunch came around, I had decided on changing that viewpoint of his.
I knew it wouldn’t be easy.
I couldn’t be subtle.
Not if I genuinely wanted to see if something could come from the shivers he managed to cause to course through my body just by his nearness.
Was it a smart idea while I was staying in his house? Probably not.
But try telling my body that.
I was so distracted by my thoughts as I set up Phillip’s lunch that I had missed the man himself stepping into the room, moving in behind me.
I didn’t miss, though, the way his hand slid across my ass as he moved behind me.
Everything in me recoiled.
My body, previously sparking and warm from thoughts of seducing Lincoln, banked out, went cold, felt slimy.
It wasn’t the first time he’d put his hands on me. As much as I hated to admit it, it would not be the last either.
I might not have been someone who was comfortable with conflict, but I was also not someone who let injustices slide. I wouldn’t bite my tongue if someone was beating their dog or throwing trash on the ground or screaming at their girlfriend, or, of course, someone was getting sexually harassed. Even if that person was me.
I couldn’t claim to have frequently dealt with someone putting unwanted hands on me, but it wasn’t the first time it had happened. Sadly, most women I knew had experienced a touch that was not consented to. When it had happened, I always made it clear that it was unacceptable.
Working where I was working, playing the role I was playing, though, made it so that I had to bite my cheeks to keep the words in, had to endure it, pretend it didn’t bother me, and move on like it didn’t happen.
Sure, we were in a new age. Men, even high-powered men, didn’t get away with grab-assing, using their power against those who were afraid to speak up. That was as it should be. No man should feel big enough that he could get away with abusing the women below him.
Maybe he would even get in serious trouble if I went to human resources.
The problem was, I couldn’t.
I had to keep this job.
I had to stay on my boss’s good side.
So I had to endure.
My survival method was to shuffle right away after an incident, never to let myself be alone with him for too long.
Then try to forget about it.
I couldn’t let it get to me.
Or, in times when I couldn’t help it, I used it to fuel me. To remind me why it would all be worth it.
I didn’t seem to be able to shake it as easily this time, though, as I went through most of my day on auto-pilot.
“You’re supposed to greet people who enter this office.”
Ugh.
David.
Just the cherry on the pie of my day.
I had been so distracted by the changes in my life that I had maybe been forgetting about the serious threat I thought David might be posing.
As much as Lincoln had tried to slightly quell my fears–while simultaneously reminding me to stay aware, to let him know if anything felt weird–I was still pretty convinced all the things I had been noticing weren’t coincidences, that there was something sinister going on. That David was someone I needed to worry about. That he was a dangerous man.
“Yes, of course. Sorry, Mr. Mantua. I didn’t hear you come in. I hope you’re well. Is Mr. Harper expecting you?”
“Shouldn’t you already know that? That is your job, isn’t it?”
Alright. So maybe a lot of my suspicion stemmed from the fact that he was a complete jerk.
A lot.
Not all.
“Of course. And you were not on the schedule today. Mr. Harper is having his lunch. Do you want to leave a message?”
“No, I don’t want to leave a message. He and I need to have an important discussion.”
“I will see if he is available,” I told him, my cheeks hurting from the fake smile I was forcing as I beeped into Phillip’s office.
Within two minutes of heading inside, they were moving out together, shoulders tensed.
“Should I put your lunch away for you, Mr. Harper?” I asked, getting a noise I decided to take as agreement mainly because it meant I had a legitimate reason to go into his office.