Hold On

With the money and no rent payment, I plan on going to school next year to study to be a vet. This job gives me just enough income to live on every month and excellent flexibility so I can use the inherited money for school, but if I get fired I won’t have any references and I’m back to square one.

Even with all of that on my mind, it’s not what bothers me the most.

My stomach is knotted, but it’s my heart that really hurts. Lying in Marshall’s bed last night, I heard the woman at the door and realized my fears had come true.

Of course, he has a girlfriend. I’m such an idiot. Whatever was happening between us was just a game for him. He comes home, finds a naked girl in his bed…

What else is a man like Marshall Rogers going to do? He probably has a woman for every night of the week. He’s the sexiest man I’ve ever come across, then you add to that his wealth and success…there are probably women crawling on their knees, mouths open, ready, willing and able to service whatever his needs may be.

Besides, even if Marshall said he didn’t want to see me again and didn’t actually demand I get fired, Carver’s had it in for me since I turned him down for that date. This is going to be fun for him.

Still, a man I barely know has my heart already in shards, and I have no idea how to stop the feelings that have overtaken me so quickly.

When Carver’s doorknob clicks, I’m so lost in my own thoughts, I jump at the slight sound. I look up to see him glaring down at me. We are the only ones in the office this early in the morning and being alone here with him is sending my anxiety into the stratosphere.

“Well. You’d better come in.” He jerks his head toward the office, and I push up out of the chair.

My legs are like jelly as I step by him, and he closes the door behind us. I take one more glance out of the glass window that separates the hallway from inside the office, hoping beyond hope another staff member comes in early. But no one usually comes in until at least nine a.m., and the clock on the wall reads eight-fifteen.

I wrap my arms around my midsection, trying to keep from flying apart against the beige walls as he steps behind his desk and plops down in his chair, smirking at me. There’s a Sports Illustrated bathing suit edition open and sitting next to it a Monster energy drink and an empty bag of beef jerky.

He intertwines his fingers and rests them on his belly, staring at me as my heartbeat thunders in my ears and my head begins to pound. The company polo he’s wearing is stretched tight across his belly, and there’s no sign of the belt buckle where his flesh is hanging over his waist. His khakis are pressed and too tight, showing off the outline of something under his zipper I never want to see.

His lips are cracked and dry even though he licks them almost constantly, and he has one eye that doesn’t seem to follow the other, making it difficult to know which to look at when he’s speaking. He reminds me of Al Bundy a hundred and fifty pound overweight without the lazy humor and simple manner.

“So. What happened at the Rogers house last night?” Carver sniffs and rubs his nose.

My throat closes, and I’m barely able to keep my legs under me. I open my mouth twice to answer, but no words come out, and he shakes his head at me, chuckling.

“Mr. Rogers called me this morning. He wouldn’t go into details, but from our conversation, I gather there was some sort of incident at his home last night? I’m giving you a chance to explain yourself.”

I bring my hands to my face, pressing my index fingers on each side of my nose and closing my eyes, trying to figure out how to explain things with the least amount of humiliation.

When no words are forthcoming, Carver gets up from his seat and comes around the front of the desk to stand in front of me, staring down into my face. I cast my eyes at the floor, trying desperately to find words that will spare me the humiliation that’s spinning my gut into nausea already.

He smacks his tongue across the front of his teeth, and I can smell the scent of cigarettes, beef jerky and coffee on his breath as he leans in, one of his hands coming to the back of my neck, pulling my ear to his mouth.

I don’t know what to do. I’m not the bold, strong girl that was in that bed last night. I don’t know what came over me, but I know it was wrong, and I’m about to pay the price. One moment imagining I’m the beautiful, desirable girl I know I’m not is about to derail my future.