Good Pet

I put on a smile I’m not really feeling. “I’d love to get some practice, Mr. McKenzie. I’ll do what I can for her,” I say, praying that Vanacore doesn’t ask who or what right now.

“I’m sure Melissa will be thrilled to hear you are willing to help her,” he answers, and as he does, my stomach flutters oddly. Does he know about us? Have we been that obvious? “I’ll tell her the good news right now,” he says cheerily and hangs up.

Numbly, I hang up the phone. If he knows about Melissa and me… My eyes dart to Vanacore, who’s still looking for me to throw her a bigger, juicier bone. Does that mean…?

I’m too scared to finish the thought. Vanacore’s got that look in her eye again.

“What reason does Kane McKenzie have to call you, Tommy?” She growls, obviously jealous. “He barely calls me, and never about anything to do with accounting.”

The way her eyes peer into me, my brain is going to scramble the longer I go without giving her an answer. So I quickly move to shield myself with something I hope will help. I say, “He just wanted to congratulate me on my work. He wanted to see if I would be willing to help prepare someone’s case and check in with the billable hours submitted last week.”

Vanacore licks her lips. “Case? What kind of case?”

“One he wants me to prepare. Practice preparing,” I correct, “so I can pitch it to you for representation, ma’am.”

This immediately takes her off the hunt. Off the track of catching me a lie or any kind of deceit. She smiles, looking all sunshine and rainbows again. Of course, because she’s been made to feel important again.

“Oh. Well. That’s quite the honor, Tommy,” she says. “I’m sure if you keep up the good work, I’m sure to accept whatever you pitch me.”

I shudder, hating how lowbrow and obvious her innuendo is, now that I’ve eaten her. I suppress it, keeping it from showing on my body, but the disgust still fills me and makes me question whether any of this was a good idea after all.

Chapter Fifty-Five

Melissa

After about an hour or two in front of the phone, avoiding and suppressing my urge to throw up, I finally collapse under it. I have to run myself to the private bathroom and threw up my entire coffee and donut, plus bits of last night’s dinner.

I’m not sure what it is, but I’m overwhelmed by anxiety and fear. Revulsion suddenly takes control of me, and this is what’s making me throw up. Vaguely, my mind is on Tommy. On what he must be doing in the office many doors from me.

Though I have no way of knowing, my gut and heart tell me it’s not good. Whatever is going on over there, it’s the reason for my nausea. It’s the reason I have my head over the toilet bowl, yakking up everything I’ve had to eat or drink for the last twenty-four hours. And then some. I’m actually gagging enough to come up dry.

When I’m empty, I stagger over to the sink and splash my face. I try to collect myself, telling myself that there’s no reason to get so worked up. If something were really wrong, Tommy would’ve called by now. I would’ve gotten some notification.

Still, I have this nagging dread. One that won’t leave me even as I step out of the bathroom. When I get back and slump into my chair, Isabella’s looking at me like I might keel over and die at the slightest thing. “You all right there, hon?”

I nod and tell her, “yes,” even though I couldn’t be feeling farther from “all right.”

“You look a little sick,” she says. “Party too much on the weekend?”

I nod, willing to give her that explanation if she’s going to provide it. I’m feeling too weak and preoccupied to worry about coming up with anything else.

“Do you want to go home?”

I shake my head.

If I go home, there’ll be no one here to answer the phone if Tommy calls. There will be no one to have his back if shit hits the fan. I can go home, and I can go for lunch when lunchtime rolls around.

“Okaaaaay,” she says, “whatever. Whatever you say, Melissa. Just — whatever you have right now — don’t give it to me, okay?”

I nod and try to focus on work. I try to focus on anything but the roiling, acidic feeling I have in my stomach. At this rate, it won’t matter if I go to lunch or not. I couldn’t stomach a piece of bread or water at this point, let alone a full course meal.

****

Isabella leaves for lunch early, leaving me as the sole secretary holding down the fort. I don’t mind, considering that Kane calls my desk with good news for me. He explains that he’s found a way to get me some kind of representation, despite the conflict of interest issue. It involves having my case taken over by Vanacore, who maintains some level of sovereignty within the company — I don’t really have an ear for these kinds of details — but the part I’m most happy about involves Tommy.