Page 4 of Unleashed

"And I’ll never be rewarded for it. Not here." I shot back, my frustration boiling over. "I’ve been here almost seven years, Slade. How long do I have to wait?"

He sighed, the weight of my words sinking in. "If it were up to me, it would’ve been you."

I let out a bitter laugh, shaking my head. "But it wasn’t your choice, was it? Your father made the decision, and he doesn’t see my value. He never has."

"Don’t leave." His voice had an edge of desperation now, his hand brushing against mine as if trying to hold on. "Please, Morgan. Give me a chance to fix this."

I pulled my hand away, my heart heavy with the reality of it all. "I don’t have a reason to stay anymore."

"Give me a few days, at least," he pleaded, his eyes searching mine for any sign of hope. "Let me see what I can do."

I exhaled sharply, the frustration settling in my chest. "Fine. A few days. But that's all."

I stood, smoothing my skirt and tucking my sleeveless ivory blouse into place. "If you’ll excuse me, it’s after five, and I deserve to leave at a normal hour for once."

Slade rose as well, watching me with those familiar, soft brown eyes. "I agree. Go have a drink, relax."

I grabbed my tan raincoat from the stand by the desk and slipped it on. The patter of rain from earlier in the day still drummed against the windows, matching the heaviness in my chest. "I need to see my parents," I said, avoiding his gaze.

He hesitated. "How’s your father?"

"Not good," I replied quietly. "His arthritis is flaring up again."

"I’m sorry, Morgan." His voice softened. "You know I’m always in your corner, right?"

I looked at him for a moment, a mix of emotions swirling inside me. "Thank you."

Without another word, I turned and walked toward the door. Slade followed me out of my office and down the hall to the elevators. As we passed the conference room, I could hear the muffled voices of the engineers still celebrating Thomas Marsden’s promotion. The urge to flee washed over me.

"Think about staying," Slade said, squeezing my hand gently as we reached the elevator.

I pulled away, stepping into the elevator and pressing the button for the lobby. "I’m not sure I have a reason to."

The doors slid shut, and Slade’s concerned face disappeared from view. As the elevator began to descend, I leaned back against the cool, steel wall, closing my eyes. Once, Slade and I had shared something—a spark, a connection. But whatever it had been, it wasn’t enough to change the reality of our worlds. He had been born into privilege, while I had scraped by, working since I was fourteen just to afford what my friends got handed to them.

My parents weren’t rich; they were hardworking, proud people who had sacrificed so much to raise me. After years of trying, they finally had me thanks to in vitro, when my mother was forty-three and my father forty-five. Now in their seventies, they lived on a modest retirement income in Rockland County. Every time I saw them, it reminded me why I worked so hard—why I couldn’t allow myself to settle.

The elevator stopped at the next three floors, more people piling in. I pressed myself into the corner, trying to ignore the man next to me whose overwhelming scent of onions clung to my nostrils. He was too close, his poorly disguised comb-over making me avert my eyes. I stared up at the ceiling, counting the seconds until I could escape.

Finally, the doors opened and I made my way to the bustling Manhattan street. People rushed past, hurrying home or ducking into bars for after-work drinks. Normally, the energy of the city would lift me, but tonight it felt suffocating. I wasn’t in the mood to join the crowd.

Pulling my coat tighter, I stepped into the rain, the cool droplets mingling with the heat of frustration still simmering inside me. Slade wanted me to stay, but staying meant accepting things as they were. I wasn’t sure I could do that anymore.

CHAPTER 2

“No, Mom, I didn’t get it,” I said, dropping my bag by the door, the weight of disappointment making my voice tremble.

“Oh, sweetheart. I’m so sorry. Maybe next time,” she replied softly.

“I’m not sure there’ll be a next time.” I kicked off my black heels and shrugged out of my damp coat, draping it over one of the wooden swivel chairs at the breakfast bar. “I’m thinking about leaving.”

“You can’t do that. You’ve worked too hard for this.” Her voice, usually so calm, had a sharp edge of concern.

I pulled open the fridge, looking for something—anything—to distract me. “But I can find another job. I’ve got a good work record and plenty of experience.”

“Men are bastard pigs.”

I blinked, laughing despite myself. “Mother! Since when do you talk like that?”

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