Page 7 of Reluctantly You

He’s made a statement—he wants nothing to do with me.

“I’ll need you to vacate this office, though, and find another. My administrative assistant will need it.”

My gaze flashes to his, my mouth agape. What the fuck?

“There are plenty of other offices,” I say.

He eyes the skyline behind me and shrugs. “Yes, but none with this view. And I really do like my assistant. He’s quite the worker bee and he deserves this, don’t you think?”

I blink. And blink some more. Hues of blue and gray swirl around me as my eyes grow wet.

“I do know this is sudden and must be a lot to process, but I’d like you out by tomorrow. Shondra at the front desk has boxes waiting for you.”

“This should have been discussed with me,” I grind out, feeling my chest constrict. “I’m the director.”

“Yes, well, it would have been discussed had you been here. I believe an email was sent as well.”

My mouth purses, and the blush I felt from how attractive he is turns to one of anger.

“I didn’t get any?—”

“Either way,” he interrupts. “Boxes are with Shondra. Get out on time and we won’t have any issues.”

I watch as he gives me a clipped nod and then strides out, not a care in the world. And here I am, sitting in my office—which will soon be someone else’s—working for a company that will never be mine, despite promises that had been made.

Broken promises.

My world crumbling around me.

And no one even notices.

No one but me.

Shondra does have the boxes waiting, a fat stack of them. The way she looks at me with pity as I take them from her, tucking them under my arms, infuriates me. Everyone feels sorry for me. I can hear them whispering as I move my items from one office to another—a sadder, darker space with very little room to move and absolutely no view. Not even a window.

Poor, sad Mitch.

His dad sold the company without telling him.

Now he’s been demoted.

It’s almost too much. Itistoo much. I want to crawl under the desk and hide. I want to cower and cry, and yet I don’t. I just move my shit from one space to the other, pretending I don’t see the stares or hear the comments. And when it’s finally time to go home, I hold my head high and walk to my car, my keys clutched tightly in my palm.

I feel my legs start to shake as soon as I sit down in the driver’s side, my nose stinging with each inhale.

Fuck.Fuck.

I slam my hands on the steering wheel as my eyes grow wet.

It can’t get worse than this. It can’t.

I slam on the wheel again, my palms stinging as I rest my forehead on it, feeling myself grow dizzy.

How did it all come to this?

This was all supposed to be mine. He told me it was mine. I’ve worked for this company since I was twenty-two years old—ten years of service with hardly any vacation time—and now I’ve lost my office. Hell, I don’t even know if I’ve lost my position as director. Have I been demoted like everyone was saying?

I didn’t even think to ask.

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