My heart is racing, but I sure as hell hope that it's not apparent to him. I don't want him to know how much this conversation unsettles me. I don't want to talk about Jared or being with him, not here, and especially not with him.
Brandon glares at me, pressing his lips together and scanning our surroundings. I noticed there were some eyes on us, people turning their heads, probably trying to eavesdrop on our conversation. Some of the faces are new to me, people who weren’t working here a few months ago.
"Dating, huh?" Brandon hisses, his face grimacing with disgust. "How stupid do you think I am?"
I cast him a quizzical look. What the hell is he trying to insinuate?
"Tell me one thing, Ann. Whatever happened to that last story you were working on before you left all of a sudden?"
My heart almost stops. I feel the color being drained from my face as I turn pale.
Why is he asking about that story? There is nothing to ask about. I finished the article, I sold the interview I conducted with Belinda Barry - and that was it.
"What do you mean 'what happened to it?’ I wrote it, I sold it. It got published in the Daily Liberty a few weeks ago. End of story," I reply, trying to mask the fact that I'm horrified and confused by his question.
Brandon shakes his head.
"Fucking liar," he hisses at me.
"I'm not ly-"
"You're his whore, aren't you?" he barks at me. "Because that's the rumor that's been going around! I heard that you did a little more than just interview that madam at the escort agency. You signed up to sell yourself to him and become his private whore. And that's why you no longer work here. True, or false?!"
He raises his voice to a level that makes it impossible for bystanders to ignore us. The entire room is now looking at us, eyes wide and mouths gaping.
I stare up at Brandon in horrified disgust.
"You're ridiculous!" I yell back at him. "How fucking petty can you be? Are you seriously spreading disgusting rumors like that about me because of your damn hurt ego?"
"True or false, Ann?!"
Fuck. I can't take this. Tears are threatening to run down my face. Again. Since when have I become such a crybaby? How can I allow him to hold such power over me?
Everybody is staring at me, most of all, Brandon, who's fixating on me with an evil grin, feeling superior as he humiliates me in front of the entire office.
I need to get out of here.
"You're a pathetic asshole, you know that?" I hiss at him, before jumping up from my seat and darting away, before I can give him the satisfaction of seeing me cry.
"You still need to clean out your desk, whore!"
I don't stop. I don't even look back for one second, but I do have a reply for him before heading out the door.
"Fuck you, Brandon!"