Page 1 of Rush of Jealousy

1

When the doors open to the fifth floor, I exit and walk along a long corridor, peering inside every room. I pass six rooms and they are all deserted. The sound of a masculine timbre echoes in my ears, and it is instantly recognizable. I know the source before having the visual confirmation. It is Graham fucking Hoffman.

I tug down the flaps of my trench coat and adjust my bag’s straps over my shoulder. I pick up my pace to get to the end of the hallway, adrenaline and anger spurring me on. My pulse is racing, and the air in my lungs enters and exits in a painful rhythm. I feel crazed. Like a bomb is about to go off in my soul.

I hear my phone buzz in my bag and pull it out just to see another picture appear on the screen from a mystery number. I grip my phone like a vise and run the remainder of the way to the meeting room. I slam open the door, the sound ricocheting against the walls.

Expletives explode out of the mouths of the dozen employees who surround a long glass conference table. Several push their leather chairs back in a panic and jerk up from the table. A couple of chairs fall backward, crashing to the floor.

My eyes lock with Graham’s. His hands are braced on the glass surface, leaning over it. He is at the other end of the table—in a position of power. My eyes well with tears as I hurl my phone at his head. He ducks just in time for it to graze his shoulder and fall to the ground.

“Bastard! You bastard!” I snarl.

“Angie, what the hell?” he screams, regaining his posture. He has the nerve to look astonished over my reaction, as if he didn’t expect me to figure it all out.

“Don’t youwhat the hellme! You have been tormenting me and lying to me for weeks!”

“Graham, do something!” a feminine voice yells. She is the only female in the room other than me.

I glance toward the melodic sound and spot the cherry-red lips before I see the dyed blonde hair. Sophia. Shocker. Nothing should surprise me anymore. I am living in some alternate reality where fact and fiction are so muddled up that it is hard to tell reality from fantasy.

I feel the air enter my coat, and I realize that the tie has come undone and my skimpy dress is now on display for every employee to see. I don’t care. I can’t find any fucks in me to give other than to find out why Graham has been living a double life. He owes me an explanation for the lies, the betrayal, the extortion.

“I can explain,” he says calmly.

It is his quiet understated demeanor that sets me over the edge. It’s as if the detonator is hit. A growl roars through my throat like a raging fire that cannot be contained. I hop up onto the table and make my way toward him.

My knees crunch on papers, and pencils break under the force. Glasses of water and mugs full of hot coffee slosh over onto folders and quarterly documents. Some fly to the floor in a sticky, broken mess.

Another male makes an announcement. I don’t hear his words, just his demanding tone. The room clears out in a hurry, and Graham is left alone at the opposite end of the table, just a couple of yards away from my crawling form.

His smug face makes me want to throw up. When I reach my destination, I jump down and smack my hands at Graham’s face in concentrated rage.

“Angie, stop, you are going to hurt yourself,” he warns, capturing my wrists and securing them behind my back. He pins me against the table and almost looks amused. Almost.

“Bastard! Asshole!” I scream at full volume. “I hate you!”

“Good.”

“Why? Why are you drugging women on campus?” I demand. “You are sick!”

Graham’s flinch makes me twitch. He looks angry for the first time since I burst into his meeting.

“Why are you sending me scary text messages?” I scream. “Blackmailing me!”

“Let’s talk.”

“I am talking! I found all of your secrets. I found the phones and the bottles of pills and the secret clothes and IDs.”

“You’ve been busy.”

“And you own Entice? What the hell! I found it all. You’ve been exposed.”

“It’s not what you think,” he mutters.

“You are deranged.”

“Me? I am deranged?”

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