Page 70 of Single Mom's Secret Diary
He bats her phone away, back toward Avery, as he sets the folder on his desk. And he stares into her when he flips it open to show her the papers Laurel plastered over her office door. They spread, and Avery doesn’t offer even a flicker of emotion as she reads them.
But my anger rises, like it did when I found them. When I tore each paper down and crumpled them in my fists. When I wanted to punch something or someone for being such an awful human being.
Avery gives us nothing as a response, and I have to wonder, how many times has she had something like this happen to her? In how many ways?
Should we have responded differently?
33
Avery
The file splays across Ezra’s desk, papers calling me the office whore, a slut, and other less than original names spread before me. I’m not surprised. Not with the things Laurel said to my face. Not with the way she glared every time we were in the same room together.
“And does the board know about this, too?”
After a short pause, Ezra says, “No.”
I have to give it to him. He’s composed like the perfect businessman. Like the in-control boss.
How stupid of me to forget that he’s my boss. That his business has to come first. Before me. So very stupid.
Even if I can read the tension in his shoulders, the displeasure in the line of his mouth, the pleading in his eyes for me to not take this personally.
How can I not?
They went through my work computer without saying a word to me. I would have unlocked it and offered them free reign had they asked. But they didn’t.
It pisses me off more than anything else.
I can’t be their equal in bed and then be less than that when we’re at work. I can always find another job.
And the fucking board. One unfounded accusation and the lockdown of my movements in the lab I can accept, but I refuse to be their scapegoat for it again. I didn’t do anything wrong.
The three men in this room should trust me, believe in me.
Maybe once trust is broken, it can never be repaired. Not completely.
“How convenient. Don’t worry, then. I’ll save you the trouble and clear my desk out before lunch. It’s not like you need me now, anyway.” I snatch up my phone from the edge of his desk and stomp toward the door before I throw it.
“Avery,” Wyatt calls. “Wait.”
It slices through me, but I can’t stop. Because if I stop, I’m going to break down in tears. Instead, I wrap that anger around myself more tightly and slam Ezra’s door behind me on the way out.
It doesn’t take me more than a few minutes to collect my things. I’d never truly unpacked. Maybe that should have been a sign.
I don’t bother wiping anything from the computer. There’s no point. They’ve been through it all already.
Slinging my bag over my shoulder, I head for the stairs. Luckily, I don’t have to pass Ezra’s office again on my way out.
Once I’m behind the wheel of my car, I have to take a second to catch my breath. Tears blur my vision, and I blink them away, refusing to let myself succumb to any modicum of sadness. Not when I have a shit-ton of righteous anger to cling to.
I’m halfway to my father’s house by the time I’m able to breathe without gasping and heaving. Until I’m finally able to unclench my jaw. Until defeat slumps my shoulders.
How could I think this would turn out any other way than this?
And as mad as I am, as much as I might have punched or slapped one of them for coming after me, I’m more disappointed that none of them did.
That says it all. Doesn’t it?
