Page 42 of Miss Understood

I’m finally sliding it back into place when I hear voices move into the bathroom. Two women giggle on the other side of the stall.

“Oh, my God, have you seen him tonight? I don’t care if he’s an ass; I would strip myself naked in the back of his limo and let him do whatever he wanted to me,” one of the voices says as the other laughs.

“You and every woman here,” the second voice says with a moan. “But haven’t you heard? Apparently he’s married.”

Wait, are they talking about Jesse?

“You’re joking.”

“No, he showed up with her tonight. It’s that blonde bitch he works with.”

“What a joke.”

I’m not sure who these women are, but they’ve just moved to the top of my shit list.

“I mean, can you blame her? He’s fucking hot. But also, I’m not surprised. Fucking the boss to move up the food chain? Girl’s apparently not stupid.”

I bite down on my tongue. Every one of my worst fears is playing out on the other side of this stall, but instead of defeated, I realize I’m pissed.

I graduated top of my class, worked my ass off, skipped vacations and trips to see my family, all to get where I am. Not that it matters, apparently. If I were a man, they honestly wouldn’t think twice. I’d get a pat on the back. But God forbid a woman be brilliant at what she does and pave her own way. No, she must be fucking her way to the top one man at a time.

The two women giggle like drunken schoolgirls, and I decide I’ve had enough. Opening the stall door with a slap, I slide up to the sink beside them, and they both go quiet when they spot me.

I vaguely recognize them; they’re both attorneys from other firms, I think. I’ve seen them in court but haven’t dealt with them directly, so I don’t know their names. Not that I give a fuck what they are now.

“Don’t stop on my account,” I say, washing my hands. “Your insight is fascinating.”

I pause to look each woman in the eye. Wide stares and flushed faces stare back at me.

“We just—”

I hold up a hand to stop them, then reach for something to dry my hands.

“I know exactly what you were doing,” I say. Right now, I’d like to argue my point and prove my shit, but as I stare at their scared faces I realize I’ve never needed outside validation, and I’m not about to start with them. “Next time you decide to tear a woman down without knowing all the facts, remember how hard it hurts every time you hit that fucking glass ceiling.”

I turn away before they have a chance to respond, and I barely catch their exhales as the bathroom door closes behind me.

My head shuffles a number of thoughts. Mostly that what Jesse and I are doing is a terrible idea. But also that there’s officially no going back. The cat is out of the fucking bag, and people clearly have their opinions.

There’s only one thing to do: prove them wrong.

Something I’m more than capable of doing. You don’t get “Ice Queen”carved into your car door by playing nice. So if they want to test me, and if they want to see a wife, then that’s what I’ll be, damn it.

I walk over to Jesse, realizing he’s still in a debate with Troy, and I roll my eyes. When I grab his hand, he threads his fingers through mine almost instinctively and looks down at me with eyes that obliterate the mass of meat pounding in my chest.

“Hey, babe,” he says.

God, it sounds so natural. Like this isn’t all just a big lie we’re telling everyone, including ourselves. His eyebrows pinch, and it makes me aware of the tension I must be giving off.

“Everything okay?” His palm squeezes mine, and that grounded feeling pulls me back in place.

“Perfect,” I say with a forced smile. “Want to get out of here?”

Relief floods his face. “Absolutely.”

Without so much as a goodbye to Troy, he spins and wraps his arm over my shoulders, pulling us through the crowd. Tucked under his arm, I imagine for a moment what it would feel like if this were real. If what people were seeing was protectiveness and not just a show. If Jesse were really mine and I was his.

After all, if I were to let a man in, it would be a man like Jesse. Someone who doesn’t just pretend to have power, but breathes it from his very essence. Who claims what’s his and makes you want that assertion.

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