Page 3 of Power
“I’m going to destroy him,” I decided.
“I’ll help.”
“I don’t know how, but I will. I just need to … process this, and I’ll come up with something iron-clad.”
“There’s no way he hasn’t done this before. He gives off subtle creep vibes.”
“I thought this company had a strong ethical code.” I rubbed my temple. Hard. “What if he’s just a symptom of what’s really going on behind the scenes with the executives? What if I’ve spent years building my career somewhere that I’d never want to work once I got a peek behind the curtain?”
Losing the promotion was terrible. My job? Even worse. But the thought that executives at this company might have beendemanding sexual favors all along? That would mean I’d hitched my wagon to the wrong company from the get-go, and that—that was the kind of realization that made me want to time-travel back several years and slap some sense into my younger self.
“First of all”—Dakota leaned in, her voice dropping to that conspiratorial tone she used when dispensing prime gossip—“I’ve never once heard of sexual harassment from anyone.” That was something at least. She was nothing if not the gossip collector. “And secondly, this guy isn’t homegrown; he just joined this company three months ago. Probably has some seedy-ass past where they fired him, and he snuck under our radar like a perverted ninja.”
The bar erupted into cheers over some sporting event, the sudden noise making me jump. Just like sudden noises often did. I took another sip of my drink, trying to ignore how my shoulders seemed determined to merge with my ears.
“What company did he come from?” I wondered.
“Sexual Harassers Incorporated, evidently.” Dakota’s deadpan delivery actually pulled a reluctant snort from me. “Their benefits package probably includes a legal defense fund.”
“I can’t believe I just lost my job.” My throat clenched, a familiar pressure I hadn’t felt since those years withhim. When my father had wielded power like a weapon, making Mom and me shudder with a single footstep.
“You don’t know that for sure,” Dakota insisted, but her optimism bounced right off my wall of doom.
“I threatened to snap his fingers.” I shot her a look. “Pretty sure my belongings will be in a box when I get back to work on Monday. Probably with a security escort waiting to make sure I don’t go on a finger-breaking spree.”
“He groped you,” she countered, and, dammit, I appreciated the steel in her voice. “He’d be a special kind of shortsighted to tell people you threatened to snap his fingers because then they’re obviously going to ask why you, their star operations directorwho’s never had a single complaint or bad employee review, suddenly threatened to go all WWE on him.”
Her logic should have penetrated my fog of depression, but my brain was too busy playing a greatest hits compilation of all the things I wished I’d said to that pervert. If I was going down, I wished I’d told him off. Big time. A spectacular, verbal fireworks show.
“Do you know how much I’ve sacrificed for this job?” The words tumbled out, fueled by premium vodka and premium rage. “Happily, mind you. My choice, every step of the way. I’ve worked seven days a week almost every week for years. Hell, I’ve worked so many hours, my social life has virtually gone extinct. The last time I had any balance to my life, people still thought Pluto was a planet and Netflix mailed DVDs.”
“That’s an exaggeration,” she chided.
“Maybe. But I haven’t gone on a date in so long, the rules of dating have probably completely changed.” In fairness, I didn’t want to date, but that wasn’t the point. The point was, I wouldn’t have given myself the time to date even if I wanted to. “And I haven’t had sex in so long, I’m probably categorized as some kind of secondary virgin. At this point, I’m pretty sure my lady parts have filed for abandonment. To have it all go up in smoke because some handsy executive couldn’t keep his paws to himself? That’s some royal-grade bullshit right there.”
Hello, anger, my old friend. Pull up a chair, grab a drink.
“Can I ask you something?” Dakota shifted in her seat.
“Since when do you preface a question with that?” I wondered.
“Why does your career mean so much to you?”
“Careers mean a lot to a lot of people.”
“Right, but …” She shrugged. “Even among workaholics, you’ve been extra about it. It just seems to be like …everythingto you. Why?”
“I enjoy it.”
She probably saw right past my BS answer. Surely, deep down,she suspected part of the real reason, but to her credit, she must’ve sensed that now was sooooo not the time to ask me about my deep, dark needs because she nodded and got back to the conversation at hand.
“Maybe you should march back over there, give him a piece of your mind,” Dakota suggested, that dangerous glint in her eye that usually preceded spectacularly bad decisions.
“It’s eight o’clock on a Friday. Even if he’s still there, the office will be dead, and getting sexually assaulted isn’t on my bucket list.”
“See, this is bull. The fact that you’re even worried about how dangerous of a predator he might be? HR needs to know about this yesterday.”
She was right. They did. But that would beMonday Scarlett’sproblem.Tonight Scarlettjust needed to process this tsunami of emotions without drowning in them. I needed to formulate the most professional speech I could give HR, preferably one that didn’t include the phrasesdickwadorperverted octopus hands.
