Page 131 of Melt for You (Slow Burn 2)
Ruth from HR is here, of course. So is Portia, looking unfairly pretty in a kelly-green dress. Witches shouldn’t have such a lovely glow. Also in attendance are Michael’s father, the COO, a few other board members I recognize, and a few guys with thick glasses and faces like slabs of meat who look suspiciously like attorneys.
“Joellen.” Portia steps forward and gestures toward the chair nearest me. “Thank you for coming. Please, have a seat.”
This is when I start to get nervous. All these eyeballs, everyone so serious . . . am I about to be accused of a crime?
I don’t sit so much as collapse into the chair. Then I wait.
It’s Ruth who speaks first. “These gentlemen are the firm’s attorneys.”
I assumed I’d be scared to hear it confirmed, but instead I’m filled with a sudden, blistering fury, so hot I’m momentarily struck dumb. Then I find my tongue and let them have it.
“So it’s going to be strong-arm tactics and intimidation right off the bat, huh? Nobody even wants to hear my side of the story? Nobody’s interested in what really happened—you’re just going to pin this all on me and throw me out like garbage after ten years of dedicated service?” My voice rises as my anger picks up steam. “After I’ve busted my ass and played by the rules and given you everything I’ve got, I’m the one getting punished?”
I stand abruptly, knocking the chair back, my cheeks blazing. Around the board table, people begin to look alarmed.
But I don’t care. Today is the worst day of my life. Cam is gone, and I do not feel like being messed with.
“I’ve missed one day of work in the past decade. One! And that was only because I had to get some of my lady parts chopped up and taken out, which isn’t a walk in the park, I’ll have you know! I cramped like a mofo and bled out clots the size of important organs for three weeks after that, sitting right out there in that chair!”
One of the attorneys turns faintly green, and the other coughs into his hand.
Ruth says gently, “Joellen.”
“No, I’m not finished! I never did anything with Michael except be dazzled by all his sparkly bullshit”—I make frantic, sarcastic jazz hands in the air—“gobble up all his phony-baloney lines, and share a few stupid phone conversations that lasted all of about five minutes! I never even kissed him! In spite of what you think you saw, Portia”—I swing around and glare at her, causing her to lift her perfectly sculpted brows—“I was trying to fight him off at the holiday party!”
I huff out a breath, flustered and sweaty, taking no small satisfaction in all the looks of horror I’m getting. That’s right, assholes. I am woman, hear me roar!
“We know,” says Ruth.
I blink at her, convinced I’m hearing her wrong. In the following silence, you could hear a pin drop. “Uh . . . what?”
“I was in one of the stalls in the ladies’ room that night, Joellen. I heard everything.”
For some reason, the room is rising. Then I realize, no, that’s not the room rising, that’s me sinking back into the chair because my legs are no longer interested in the work of holding my gobsmacked self up.
Portia takes charge. “We had an emergency board meeting after Ruth disclosed what she overheard in the restroom that evening, Joellen. Obviously I can’t disclose the specifics of that meeting, but what I can tell you is that Michael has been removed as chief executive officer of this firm. He will not be returning.”
I breathe, “But . . . I don’t . . . understand.”
Michael’s father—a man with gunmetal-gray eyes and an imposing air who I’ve interacted with only briefly at holiday parties and the random company picnic—says brusquely, “My father started this company. I’ll be damned if my son is going to end it.”
When the two attorneys shoot him agitated looks, several things dawn on me at once. I think of Maria, the copy editor who left suddenly before her promotion was announced, leaving a spot open for me, and of how Portia has hovered over me for years, watching Michael and me like a hawk, and not because she was in love with him.
And of Sue Wong, youngest associate editor in the history of Maddox Publishing. Pretty, vivacious, ambitious Sue.
“Wait. I’m not the first one he’s done this to, am I?”
Sensing his cue, one of the attorneys stands. “Ms. Bixby, I have some documents we’d like you to sign—”
“Ha!” My barked laugh stops the attorney cold. “Yeah, I bet you do, pal! Good luck with that!”
“Your new position as associate editor has been approved by the board, Joellen,” says Portia calmly. “All you have to do is sign the paperwork.”
I look around the table, and I have to laugh again. “Dudes. I know I’m not the sharpest tool in the shed, but I’m not signing anything without having my attorney review it.” My nonexistent attorney, I fail to add, but this is hardly the time for full disclosure. “And if you don’t want me to sue all your asses to kingdom come”—I make an unnecessarily dramatic gesture, encompassing everyone in the room, the building, and most of the state—“you’re going to leave me alone with Portia now so we can talk.”
I level Portia with the same cold look she’s been giving me for years.
“Unfortunately, that’s not possible,” starts attorney number one, but Portia stops him.
