Page 65 of Roughing It

Chapter19

Eden

Three hours into my workday and I don’t think I’m going to last. The emotional strain of the weekend has me dragging, and the two managers on my floor are pissy because they had to cover me for one entire day. They’re acting like I took a week off to relive my spring break days or something, and after the third passive-aggressive comment about emails that are still waiting to be answered, I’m mentally drafting my two weeks’ notice.

Before I entirely lose it at the next person who looks at me wrong, I head into the break room and start up my kettle. Well, it’s not exactlymine, but no one else here drinks anything except the little Nespresso pods, so I’ve claimed it. It’s made of glass, and it has some white calcium deposits, and it looks dingy as hell. It’s also the only thing that brings me any sort of comfort in this office.

I pull my mug from the counter, and as I pry the lid off the tea tin, I hear someone behind me laugh.

“You know, I really did think that whole tea thing was just you trying to be cute.”

Every muscle in my body tenses at the sound of John’s voice. I tell myself to ignore him, but I can’t help turning around, and I almost laugh because I can’t remember what it was about him that I ever found attractive. He’s tall, with short hair and a smug smile. He’s kind of pasty because he never goes into the sun, and his watery blue eyes are narrow and a little empty.

The reality is I liked him because he paid me attention, and that just makes me feel even worse about myself.

When it’s obvious I’m not rising to his bait, he walks over and leans against the counter as I turn away and reach for the honey. “You know that shit isn’t going to work twice, right?”

I clench my jaw. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

“Aww, sweetie, you’re not still pissed about our little misunderstanding, are you?”

I snap. It was inevitable, and maybe I would have been able to keep my temper today if he wasn’t the person I ran into, but there’s nothing I can do about it now.

I set the mug down and turn to him. “It wasn’t a misunderstanding. You’re just a pig who gets off on gaslighting people in order to make up for the fact that you’re terrible in bed.”

“What the fuck—”

“I can’t even be mad that you’re engaged. I’m too busy feeling sorry for the woman who’s about to marry a man who couldn’t find her clit if his actual life depended on it. All I really am is grateful that you showed yourself to be the clown you are.”

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” he snaps. “I am yourboss.”

“You are. And another word out of your mouth, and I might just make a trip to HR about sexual harassment,” I tell him.

He blanches. “They won’t believe you. And even if they do, they’ll fire your ass before mine. I still have your nudes.”

I laugh. He has one photo where half my tit is hanging out of a tank top. I’ve posted worse on vacations in tiny bikinis that Flor talked me into buying. But that’s not what matters, and I’m not surprised he immediately stooped that low. “Yeah, because revenge porn always works out.”

The truth is, I want him to push me. I want him to hurtle me to that edge so I crack and break and leave this place behind. It’s goddamn unbearable now that I know just how unhappy I am—and that I don’t have to be. God only knows what else is out there for me. And I don’t want to imagine what it’ll be like to lose my apartment, but I can’t do it anymore.

I just can’t.

“Fucking bitch.”

I smile and shrug, and he says it again, this time so loud that someone pokes their head into the break room. Mitch—one of the pissy managers on the floor. His eyes are wide, and he’s looking between me and John.

“What the hell is going on here? Why aren’t you at your desk?”

John smirks just long enough for me to take a step back. “Because I quit. I’m tired of being harassed by the VP who doesn’t know how to be professional, and I’m not about to work for a man who threatens to release my nudes because I won’t kiss his ass.”

Both Mitch and John start to sputter, but I ignore them. I drop my badge on my desk, grab my purse, and head for the elevators. Mitch is after me in a flash, but the doors close before he can get in, and I’m on the verge of a panic attack by the time the elevator hits the lobby floor.

I’m just near the reception desk when the stairwell doors bang open, and my irritation overrides my anxiety as Mitch catches up to me.

“You can’t,” he gasps as I pull the front door open. I step out, and he follows me. “You can’t walk away from that conversation.”

I turn to him and scoff. “Watch me.”

“Did he really threaten you?” he asks, his face ruddy with exertion.

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