Page 5 of The Single Dad Project

That alone should’ve had her backing away from him, from this. Should’ve had her changing her mind.

“I have to call you something since I don’t know your name. And call it intuition, but I’m guessing if I asked, you’re not going to give it to me.” He paused, his gaze roaming her face as if on a treasure hunt. “Will you?”

“No.”

He laughed, and the low, deep,knowingsound stroked over her skin. But then he sobered, and though he leaned back, the intensity didn’t lessen.

“Are you ready to tell me why, then? Why the one night?”

She studied him, a stinging retort hot on her tongue. But the unwavering, almostgentlelook in his eyes stifled her reply.

Part of her melted.

Part of her battled the urge to run.

And yet, she stayed.

“I just returned home from a trip abroad,” she murmured, then hiked her shoulders up before letting them fall. “I have no idea why I’m telling you this,” she admitted more to herself than to him.

“For the same reason you sent me that drink. You want to. Where did you go?”

He sounded so damn reasonable. But it was his calm that had her smoothing a hand over her locs, her fingers bumping the bun on the top of her head before trailing down to the strands falling over her shoulders.

“Thailand. Two weeks. I went for work, but they still should’ve been two wonderful weeks doing something I love in a gorgeous country I’ve always wanted to visit. Instead...” Anger, bitterness and a marrow-deep grief roiled inside her. “Instead, my visit turned into a nightmare where I not only lost my joy in a dream assignment, but I also lost a mentor and friend—well, someone I believed was a friend. I thought he respected me, valued my talent, and in the end, all I was to him was easy ass.”

The words were almost flippant, but the emotions were...anything but. She still raged. She still fumed.

She still hurt.

Paul Coolidge, her college professor-turned-mentor, had betrayed her friendship, her trust. Had abused his position of authority to make her feel small. Powerless.

And she hated that most of all.

She’d been there before. Understood more intimately than most what it was to be rendered invisible and helpless by someone she trusted—someone she loved. It made her sick that she found herself there again. And she wanted,needed, to purge the stench of it.

“I’m sorry, queen,” he murmured. “You didn’t deserve that.”

“You know what was the worst part? Well, besides having to find ways not to bend over, kneel, lean forward or hell, fucking breathe, around this man? Because apparentlyeverythingI did sent him signals to touch me, groan as if I were a steak dinner being served up just for his pleasure, or proposition me.” She snorted, her grip tightening around her beer bottle. The cold chilled her fingers, but she barely felt it, mired in the recent past. “The other people there with us saw what he was doing. Saw how uncomfortable he made me. A couple of them even overheard a few of his comments. But they did nothing. Said nothing. They acted like everything was normal. I felt invisible. Voiceless. Like I was screaming into this void for help, and no one heard me.”

Betrayal, hurt and a powerless fury beat within her chest.

“What did you do?” he asked after a moment.

She released a caustic chuckle. “I started setting my phone up to secretly record anytime I had to interact with him. I caught him saying offensive shit to me and touching my ass ‘by mistake.’ I played it back for him and threatened that if he didn’t stop, the videos would be on social media by that night. And I would be tagging his university. That got his notice, and he cut it out, but that last week in Bangkok was...horrible. And now I’m not sure if he will blackball me or start some kind of smear campaign against me.”

She shook her head, loosing another sharp-edged laugh.

“I know for sure I lost a friend and that I can kiss any work opportunities from his recommendation goodbye. At the end of the day, I’m still paying a high price and he gets off with a warning—literally.”

Silence fell between them, and heat suffused her chest, neck and face. She hated appearing weak. Hated waving her vulnerability like a dirty rag. Most people didn’t respect it, only viewed it as something to either scorn or abuse.

And here she was just handing over that emotional ammo to him.

This called for more beer.

She tipped the bottle up for a longer, deeper sip.

“I won’t give you some trite cliché saying ‘I know how you feel.’ I can’t. I’ve never been in a position where I’ve been sexually objectified or had my livelihood threatened because I wouldn’t play ‘the game.’ Yes, I’m a Black man in America, and that’s a whole different discussion, but not this one. And I won’t insult you by co-opting your experience as a woman. A Black woman. So I’m just going to say I’m sorry. And you’re right. In this situation, you’ll pay the cost more than he will. If he does at all. But that doesn’t make him innocent. He had a responsibility toward you, as your employer, mentor and friend. As a person. He violated those boundaries, not you. I hope you recognize that.”

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