Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 81584 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 408(@200wpm)___ 326(@250wpm)___ 272(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81584 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 408(@200wpm)___ 326(@250wpm)___ 272(@300wpm)
I loved how protective everyone was. It was so different from how I’d grown up that it had taken a really long time to get used to—but I couldn’t imagine my life without that layer of protection anymore. Sometimes, though, I needed to get my own head straight before I could deal with everyone else’s opinions and help.
The weekend went by quickly—they always do—and Scott’s shit started up again on Monday morning when he planted himself in one of my office chairs and refused to leave. Oh, he was cordial about it, charming to anyone looking in, but he wouldn’t fucking go. No matter how many times I tried to ignore him so I could get things done, he just sat there. When I told him that I didn’t have time to chat, he brushed me off.
It wasn’t until he was ready that he stood up and ambled back to his own desk. A power move to prove that he had it all, and I had none.
Tuesday, he left a note on my desk with a restaurant and a time. I threw it away.
Wednesday, he loudly complained about me standing him up and alluded to the fact that I must be on my period.
Thursday, Linda called me up to the front desk because a huge bouquet of wildflowers had been delivered. I told her she could keep them.
Friday, Scott walked by my office at least fifteen times before lunch, making jokes and trying to flirt with me. Thankfully, after lunch he must have had meetings or something because I didn’t see him again.
I started out strong, believing that if I could wait him out, he’d eventually give up. He wasn’t doing anything alarming, after all. I’d dealt with him up to that point. He wasn’t scary. He was just persistent.
But the anxiety of waiting for what he would do next started wearing on me, and by the third week after he’d asked me if I’d reported him to HR, I was a nervous wreck. All of the pep talks I gave myself weren’t working. I’d cut him out of my life, I’d made it absolutely clear I didn’t want anything to do with him, but it didn’t seem to matter. He was still there. All the time. Watching me. Asking me out. Making flirty comments. Telling me how this skirt was nice or that pair of heels made my ass look good.
I searched high and low, applying to anything I could find that was even remotely related to the field I was already working in—but I hadn’t gotten a single interview. The jobs weren’t exactly thick on the ground, and none of them paid what I was currently making. I was well and truly stuck, and it was more demoralizing than I could’ve imagined.
I had to force myself to eat because my stomach was always in knots. I barely slept, falling asleep most nights only a few hours before my alarm went off. I hid it well from my friends, who had their own lives going on, but I was pretty sure that Lou suspected something was wrong when I stopped wearing makeup to work.
I went shopping and found looser and less flattering business wear for the office. Flats only, so he couldn’t comment on my heels again. I pulled my hair tightly back from my face after he murmured in passing how much he’d loved tangling his fingers in my wild hair. I didn’t even care about my Dumbo ears at that point. I just wanted to do anything and everything to seem less attractive to him.
The crazy thing is that I knew I could go to human resources and get his ass handed to him—but what then? If he was moved to a different office or got fired, I’d still have to work there. I couldn’t find another job. So, I’d just have to spend every day with coworkers who knew I’d ratted him out to the administration. That’s assuming his uncle didn’t inform them to find any other reason to fire me.
Our field was tight and closely connected. People talked. I’d be the woman who started a relationship with a superior and then complained about it later and got her boss in trouble. Any chance I’d had to get a new job would be ruined. No one wanted that kind of person working with them.
So, I showered less. I wore unflattering clothes. I spent most of my time in my room at home, trying to catch up on sleep that I couldn’t seem to get at night. It wasn’t working for its intended purpose. Scott didn’t give up, but it almost felt like it was working because no one else around me noticed that it was happening.
On the bright side, worrying about the next time I would have to deal with Scott had taken up all of my energy and attention and left me with very little time to obsess about Gray. He’d become a memory that I pulled out at night when I lit up a joint and tried to relax enough to fall asleep.