“He’s the real murderer of my girl,” he’d said once to a journalist. “If he had never returned, she would never have died.”
For some reason, that chilled me to the bone more than anything else.
Do not bring him close, Emma.
Sixteen
Emma
When Wednesday morning arrived, I hurried to get ready. I’d just finished when I heard the expectant knock on my door. It was Moustache Man. I followed him out to the car. We didn’t say anything on the ride to Owls. He took me into the club and dropped me off in front of Borden’s office. I was resigned to the situation, tired after a late night, and uncomfortable in my clothes. I was wearing an incredibly tight pencil skirt, one of a few I owned, with a white silky office shirt I had bought second hand a few years back when I was heavier.
I didn’t feel right. After wanting a better job for so long, I suddenly wished I was back in my waitress uniform and at the diner with the girls. That was safety, this here was new and different and I didn’t realize until now how unready I was by it.
One of Borden’s musclemen opened the door and motioned me in.
I walked into the office and glanced around. It was massive, and it looked incredible, nothing at all like the backroom I’d been in the first time I’d met Borden. Built in bookshelves adorned the walls, and the furnishings were modern and dark. I was about to feel hopeful…until I spotted Borden’s desk and another desk placed right next to his.
He really meant it in the literal sense when he said I’d be working alongside him. We were going to be side by side.
Shit.
I frowned on my way to the desk. Bully Borden wasn’t here yet. I pulled back the office chair to what I knew was going to be my desk (it was clear of everything compared to his) and plopped down in front of my work computer. I stared at the blank screen for minutes on end, waiting for my master to show up and give me my orders.
Just do this, Emma. Do what he wants, play by his rules and wait for him to get sick of you.
I wasn’t stupid. He was having fun toying with me. I was sure he was going to try and play with my emotions, continue to threaten my future employment and homelessness, and touch me however he liked to prove his dominance. Is that what this all was? Did he just want to own someone and torment them because it fed some kind of sadistic fetish of his?
Regardless of why he was doing this, Borden wasn’t looking to physically harm me. I was merely his entertainment, one that had talked back at him numerous times and escaped punishment. Surely he’d bore of me fast if I resisted doing all that.
So fine, I decided. I would play his game. He wasn’t dangerous to me. Maybe to others. But not me.
The door opened, and I looked up from the blank screen and watched him come in.
Stupid bastard.
Fucking bully.
Why did this bully have to look so fucking good, too?
I glared at him, my villain, dressed in a tailored, pinstriped suit, his hair slicked back, even an expensive looking watch on his wrist. Nothing at all like the simpleton from before. He was moving with something in his mouth.
Was that… was that a lollipop?
His eyes met mine and the fucker smirked at me. I didn’t react at all to the smugness in his demeanour as he walked around the desk and sat down in the chair next to me. All my senses were on alert, every hair on my body standing. Would he touch me straight away? Or warm me up first?
I hated how tight my body felt.
“How are we doing this morning, doll?” he asked pleasantly.
“Fine,” I simply answered, already getting flustered by his presence.
“Good. You’ve got a lot of work ahead of you. I fired my bookkeeper last week and we’re a bit behind.”
I blinked at him. “You… You already had a bookkeeper?”
He nodded as he turned on his computer. “Indeed. Sheila was fucking brilliant.”
I blinked at him again and tried to suppress the rage bubbling to the surface. “So you… you didn’t need a bookkeeper?”
He looked at me briefly. “I just told you I fucking fired her, so of course I needed a bookkeeper.”
I bit harshly on my tongue and eyed the pen on his desk. Would I be strong enough to stab him in the neck? Would he even die? More likely he’d get pissed at the gaping hole and be very unimpressed with me.
“Did you fire her because you wanted to hire me?”
He pulled the lollipop out of his mouth and circled it in his fingers, watching it spin like a top. “That might be the reason, Lynne.”
I stiffened. The bastard knew my middle name. Relax, Emma, he’s doing this to piss you off.
He closely eyed my reaction, that same smug smirk curling his lips.
“I don’t like your top,” he then said, scanning my body up and down. “It looks like a tent on you, and your skirt’s a little small. I thought I made it clear in my paperwork how important it is that we look presentable here. Time for a shop, yeah?”
I twitched, blinked, and eyed the pen again.
“Sure thing,” I said, fighting back the curse words sitting at the back of my throat.
“Good.”
I forced a smile before turning to the folders on my desk.
“Oh, and Lynne,” he then added, a mischievous gleam in his eye as he looked at me, “try not to dribble over me. I think it’s also important you learn to ease your sexual need for me in the office. It’s flattering, but also very unprofessional.”
My jaw dropped. I could have screamed. My sexual need for him? Oh, I’d show him my sexual need with my heel up his fucking ass.
“You…you think I’m dribbling over you right now?” I asked in disbelief.
“Let’s not play the denial card, Lynne. You’re obviously hot and bothered. Maybe you should take care of your needs before arriving to work, just so I don’t have to feel like a piece of meat around you.”
My face flamed even more, and he watched the colour deepen with another smirk on his face. What a jerk. I hated him. Really, really hated him, and what he did to my senses. My body was a fucking moron because despite how ridiculous he sounded, he was kind of right too.
Instead of showing how outraged I was, I forced his absurd words from my mind and simply clenched out, “Right. I’ll consider that, Mr Borden.”
“Good. Now let’s get started.”
*
Moustache Man dropped me off at my apartment door. When I walked inside, I threw my purse on the kitchen counter and angrily swiped everything else off of it. Papers, pens and containers crashed to the tile floor.