I opened my mouth, unsure of what to say. I didn’t just say that to a parent.
I did not say that to a parent.
There was only silence on the other end of the line, and I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to find the words.
“Mr. Marek,” I inched out in a softer voice. “I’m sorry. I —”
But then I heard a click, and the line went dead.
“Shit!” I cried, bringing the phone away from my ear and seeing CALL ENDED on the screen.
“He hung up.” I looked at my brother. “I’m screwed.”
Jack shook his head at me, his lips tight, clearly furious with me. He swerved to the left and downshifted, taking a sharp turn onto Poydras.
“Where are you going?” I asked, thoughts of Marek calling Shaw right now running through my head.
Insulting a parent wasn’t good.
“To his office,” he answered, his tone unusually defiant. “You’re going to go apologize before he has a chance to file a complaint.”
To his office?
“I… I,” I stammered. “No!” I yelled. “No. Absolutely not! I can’t talk to him right now.”
But my brother didn’t say anything. He just kept driving.
I put my hand to my forehead, panicking. “I can’t believe I just said that. What was I thinking?”
“You weren’t thinking,” he retorted. “And you’re going to go beg for forgiveness.”
I shook my head. “Jack, it’s completely inappropriate,” I pleaded with him. “Please. I’m not dressed right.”
But he ignored me again, speeding into the Central Business District and closer to Marek’s office.
I looked down at my navy blue and white pin-striped tennis skirt with pleated ruffles on the back. It barely hit halfway down my thighs.
My peach-colored shirt was long-sleeved, but it was skintight, serving the purpose of absorbing my sweat but definitely not my humiliation.
I closed my eyes, groaning. I couldn’t be less armed for a meeting with him.
Jack dropped me off in front of the building while he went to park in a garage. I stood out on the front sidewalk and tipped my head all the way back, scowling up at his building.
Big silver letters were posted on the front, spelling MAREK, the candy-apple-red glow behind the name reminding me of the dress I was wearing when I’d first met him.
The whole building was his?
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, forcing the muscles in my face to relax.
Heading inside, I approached one of the check-in stations. I peered to the right and saw security running people through metal detectors.
Placing my palms down on the cool black granite counter, I forced a small smile. “Hello, I…” I hesitated, my nerves firing. “I needed to speak with Tyler Marek. If he’s in,” I added.
“What’s your name, miss?” the young man asked, picking up his phone.
“Easton,” I breathed out, willing my heart to slow down. “Easton Bradbury.”
He waited, then finally spoke into the phone. “Hello. I have Easton Bradbury to see Mr. Marek.”
“I don’t have an appointment,” I pointed out, whispering to him.
He offered a placating smile and waited for what the other person had to say.
He nodded. “Thank you,” he told them.
Hanging up the phone, he typed something into the computer quickly, and before I knew it, he handed me a badge with a bar code and pointed me toward the elevators.
“He’ll see you,” he said, nodding. “It’s the sixtieth floor.”
“Which office?” I asked.
But he just laughed and continued to shuffle papers without looking at me.
I let out a sigh and made my way through security, letting them scan my card and push me through.
I took the elevator up, making several stops on the way for others to get off.
We stopped at three odd-numbered floors and three even-numbered floors, and I pursed my lips, knowing that didn’t mean anything, but it still made me uncomfortable.
If we had stopped at two odd-numbered floors instead, the odds would’ve added up to an even number, and everything would’ve been fine.
I rolled my eyes, shaking my head. God, I am sick.
The only person left in the elevator, I watched the blue digital numbers reach sixty.
I straightened, steeling myself as the doors opened.
And I understood why the clerk had laughed at me when I’d asked which office. The sixtieth floor was Marek’s office, apparently.
Ahead stood two tall wooden doors and desks belonging to two assistants on either side of the doors, one man and one woman.
The woman looked up from her computer and nodded toward the doors. “Go in, Ms. Bradbury.”
I ran my hand down my clothes, smoothing them over before reaching up and tightening my ponytail.
But I’d already lost hope of salvaging my pride. Why hadn’t I at least convinced Jack to take me home for a change of clothes?
Grabbing hold of a vertical bar serving as a door handle, I pulled one of the big doors open and stepped in, immediately spotting Marek ahead of me, standing behind his desk.
“Ms. Bradbury.” He glanced up, one hand in his pocket as the other pushed keys on his computer. “Come in.”
His eyes left mine and dropped down my body, taking in my appearance, I would assume. Despite the air-conditioning chilling the room, I felt my thighs warm and heat pool in my stomach.
I squared my shoulders and approached his desk, trying to ignore the sudden powerless feeling.
Out of habit, I counted my steps in my head. One, two, three, fo—
But then I stopped in my tracks, catching something out of the corner of my eye.
I looked to my right, and my eyebrows shot up, seeing an oval conference table on the other side of a glass partition, filled with people. A lot of people.
Shit.
I swallowed, turning for the doors again. “I’ll wait.”
There was no way I was speaking to him with other people in the room.
“You wanted to see me,” he snapped. “Speak.”
I turned. “But you’re busy.”
“I’m always busy,” he retorted. “Get on with it.”
I groaned inwardly, understanding why he was so open to seeing me now.
A weight settled in my stomach, but I hid it as well as I could as I stepped toward his desk again.
I kept my voice low and gave him a fake close-lipped smile. “You’re enjoying seeing my dignity as a muddy puddle on the floor, aren’t you?”
The corner of his mouth lifted, and he locked eyes with me again. “I think that’s understandable after your behavior, don’t you?”
I averted my eyes, licking my lips.
I hated his gloating, but I couldn’t say he was wrong. I’d earned this dose of humility. No matter how vile his e-mail was, I should never have lowered myself to his level. The animosity would only hurt Christian.
“Mr. Marek.” I took a deep breath, bracing myself. “I had no right to say what I said,” I told him. “And I was very wrong. I know nothing about you or your son, and I lashed out.”
“Like a brat,” he added, staring at me with condescension.
Yes, like a brat.
I dropped my eyes, remembering how I’d never gotten angry as a child. When I started to become a woman, though, I raced to fury, throwing my racket when I’d fault or yelling when I was frustrated.
I’d been under stress at the time, I’d been caged, and I’d hated the loss of control. Now I had control, and I resented anything that threatened it.
Marek kept pushing into my space – the meeting the other day and then the e-mail today – but I knew my job.
I knew what I was doing. Why didn’t he see that?
I raised my eyes, staring back up at him. “I truly apologize.”
“Are you really sorry?” He grabbed a gray file folder and a pen as he rounded the desk. “Or are you more afraid you’ll lose your job?”