I never do.
I’ll never admit that every fear, every insecurity was just laid bare for everyone to see, because my parents taught me to always maintain my decorum in public.
My hands are shaking under the desk, but I keep my head held high.
Before I can take another breath or answer Jonathan, my father clears his throat. “Everyone out,” he commands. “Everyone except Jonathan. Now.”
Chairs scrape. Papers rustle.
The associates scatter like cockroaches with their heads ducked and their eyes flicking between my father and Jonathan as they file out.
I stand, hoping my trembling limbs have calmed enough that I can walk out of here without giving Jonathan the sick satisfaction that he got to me.
“Think about what I said, Hunniford.”
Jonathan’s voice slices through my spine as my hand hits the door handle.
“Ask yourself what happens when Daddy finally gets tired of his consolation prize.”
I move as fast as my dignity allows, heading straight for my desk with my head down.
The comments start before I'm even halfway across the office floor.
“Well, that certainly explains a few things.”
“Who’s the football player?”
“The engagement that never happened, and now this. Rather convenient timing.”
“I wondered why Sanderson was so insistent on bringing in an undergraduate who has no idea what they’re doing.”
“The girl certainly didn't look prepared for that level of… honesty.”
Each one hurts more than the last, but the tiled floor is interesting enough for me to stay focused.
No flinching. No blinking. No bleeding.
By the time I’m at the elevator, the floor is louder than I’ve ever heard it, and it’s all because of me.
When I get to my desk, I’m thankful for the three cubicle walls, and the stack of papers sitting there. What a great excuse to not leave my seat until the end of the day.
After twenty minutes, the floor has calmed down, but the bruises to my ego are still there. Growing up, I was always afraid of Jamie’s father, but this encounter has only taken that fear to a new level.
Gnawing on my bottom lip, I pull out my phone, feeling the urge to text someone, just to help me compartmentalize what happened. The little kid inside me wants to text Jamie because I know he’s the only person in this entire world who would get it. I can’t, though. I don’t have his number anymore, and it’s not like we have a cordial relationship. I haven’t seen him since high school graduation and have no clue what he’s doing these days. Not that I’d want to. Hearing his perspective on why he thinks tormenting Tiff is a good idea would probably make me hate him and this situation even more.
My phone suddenly lights up with a message.
Zach:Honeycomb. You’re not going to believe this. Tiff and Ella are officially booked on a flight for next Friday. Your dad actually came through. Miraclesdohappen. Can’t wait to see you tonight to celebrate. I love you so much. ??
Honey:That’s fantastic news! I can’t wait to have them here. Love you and can’t wait to see you tonight.
Unease gnaws at my stomach because I feel like I’m lying to Zach by not telling him how upset I am over Jonathan’s comments, but he’s too invested in the situation. I know him. He’ll demand I quit immediately. He doesn’t understand how fragile Tiff and Ella’s flight here really is. If my father is planning some elaborate coup and I leave now, he might rescind his promise to me. Hell, he might even make it worse for them.
No, I need to speak to someone who’s neutral to the situation, and I know immediately who that is.
Honey:Not sure if you have classes, but can I call you?
“DEFENSE! DEFENSE!”