The gate area rearranged itself instantly—businessmen in navy suits snapping upright, moms corralling toddlers andboarding passes, a lanyard-wearing influencer angling her carry-on just so for a selfie.
I tried to picture myself in that lineup—just another anonymous traveler. But my hands betrayed me. Still shaking. Still raw.
I glanced up, scanning the crowd, half-expecting Luka to shove through it. Looming, passionate, reckless enough to sweep me into some corner and snarl that he would never let me go. Like every airport scene in a terrible rom-com.
He didn’t come.
chapter
twenty-five
“Have a seat, Alex.” Greg gestured to the empty chair across the desk from him.
Denise from HR was already seated beside it. She offered a brittle smile over the rim of her coffee cup.
There was no coffee waiting for me.
I closed the office door, sat, and crossed my legs. The charcoal-gray fabric of my slacks rustled against the leather. Chunky bangles clinked at my wrists, neatly concealing the marks Luka had left behind.
“Thanks for coming in. I’m sure you’re exhausted from jet lag,” Greg said, chipper in a way that scraped. He laced his fingers atop a thick manila folder centered on his vast desk. “We just want to have a quick regroup. Make sure everyone’s on the same page.”
My gaze slid to Denise. “We? I thought this was a one-on-one.”
Denise adjusted in her seat and tucked a lock of her raven hair behind her ear. She opened her mouth to speak, but Greg beat her to it.
“This is purely procedural. We just want to make sure”—he glanced at her, then back to me—“that you’re comfortable and have full support for your transition back to the States.”
Support.
I mirrored Greg’s posture, lacing my hands together in my lap. “Great. Let’s do it.”
Greg exhaled, long and performative. Like he’d rather be getting a root canal. “All right. Let’s start with what went sideways in London. I’ve never had a complaint about you, Alex. Not once. So you can imagine my surprise when Hallstrom Group decided to pull the plug on our biggest contract over…” He glanced down at the manila folder in front of him. “Well, frankly, over your alleged conduct.”
Denise leaned forward, her voice a rehearsed melody of empathy and HR compliance. “No one’s accusing you of anything. We just have to get the facts. That’s all this is.”
My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. I swallowed and forced a smile, determined to match their corporate performance beat for beat. “Of course,” I said evenly. “Happy to clarify whatever you need.”
Greg drummed two fingers on the folder. “Richard Montgomery reports you were ‘erratic,’ ‘distracted,’ and at times ‘openly insubordinate.’ He says you abandoned your post without notice, and that your behavior”—he actually lifted his hands for air quotes—“‘bordered on sexual misconduct.’” He looked at me expectantly. “I’m giving it to you straight, Alex.”
“Sexual misconduct? Are you kidding me?” I wanted to swear—to throw in a few choice f-bombs—but I held it together.
Denise’s smile didn’t waver. “If there’s anything you’d like to tell us, this is a safe space.” Her voice flowed like syrup. “We’re here to listen.”
Bullshit.
I shook my head. “What exactly did he accuse me of? And not the vague version, Greg. We’ve worked together long enough. You know I can handle it. Tell me so I can set the record straight.”
He studied me, then shrugged and opened the folder. “Okay.” He traced his finger down the printed lines and cleared his throat. “Mr. Montgomery claims that you made numerous inappropriate advances toward him and other men in the office. That you were observed behaving…intimately with a taxi driver before work. That you were seen at an underground”—he cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck—“sex club over the weekend. And that you solicited him for a…nonprofessional interaction.”
Greg looked at me over the rims of his glasses, waiting.
I laughed once, short and incredulous. “Okay. Let’s slow down.” I leaned forward. “I didn’t make advances toward anyone. My behavior was never ‘erratic’—you know me better than that. And I absolutely did not solicit Richard Montgomery for anything—professional or otherwise.” I looked directly at Greg. “What Ididdo was refuse to sleep with him.”
Greg opened his mouth, but I kept going.
“Richard Montgomery cornered me in his office yesterday morning. I told him no. He put his hand under my skirt anyway.” I didn’t look away. “Everything after that is retaliation.”
The silence stretched like taffy.