Motorcycle Man (Dream Man #4)(64)
Right. Good to know.
Suddenly, I didn’t need wine.
“Roller coaster,” I said quietly and Tack nodded but I didn’t know what to say. Thinking about it after having been kidnapped, it seemed to pale in comparison.
“Tyra,” Tack prompted and I focused on him.
“I… well, you have a stalker ex-wife and problems in the Club and out of it that put your life in jeopardy. And Aunt Bette, Lanie and I were kidnapped. In light of all that, the roller coaster I jumped off that led me to Ride doesn’t seem much like a roller coaster anymore.”
“Pain fades,” Tack declared. “But tell me about it anyway.”
I held his eyes. Then I admitted, “Actually, now, it seems kind of lame.”
And it did. Total bullshit. Office politics. Stuck in a job I didn’t like mostly because the people around me were toxic but feeling my feet encased in molasses or, maybe, it was simply that I was too scared to take a risk and get the hell out.
“Red, those chops and potatoes need to cook a while but not a millennium. Tell me.”
“I was targeted,” I blurted and he blinked.
“Say again?”
“Targeted. I had a desk job. I was a supervisor. I liked what I did. It was challenging. It wasn’t a normal desk job where you do the same thing day in and day out. Every day was something different. I had a lot of work to do. I was never bored. I got paid well. I got to wear nice clothes. It wasn’t a passion but I was content. Content enough that I’d been there for a while and had no plans to leave. But, unbeknownst to me, one of my co-workers hated me and she’d been campaigning behind my back for ages. Shit-stirring and the brew was toxic. She’d turned a bunch of people against me. I just went to work, did my job, liked it and went home. I had no idea this was happening. It blind-sighted me when her brew was done and she started her spell in motion. I had no idea. She was kind to my face. No, not even that, friendly, out-and-out. I liked her. I cared about her. I knew about her life, her family. It wasn’t like we were best friends and she was over for dinner every night but she was, or she acted like she was, the kind of person in my life that she’d stay in my life no matter which direction we went. We’d exchange birthday and Christmas cards and stupid e-mails we thought were funny even if she moved to Florida and I moved to New Zealand. We’d be friends on Facebook. But it was a total lie. And all the people she filled with her toxin were two-faced too. I’d never experienced such poison. Such hypocrisy. It didn’t feel good to be lied to, that kind of thing never feels good. But smiling at me and sharing recipes while you’re stabbing me in the back? I don’t understand that kind of behavior.”
“Jesus,” Tack muttered.
“Yeah,” I agreed. “And I was stupid. I was surprised, sure, but when it started going down I should have said, ‘Fuck this,’ and got out. Life’s too short to deal with people like that, their small worlds, their small minds, their venom. I didn’t and I got buried under it. I thought it would just pass. I was a supervisor and promoted to that position and I think, though I have no clue why anyone would do that to someone, she was pissed because I was promoted and she wasn’t. She was there longer than me. Or it could be I was younger. I don’t know. I don’t care. My boss said I didn’t have anything to worry about, ignore it, keep my chin up but it just kept coming. It went on for months. Stuff happened, things were said, done, just mean, catty, awful. I let it get to me. I wasn’t sleeping. I wasn’t eating. I couldn’t understand how someone would hate me so much even to begin a campaign like that much less go full-throttle for months on top of trash talking me for years. And she had been, Tack, behind my back trash talking me for years while to my face she was sweet. I let it get in my head to the point I wasn’t only not sleeping, I wasn’t eating and I couldn’t even brush my teeth because just brushing my teeth made me gag and I’d end up hurling.”
“Red,” Tack whispered.
I shook my head. “No, it’s okay. I’ve decided just now to let it go because, looking back on it, it was stupid. I should never have let it get to me.”
“It ain’t stupid. That shit is whacked,” he clipped.
This response surprised me but the vehemence with which it was uttered surprised me more.
“Really?” I asked.
“Fuck yeah,” he bit out. “Christ, bitches. They’re the worst. I’ll take a pissed off man, his fists and the best man wins any time. But bitches, no. They play their mind games, f**k with your head. Jesus, darlin’, I hate that happened to you.”
Wow, that was sweet too. Very sweet.
“Are you, um… speaking from experience?” I asked.
“Yeah, experiencing you tellin’ me that shit,” he answered. “But no. There’s a reason I am who I am, where I am and do what I do. I got a minefield of politics I have to negotiate but I also got a brain in my head, I’m smart enough to be cautious, I got my own weapons and I’m not afraid to use them. What I don’t got is bitches who play mind games because they’re pissed off about somethin’ in their lives. Or they’re pissed off that they’re small, not good enough and know it and instead of doin’ better, workin’ harder, they gotta tear down someone who doesn’t carry their load of shit. Jealousy is an ugly emotion that makes people do some seriously whacked shit and when a woman is experiencing it, it’s worse. No, I am who I am, where I am and do what I do to avoid that kind of bullshit hassle.”