So Much More(18)

My heart does somersaults. The position is as good as mine, and I haven’t been here five minutes.





The rest of the afternoon is comprised of business related discussion. Poring over reports. Asking my opinion on several hypothetical, disastrous scenarios and how I would handle them if I were in charge. Asking what changes I would make if I had the full control necessary to do so. Discussing where I see myself in five years, ten years, twenty years. I answer every question confidently. I’m outstanding at my job and have a clear-cut vision of the direction this company needs to head to flourish over the next decade. I don’t just want to grow the company, I want it to be the best in its field. I want to annihilate the competition.

He smiles approvingly while I speak. And it’s not a smile to pacify and keep me talking, he loves what I’m saying. He can feel the passion in my words. They mirror his.

He asks me to stay and join him for dinner.

I do.

Then he asks me to stay and join him for a glass of wine.

One glass turns into two.

Then three.

Three leads to a not-so-innocent exchange on the settee in the living room: playful quips, flirtatious touches, and loaded glances coupled with telling conversation.

When talk becomes laced with brazen innuendo, he offers a fourth glass. I decline and boldly ask, “Are you trying to rid me of my inhibitions?”

I know the telltale signs of sexual desire in a man. I’m practiced in luring them out. The hungry eyes, nostril flare, deep breathing, muscle rigidity, not to mention his cock impressively filling out his dress slacks. He wants me so badly he’d take me right here on the settee in his living room. He licks his lips. “Maybe.”

I flick one more button open on my blouse and whisper, “I don’t have many, but I left them at the door when I came in today.”

He doesn’t ask me to stay and join him in bed.

But I do.

He tells me I’m his new VP the first time I make him come.

He calls out my name in pure ecstasy every time after.

I leave the next morning with my contracts signed in triplicate and Loren wrapped around my little finger.

Mission f*cking accomplished.





She usually saves the sigh





present





“I want full custody.”

The words charge through the phone and to my ear like a physical blow that takes me to my knees. They steal my breath and make my vision blur. They make my thoughts halt and suddenly my head feels like it’s filled with boiling, white-hot shock. That’s quickly replaced with fury and a fierce need to protect what’s mine, whatever the cost. “Over my dead body.”

She sighs. Loudly. She usually saves the sigh. It’s the exclamation point to emphasize extreme irritation. I’m surprised she’s used it so quickly, which makes me believe she somehow thought this would be easy. That I wouldn’t fight her.

Like hell I won’t.

“Seamus, be realistic. You can’t provide the life they need.”

I’m still seething and at a loss for words because all that’s raging through my head is a continuous, manic loop of “Fuck you.” I can’t come back with that because that’s what she wants, so I settle for, “What?” until I can gather my thoughts and refute this.

She sighs again. But this sigh is different, there’s an evil smirk behind it like she’s been anxiously waiting to spew hate and degradation. “They’re all sharing a bedroom. Kira was dressed like a vagrant clown last weekend. Rory is talking like an insane person. Kai is withdrawn and angry. You have them enrolled in public school—”

I cut her off because I can’t listen to this. She’s clearly only worried about her own image, not the kids’ well-being. I still don’t know what to say because f*ck you still isn’t an option, so instead I repeat a bewildered, “What?”

She continues as if I haven’t spoken, “And physically you’re not fit to parent. And we both know that will only get worse.”

That’s where I lose it. “Fuck you. I’m perfectly capable of raising my children.”

“Our children,” she corrects. “And no, you’re not.”

“My children,” I correct through gritted teeth.

“Are you threatening me?” Her tone tells me the classic, evil smirk is still in place. She’s not insulted; she’s enjoying this.

“No, I’m stating a fact.”

“You’ll hear from my attorney.” It’s final. The line goes dead.

Of course, she got the last word. And of course, it was, You’ll hear from my attorney. It almost wouldn’t feel right ending a conversation without hearing it. Some people say goodbye. Miranda says, You’ll hear from my attorney.

The passage of time changes people, many different influences come into play. They combine to perpetuate and escalate the enrichment, or erosion, of our ideals and personal code of ethics. Dominion and power have elevated Miranda, in her mind, to untouchable status. A place where decency is exempt and treating others like shit is her norm. It’s ruined her. And I have a feeling it’s going to ruin us all before she’s done.





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