She looks over at me, her eyes huge like she’s worried she’s in trouble, but I laugh to let her know it’s okay.
“What the hell is this mess?”
Mr. Hayes walks into the kitchen, his eyes immediately going to the broken egg on the floor and the random splotches of flour everywhere.
“We’re baking cookies,” I say with a smile.
“Yeah, Daddy. Chocolate chip ones.”
“Make sure you thoroughly clean this up when you’re done,” he mutters before turning and walking back out of the room.
“Why’s Daddy mad?” Eleanor’s lower lip pokes out and her chin quivers.
“Here,” I say, picking her up from the chair and setting her on the floor. I grab a handful of paper towels. “You clean that up really quick while I go talk to your daddy, okay? I’ll be right back.”
I step out and chase after Mr. Hayes down the hall.
“Sir,” I say, and he slows down to turn toward me. “I’m not sure what’s going on or why you’ve suddenly decided to aim all of your anger and vitriol toward me, but I can take it. She, on the other hand”—I point down the hall toward the kitchen—“doesn’t understand. She’s been asking about where you are all week and why you’re in such a bad mood.”
I see his jaw tick. “Excuse me?” he says, taking a step toward me.
I straighten my back and stand my ground. He’s not going to intimidate me about this.
“You heard me. She doesn’t deserve for you to take out whatever immature feelings you have going on in there. You’re being childish.” I cross my arms over my chest and jut my chin out to show that I’m serious.
He takes another step toward me, then another. I tell myself to stand strong, but I falter, stepping back to keep some distance between us when my back hits the wall. He places his hands flat against the wall on either side of my head. He leans his head down, tilting it so his lips are near mine.
“You’ve got a mighty bold tongue on you, Miss Silver. Someone should teach you a lesson on how to control it.”
“Are you offering?” I don’t know what compels me to keep running my mouth, but a sudden wave of courage takes over. I drop my arms to my sides, his presence completely overtaking me.
He lets out that low, throaty rumble of a laugh and it makes me feel all sorts of tingly sensations between my thighs. He steps closer, pressing his body against mine as he grabs my wrists in a flash and pins them above my head, his hardness pressing against my lower belly.
I gasp, his movements so quick they hardly register.
“I don’t think you could handle”—he pushes his hips into me harder, his manhood growing harder by the second—“a lesson from me.”
I try not to let it show but I’m absolutely trembling with need for this man. I want to tell him to go fuck himself but instead I rise up on my tippy-toes. “Or maybe you’re all talk,” I whisper in his ear.
“Why do you insist on teasing me?” He presses his nose against mine. “Or defying me.”
Suddenly, he drops my hands and takes several steps back. His eyes are glassy, his breath shallow as his chest rises and falls. And just like nothing happened, he turns and walks back down the hall to his office, slamming the door behind him.
I flop back on my bed. It’s only eight thirty p.m. on a Thursday. Eleanor is down for the night and I'm still trying to come up with plans for Saturday night.
I grab my phone and send a text to Shelly to see if she’ll be available.
Me: Hey, so how’d the date go? Want to hang on Saturday night?
She doesn’t respond right away so I start looking through Netflix to add things to my list in case she’s busy.
I click through a few romantic comedies, adding one about a guy who sounds perfect on paper but from the synopsis sounds like he’s a fraud.
I also add Schitt’s Creek back to my list even though I’ve seen it at least three times. I mean, can you ever really have too much Dan Levy?
Moments later Shelly texts back.
Shelly: Date went well. Sorry, just got busy with work. Which brings me to Saturday. I’m working a double Saturday and Sunday. Sorry! Rain check.
I toss the phone on my bed and step into my bathroom.
“Guess it’s a self-care night in.”
I contemplate a bath when my phone rings. I rush to flip it over, seeing Hank’s name on the screen.
“Hey, how’s it going?”
“Hey,” he says, sounding a little off.
“I just texted Shell. She said she had a great time on your dates.”
“Yeah.” He hesitates. “They were great.”
“What’s wrong? You sound weird.” I furrow my brows even though I know he can’t see me.
“Well, that’s why I was calling you actually. I know this is probably super weird, but uh, would you want to grab a drink this Saturday? I kind of wanted to talk to you about Shelly, maybe pick your brain.”
“Yeah, for sure,” I say, a bit concerned. “Everything okay?” Now I’m worried that Shelly might be way more into him than he is into her. That’s always the shittiest position to be in.
“Yeah, yeah, I just wanted to ask you some things about her, not in a talk behind her back or get information kind of way, but since you’re her good friend, I just thought it would make sense to get your input and it’s easier talking in person than text. I would explain it all right now but I’m actually about to ump a softball game.”
“Yeah, sure. I totally understand. How about Jillian’s over in your neighborhood at seven?”
“Perfect,” he says, “And thanks, Margot. You’re the best.”
I hang up, glad I have plans for Saturday finally, but a little worried about what’s going on with Hank and Shelly, or rather, more confused.
I spend most of Friday preoccupied with what Hank needs to talk to me about. I was tempted to text Shelly and double-check if something happened, but I figured I should wait to hear what Hank has to say first.
Eleanor will be home for lunch soon from her ballet class. I assemble a plate for her when Miss Perry comes barging into the kitchen.
“Mr. Hayes needs you to work Saturday,” she says, not even looking at me.
“I already told him I have plans and can’t work Saturday.”
“Well, you need to cancel them,” she snips.
“Why does he need me to work?” I ask suspiciously.
“I don’t think that’s really any of your business.” She talks down to me like she’s not part of the same staff I am. Like somehow, she’s better than the rest of us.
I toss the fork in my hand onto the counter. “He working from home today?” I ask, not waiting for an answer as I march my ass down to his office.
I don’t bother knocking this time. I open the door and slam it behind me. He looks up at me, a surprised expression on his face that quickly morphs into annoyance. I don’t wait for him to scold me for not knocking.
“I told you I had plans Saturday and I can’t work. Funny how you’ve never once demanded I work a Saturday before, but this one time I tell you I have plans, you decide, nah, screw her plans; she needs to work.”