“I can’t quit. It’s my main source of income.”
Layla’s string of expletives echoed out of the speakers of my Jeep, “If they don’t fire him before you show back up tomorrow, fucking quit, Mads.”
“He will be.”
“He better.”
I was confident he would. The speed with which Jim arrived at the door of my office before his lunch was even over, beat even what I’d anticipated. My email to him had been short but clear.
Mr. Grayson:
Attached you will find a spreadsheet documenting every interaction that has occurred between myself and Rob Spencer since the first date of my employment. It includes each date, the occurrence in detail, and whether or not I approached yourself or Mrs. Grayson.
The list is up to date, including today’s occurrence. I would like to schedule a meeting at your earliest convenience.
Sincerely,
Madison Hartland
Something else I’d learned in life, between college and abuse, was that written, dated notes were everything.
Our meeting had been brief. Everything that needed to be said was documented in my email. He’d apologized profusely and been adamant that Rob would no longer be welcome at the company. Although I was relieved that he wasn’t trying to blame me, I refused to thank him for taking action only after being forced into it.
Jim wasn’t an awful person, nor was he necessarily a bad employer, overall. He just hadn’t taken my complaints seriously until now. He fell under the long list of people who brushed “harmless” harassment accusations under the proverbial rug. “That’s just how he is” or “He was just flirting.” I wasn’t even angry, only disappointed.
Jim sent me home immediately after, promising to pay me for the rest of the day, and I’d called Layla the moment I started my vehicle.
“Do you want me to come home?”
I turned into my driveway, wanting nothing more than for this day to be over. But hey, glass half full, at least I’d gained a few hours to laze about the house before I needed to pick up Jamie.
“No, enjoy your time with lover boy after work. I’ll probably take a shower and rest.”
“Bish, no you won’t. You’d make it one minute before picking up a damn textbook.”
I laughed, the sound feeling foreign in my husk of a chest. She knew me way too well. “I’m hanging up.”
“Love you, wench.”
I turned off the ignition and stepped out onto the drive, heels dangling from my hand. Something looked different. I tilted my head, examining the house, trying to pinpoint what it was. My brows met my hairline. My yard was mowed, and my fence was…white.
From the day we’d moved in, it’d been almost solid green from the massive amount of pollen that saturated the air each year. The landlord never came out to do anything—hello, broken dishwasher—and I didn’t have the means to do it. I didn’t even own a garden hose.
I allowed my heart to get a little excited. Sure, he was supposed to call before showing up, but if he’d done this, then maybe he’d actually fixed the dishwasher as well. I crossed my fingers, hoping this was a sign that life was going to give me a break.
“Madison?”
My heart plummeted, excitement dying quicker than it’d come, and pure, unfiltered panic filled my chest cavity where it used to reside. It couldn’t be. Not today. Not after everything I just went through. I must have imagined it. Layla joked that my karma was cursed, but even this was pushing it.
“Madison.”
Fuck. I’d know that voice anywhere. I knew how it sounded when it whispered sweet words, how it dropped to a husky tone when he slid his hands across my skin, just as well as I knew how it sounded when it screamed and spit at me.