Total pages in book: 142
Estimated words: 138526 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 693(@200wpm)___ 554(@250wpm)___ 462(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138526 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 693(@200wpm)___ 554(@250wpm)___ 462(@300wpm)
He’s checking his tie in the mirror on the wall when I step inside. So glad I ended the call when I did.
“Everything okay, Rose?”
“I’m taking the rest of the day off,” I assert, raising my chin and meeting his eyes.
“Why? What’s wrong?” His concerned eyes look me up and down, assessing my face and body. Despite the fact I’m overdressed I suddenly want to cover myself. “You look distressed.”
“I’m fine,” I reply, looking at my watch. Still angry at the things that have been said about me. I’m probably the joke of the entire building. “Can I go?”
“Whatever you need,” he responds, taking a step towards me. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
My jaw trembles so I bite on my lower lip. “Don’t… please… I just need some time alone.”
I hate myself for being so weak, for crying in Mr. C’s presence. I despise myself for letting their words affect me but I’m only human. I’ve never been one to care what people think, but I didn’t realize I was the laughingstock of the office.
“You’re crying,” he states as I angrily wipe my tears away. “What’s wrong?”
“Don’t,” I beg and step backwards. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”
I exit the room as quickly as my legs can carry me and shoulder my bag after grabbing it from under the desk.
I press the button for the elevator eighteen times, and then eighteen more, rapidly hitting it with my fingertip until the doors open.
I need to go home.
I just need to be alone.
Approximately six hours and two boxes of tissues and chocolates later, there’s a gentle knock at my door. That’s odd because anybody visiting me would need to be buzzed in first.
They probably have the wrong door number.
I approach the door feeling lethargic and anxious. Not because of whoever is knocking but because I can’t get what they were all saying about me out of my head. It’s making me nauseous. I don’t want to be the freak or the weird one. I want to be the invisible one.
When I open it I declare, “Oh my God… noooo.”
And when I try to shut it in his face, he sticks his foot in the gap and it bounces back, almost getting my toes.
“I don’t want to see you right now,” I whine pathetically, turning away from him and covering my face under my glasses which means they’ll be smudged when I remove my hands.
“I am so sorry, Rose,” Mr. Conti insists, gently but sincerely.
“Please just go so I can pretend this day never happened.” I keep my back to him, genuinely wishing he would just leave.
“Rose,” he tries but I turn on him, mad and annoyed.
“No.” I raise my hand. “Please. Just go.”
“I am so sorry,” he whispers, looking genuinely devastated for the most part. “I didn’t mean what I said.”
I snort, pulling back so he can’t take my hand like he wants to.
“I just said it to appease Liz and I know that’s not an excuse.” He reaches for me again. “I don’t think your outfits are that of a twelve-year-old emo.”
“Oh my God,” I breathe, taking another step back. “Stop.”
“I think most of your clothes are very nice and reserved. It’s nice to see a young lady covering up for once, valuing her self-respect.”
I blink at him. “So now you’re shaming women who don’t cover up?”
“No,” he corrects looking panicked. “That’s not what I meant either.”
“Then what do you mean, Ezra? Because you’re not making me feel any better about myself right now.”
He pushes his hair back with both hands and puffs out his cheeks. We look at each other for a long moment as he gathers his thoughts and thinks about what point he’s trying to make. “I’m saying I’m sorry for hurting you.”
“Okay,” I respond flatly. “Now can you go?”
“I’ve put in a personal complaint to HR about the situation, myself, Julia, and Miranda, so if there is ever a time you feel bullied by me, them, or anybody because of my actions today, it’s logged and it will be dealt with.”
“You didn’t,” I breathe, feeling even more alarmed now. “Why would you do that? Now I’ll get called in to make a statement and everybody will think I’m weak and care about what you said.”
“Reporting a bully isn’t weakness.”
“I just… I can’t do this right now.” I push against his arm. “Go. Please just go.”
“Not until you tell me how to make this up to you.”
“You can’t,” I yell, and I think this might be the first time in my entire life that I’ve ever yelled. “So please… just drop it.”
He looks down, ashamed. “I really am sorry.”
“I believe that, but it doesn’t change how I feel or how you made me feel. I’m the laughingstock of the entire building.” I fold my arms over my chest.
“They heard me having sex with my wife, trust me, they’re paying more attention to that part.”