Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 24434 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 122(@200wpm)___ 98(@250wpm)___ 81(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 24434 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 122(@200wpm)___ 98(@250wpm)___ 81(@300wpm)
“Brian, what are you doing? You can’t just go through my desk. That’s an invasion of my privacy.”
He looks up, and his eyes are oddly dead. His face looks like a corpse, and I’m actually a little scared at his appearance.
“Actually, I can Megan. All of this property belongs to the company. The desk, your computer, and even the work you produce belongs to Metro Media. As your boss, I have the right to go through your desk whenever I feel it is necessary.” He says this with no inflection, like a robot.
“Okay,” I practically hiss at him, “but you know you had no reason to go through my things. And what you’re holding is not the property of Metro Media. It’s private. Why are you here, anyways?”
He looks at me straight. In slow, carefully spoken words he asks me the question I never in a million years would want to hear come from his mouth.
“Are you having my baby, Megan? Did you get pregnant from the night we hooked up after drinks?”
Is he crazy?!
“No! NO! That was months ago. There’s someone else. My baby belongs to the man I’ve been seeing. And keep your voice down because this is my personal business and I don’t need it spreading through the office like wildfire.”
“Another man?” he asks, his eyes narrowing into slits. “Is it the man who was at the Matterhorn that night?”
Wait, how did he guess? Then again, Brian has a freaky sixth sense about these kinds of things. I contemplate lying for a moment, but then decide to tell the truth.
“Yes, but what’s it to you? You’re not the father because he is.”
Suddenly, my manager’s expression becomes ice cold, and I shiver. He spins on his toes, his narrow frame doing a one eighty.
“Come with me,” he bites out.
“What, why? This isn’t about you.”
Brian’s already moving down the hall.
“Just trust me, come with me. I have something you’re going to want to see. You stupid girl. You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into.”
What the hell? Why is he insulting me? Just because I’m pregnant doesn’t mean that gives him the right. But I follow him with zero idea what I am about to be getting myself into. Brian is stalking ahead, his narrow shoulders stiff. I catch up to him, panting.
“Slow down! And please calm down, you’re causing a scene. This is our place of work, and we’ve talked about being professional before!”
He presses the button to call the elevator and then briskly turns to face me.
“You have been very secretive these last few months, Megan. I wonder why?”
I decide to play stupid. Whatever is going on, I want no part of it.
“What are you talking about?” I ask.
But I can see he doesn’t buy it. As many character flaws as he has, Brian does have one thing going for him: his intuition. He has a knack for sensing things, and it’s downright creepy.
A sick, disturbed look comes over his face and he stares straight ahead without blinking. I have no idea what’s going on, but I actually feel quite bad for him in this moment. Brian is clearly extremely distressed about the whole ordeal. But why?
“Let’s go,” he says abruptly, stepping into the elevator. I feel quite fearful at this point but follow him into the elevator anyways. He clicks the icon for the fifty-second floor.
“Where are we going?” I demand. Brian ignores me, looking at the flashing numbers on the display. I have never been to the fifty-second floor and am bewildered as to what this could possibly have to do with me or my pregnancy.
But then the doors open and Brian barges forward into the palatial offices before us. I instantaneously notice the difference between this workspace and my own. The high ceilings and ample windows make it feel airy, with a lot of natural light and space. The desks are solid oak, the chairs plush leather. Everyone has their own private glass-paned offices, versus our gray, dreary cubicles.
The receptionist greets Brian like an old friend and informs him that he can head on back.
“He has a few free minutes right now,” the middle-aged woman says with a polite smile. “Go right ahead.”
How does she know Brian? And who is ‘he’?
I’m beginning to feel sick to my stomach. Only this time, I don’t think it’s morning sickness. I’m scared, confused, and anxious. I wish I’d waited until I got home to take that pregnancy test, but now it’s too late.
Brian nods at the secretary and barges forward to a set of solid oak doors. They’re imposing and huge, and there’s a placard by the side marking this the office of Metro Media’s CEO.
“Wait, what are you doing?” I gasp. “This isn’t making any sense!”
But my manager ignores me. Without knocking, he pushes the double oak doors open and barrels inside.