C6 CHAPTER 6

It’s been a few minutes since we got back to the office. I can’t help the feeling of dread that something terrible is going to happen to me. After the meeting finished, Mr. Crawford didn’t say a word to me the whole ride back to the office. I could feel his eyes glaring at the back of my head whole way. The worst part in all of this is, I don’t know what I did wrong. I’ve been pacing up and down around my desk while biting my nails. It’s a bad habit I do when I am nervous. I’m scared of Mr. Crawford doing something harmful to me. The bruise on my arm might not have been intentional, but it hurt. I imagine it could be much worse if he wants to hurt me intentionally.

I jump in fear when I hear the phone ringing. I knew he’d call me to come to his office, but I didn’t think it would be this soon. I take my time to pick up the phone and answer. Before words can form in my mouth, he speaks and cuts the call. I’m lucky I was able to hear him before he hung up.

I take three deep breaths before I walk to his office, knocking before I enter. I find him pacing his office floor, and I wonder why. What could possibly make him pace up and down his office?

“Eleanor, sit down!” he says with a stern face.

I don’t say anything and do as I’m told, sitting down on the couch not too far away from his desk. He’s pacing around his desk area, so I felt it would be more comfortable to sit on the couch. I play with my fingers and I wait for him to speak.

“Eleanor, why did you wait for Mr. Moretti to tell you to sit down before you sat down?” he asks, shocking me with his question.

I knew he was angry at me, but I would have never guessed it was because I didn’t sit down. I assumed he was angry because I did sit down.

“I didn’t sit down until I was asked to.o because I wasn’t sure if I should sit with you and Mr. Moretti,” I answer truthfully, but this only makes my situation worse.

“You didn’t know if you should sit down with us or not? Did you see anywhere else to sit? You made me look like a horrible boss in front of Mr. Moretti,” he says, walking closer to where I’m sitting. I’m looking at the floor. The only reason I know he’s close is because I can see his shoe in front of my leg. I try my best not to look at him. I’m sure he’s mentally throwing daggers at my head right now.

“Mr. Crawford, I’m so—” I don’t get to finish talking because of a loud thump. He banged his hand hard on the arm of the couch. My eyes lift to him and widen in shock.

“Didn’t I tell you never to say that word to me?” he asks, staring at me with anger blazing in his eyes. I’m too scared right now to maintain eye contact with him, so I look back down.

He says he’s angry at me because I waited to be told to sit down. But I don’t think all this anger he’s directing toward me is because of that. I’m not sure, but I think there’s more than meets the eye with this outburst.

“I apologize, sir,” I say, hoping my choice of words are acceptable.

He releases a dark chuckle before he speaks. “Wow, you apologize. I think you have a degree in making me mad,” he says, frowning. The way he can switch in between moods is impressive.

“My intention was never to make you look bad. I promise next time that won’t happen,” I say, hoping he’d drop the matter.

“You better make sure it doesn’t. Now get out of my sight,” he says, giving me enough space to walk away from him.

The second I step out of his office I release a breath of relief. What in God’s name just happened? Mr. Crawford gets so worked up about minor issues. I’m starting to wonder if his anger toward me has to do with something else. I know he thinks I’m after his money, but this feels like something else.

***

A few days have passed since the lunch meeting with Mr. Moretti. Mr. Crawford’s only asked me to attend meetings here at the office. He takes Vivienne with him for all his meetings out of the office. Truth be told, I don’t mind. All I care about is that I get to do some proper work.

Today is Friday, and I can’t wait to go home and sleep past my alarm tomorrow. I’m getting ready to leave the office when the phone rings. I answer, wondering what Mr. Crawford wants so close to the end of the day.

“Hello, sir,” I say, answering the phone.

“Come to my office,” he says and hangs up like always.

I knock and enter his office after he tells me to come in.

“What can I help you with, sir?” I ask as I stand in front of him.

“Tomorrow you’ll go shopping with Vivienne for a dress. We have a party to attend on Sunday, and I need you to look presentable,” he says, ruining all my plans for the weekend in an instant.

No! I shout in my head. I can’t believe my plans for the weekend are ruined. I really wanted to rest this weekend.

“Sir, if you don’t mind me asking, can Miss Vivienne accompany you to this party on Sunday? I had plans of my own this weekend,” I say, hoping he’ll agree. But I’m not surprised when he shakes his head no. I was trying my luck.

“Never do that again,” he says sternly.

“Never do what again, sir?” I ask, confused.

“Never suggest something to me, and I don’t care if you have plans. Be at this venue by 8 pm,” he says, handing me a card.

“Okay, sir,” I say, collecting the card from his hand.

Sometimes I ask myself if dealing with an arrogant boss is worth it. I know it is, but I can’t help the urge to quit.

***

It’s Sunday evening, and I’m doing last minute touch-up on my face before walking outside to find a cab to take me to the venue. Saturday was horrible because I spent it with Vivienne. Shopping with her was awful. It was hard to find anything we both liked. Because, for some odd reason, Vivienne was choosing clothes that made me look slutty. We made a deal that if she let me pick the dress, she could pick everything else. I’m talking about my shoes, jewelry, and clutch. The dress I chose is a peach beaded lace and tulle dress with an overlapping halter neckline and a slit. She paid for everything with Mr. Crawford’s credit card. That was the main reason we had to shop together. Mr. Crawford doesn’t trust me enough with his card by myself. So he asked Vivienne to take me shopping. I’m not surprised he doesn’t trust me, I’d have been astonished if he did. I pick up the black clutch from the table and walk out of the house. As I get into the cab, I give the driver the address.

The cab soon comes to a halt at the venue. I pay and walk out of the taxi to wait at the entrance for Mr. Crawford. I’m supposed to go in with him so he asked me to come a few minutes early.

I don’t wait long before Mr. Crawford arrives. He steps out of his Lamborghini, looking as attractive as ever. His hair is dyed all black and gelled back. He throws his keys to the valet. I don’t know why but that looked very sexy. He walks closer to me after buttoning his black tuxedo that I am sure cost more than my dress. The tuxedo does little to hide his fantastic body. His biceps are still visible as he touches his suit jacket to make sure he looks good.

“Good, you look presentable,” he says once he’s in front of me.

Wow. I’m over here admiring him, and the words he uses to compliment me are I look presentable. Would it hurt him to say something nice? Like, you look lovely or nice and not presentable? I don’t know why I hoped he’d say anything nice to me.

“Thank you, sir,” I say with a fake smile.

He grabs my arm and pulls me closer to him. His strong, manly cologne drifts to my nose. He smells divine. Why does such an arrogant person like him have to smell so good? He should smell like shit.

“Once we’re inside, make sure you don’t do anything to embarrass me or make me look bad,” he says, whispering in my ear.

“Yes, sir,” I say, nodding my head. I think I made my first mistake of the night. In the process of shaking my head, I bump into his. And his head is hard. God, it’s like his head is a rock.

“Oh, my God, we haven’t even got inside, and you’ve already found a way to annoy me,” he says, rubbing his forehead. “Come on,” he says, pulling me inside as I try to rub the pain away from my forehead. Why is he making it seem like it’s my fault we bumped heads? If he didn’t come so close, I wouldn’t have bumped into him.

We enter the ballroom, and I’ve never felt more out of place in my life. The room is filled with rich people everywhere. Even though my dress cost a few thousand, courtesies of Mr. Crawford’s credit card, I still feel like I’m wearing rags when I see all the designer clothes. I try my best not to let it get to me because even though Mr. Crawford said I look presentable, I think I look beautiful. After all, that’s what Uncle Jack and Amber told me before I left the house, and I believe them.

He drops my hand the second we enter the hall but asks me to follow him. We walk toward a group of men. I only recognize one of them, Mr. Moretti.

“Hello, Mr. Moretti,” Mr. Crawford says when we reach the group of men.

“Hello, Mr. Crawford, I’m happy you were able to attend my party. And you brought the lovely lady from our lunch,” he says, smiling at me.

“Hi, Mr. Moretti,” I say, smiling back.

“How are you doing, dear?” he asks, staring at me. He takes my hand and leaves a little peck on the back of my palm. This causes my cheeks to blush beet red.

“I’m doing great, sir, and you?”

“I’m doing great as well, Bella,” he says, winking at me with a smirk on his face. Does Mr. Moretti have an interest in me? I suddenly feel shy at the possibility.

“Do you mind if we find somewhere private to speak?” Mr. Crawford asks, pulling me to his side by the waist. Why did he pull me away from Mr. Moretti? I can feel his nails digging into my waist. I don’t think the way I was talking to Mr. Moretti was wrong in any way.

“No, of course not, this way, Mr. Crawford,” Moretti says, leading Mr. Crawford away. Before he goes, Mr. Crawford whispers something in my ear.

“I suggest you stop selling yourself to these men and act more professional,” he says through clenched teeth.

Oh, my God. Was that why he pulled me away from Mr. Moretti? He thinks I was talking to him like a slut. I don’t think I was. And even if I was, why can’t he just tell me nicely instead of digging his nails into my skin?