“Finally going for it, are you?” Dr. Smith asks as he rolls his chair in front of the one I’m presently sitting in. “I’ve been trying to get you in contacts for years. You’re going to love them when you jog.”
“I’m sure I will,” I concede, all too willing to admit that glasses while jogging are challenging at best, and at worst a tad bit dangerous, considering they fall off, or fog up, when I keep them on, and I’m virtually blind without them. “You know why I’ve resisted,” I add. “It’s the whole finger in the eye thing. It bothers me.”
“It becomes second nature. I promise.”
He says this, and I know he means well, but he’s still forced to spend the next fifteen minutes trying to convince me just to put the lenses in my eyes. However, once they’re finally in, my glasses packed neatly in a case in my purse, I’m feeling pretty darn amazed about how crisp and clear everything around me is looking right now.
Once I’m at the front desk checking out, his tech Mauve, who actually has a shade of mauve hair, asks, “How do you like them so far?”
“Better than I thought I would.”
“And even better a week from now, I promise.” She hands me a sheet of paper. “This is your prescription, but don’t order until you’re sure the prescription feels right. We can tweak it if needed.”
A few minutes later I step outside and reach for my nose to shove my glasses up, an obvious habit, but my glasses are not on my face. “I do like this,” I murmur to myself, but I also dread the next time my finger must go in my eye.
Glancing at my watch, I find it’s now pretty darn late, and I never even ordered lunch after the floor-two guy distracted me. With no time to think about how weird the entire situation with him truly is, I quickly call in the order.
Once that’s done, I turn to start my walk back to the restaurant, only to jolt as I find Akia standing in front of me. “Akia,” I say. “What are you doing here?”
He points to the taco joint next to the eye doctor, which I dislike immensely, despite loving tacos. “Our separate worlds get smaller and smaller, it seems,” he comments. “I just talked to Neil, by the way.” He holds up the taco bag. “I’m taking him back some lunch. He wants us to work together tomorrow. The whole pass-the-baton kind of thing.”
Little spikes of displeasure punish my insides. “Of course he does,” I comment, as dryly as possible. “I’ll just need to confirm my schedule with Kara.”
“Word is Kara won’t be back until next week. She’s pretty sick.”
“I’ll call her,” I say, worried about her now, far more so than I am about Akia and Neil taking over the auditorium.
He shrugs. “Either way, let’s just meet at the auditorium at eight in the morning.”
It’s not a question. It’s an expectation I do not accept, my resistance obvious in my reply: “I’ll call you this afternoon and schedule it.”
“Right,” he says, a smirk on his face. “I better get Neil his food.” He starts to turn and then pauses to add, “Contacts work for you. So does the new wardrobe. In time you’ll win Neil over. A group of us are going to happy hour tonight at Wildhorse right down the road. It’s kind of a celebration of my new job, but you know, Neil will be there. You showing up would go a long way with him.” He winks, a taunt in his action, before he firmly offers me his back as he walks away.
I watch him depart, aware now that Akia is not in a class of his own. He’s devious, in the same class as Adam, only I assume he hasn’t escalated his actions to murder. But you don’t have to kill people to hurt people.
I have no doubt right now that the only reason I didn’t lose my pay level was that email Jack convinced me to write. It won some of the board members over, people more powerful than Neil. The way Adam is more powerful than Akia.
By the time I’m walking toward the restaurant, I’m dialing Kara, thrown directly into her voicemail. “Hey,” I say, “it’s Mia. I’m worried about you. I heard you might be out all week. I’m going to train Akia in the morning. I won’t rock the boat. Let me know if I can bring you anything. Food, maybe? Okay. Well. Call me or text me and let me know you’re okay.”
I’ve just ended the message when another call comes in. I’m unsurprised to find Adam on my caller ID, but I literally have to force my finger to hit the answer button. “Hello,” I manage.
“What happened with Akia?”
His demand riles me up, and while I suspect he expects my submission, I surprise myself with the momentary warrior in me. “Do you really need me to tell you?” I challenge, thinking of the man on floor two. “As you said, you know things.”
“I do know things,” he confirms. “But I don’t know what only you can tell me. Let me make this simple for you. Go ahead and assume I know everything. What are you going to do about Akia?”
I do have to assume he knows everything—of this, I’ve already decided, even before this call. “I haven’t decided yet,” I reply, buying time to figure out a better answer, for him and me.
“Wrong answer, Mia,” he replies, and just as I reach the restaurant door, pausing by the wall, he adds, “Get your food, Mia. And Jack’s. We’ll talk tonight.”
I don’t like the way he says Jack’s name, as if he’s scorned, and my warrior returns, fighting through the submissive me that he’s been dominating. I have to fight back. It feels right. Therefore I say, “I told you, I don’t want to talk anymore.”
“And I told you, talking is the way to control you and me.”
“Talking to other people, not you, is me taking control.”
“We agreed to talk last night. We agreed you would explain what you are doing and why, and then, and only then, would I allow you to become your own solution.”
“I don’t remember that exact conversation.”
He’s silent for a heavy beat before he says, “I don’t want to take things into my own hands, Mia. Just remember you left me no choice.” He disconnects.
Panic rushes over me, and I redial his number, regretting my warrior side hard and fast, hating my warrior side. It goes straight to voicemail. Over and over, I try him back, and over and over, my attempts land in voicemail. My phone buzzes with a text, and for once I pray it’s Adam, only to find Jack nudging me to return to work: Starving. You almost back?
Damn it, I have to grab the food and get back to work before Jack is suspicious—or worse, Akia uses my tardiness against me in some way. I text Adam: I’ll talk. Tonight. And I’m surprised how much I like the contacts.
I pray I’ve said enough.
I rush inside, grab the food, and hurry back to work. Soon Jack and I are sitting at the break room table, eating our sandwiches while he freaks out about me giving up my glasses. But I can barely hear the words he’s speaking to me because Adam hasn’t replied to my text message. All I can hear in my head is his words: Just remember you left me no choice.
Chapter Seventy-Five
My afternoon is spent once again avoiding Jack while worrying about Akia. Is Adam going to hurt him? Even when Adam is silent, I cannot escape his presence, in what I liken to being captive on Alcatraz, with the devil as my master.
Thankfully Jack and I have only about ten minutes to shove down our food before we’re back on the floor, handling patrons. Otherwise I don’t know how I would possibly manage to keep him from figuring out there is mania going on inside my head.
I check my phone for updates from my father, Jess, and, most importantly right now, Adam. The later it gets, the closer to happy hour, the more I wonder if I should just go with Akia, stay by his side, act like a clumsy, stupid girl with a crush. Anything to keep him close.
I don’t have to like him to want him to live.
I’ve decided that’s exactly what I’ll do when Jack finds me in the office, packing up for the evening. “Kara’s not just sick. She’s in the hospital.”
“I heard she was out for perhaps the rest of the week. Are you sure? How do you know?”