“Thanks.” She fumbled for her purse and then stopped off to tell Glen she was here.
He waved her in, blinking furiously. “Nicole, did you just get here?”
“I’m so sorry. The train—“
“Red Jameson came down wanting to speak to you. Twice.”
“Twice?”
“I told him you came in between seven and seven-thirty. Imagine how foolish I felt when eight forty-five rolls around and you’re still not in, and no phone call.”
She was mortified. “I’m so sorry, sir.”
Sir. Now she was doing her submissive thing with Glen Goldman.
He blinked a few times. “This was highly embarrassing for me,” he told her. “Please don’t let it happen again.”
“I won’t. I should go, he left a message for me to go to his office when I got in.”
“Go. Go. I can’t imagine why he wants to see you so urgently…” Glen shook his head, more bewildered than usual.
She ran down the hall, took the elevator up to Red’s floor. Then she ran to the doors and knocked. The door cracked open and Red saw her. His expression was unwelcoming to say the least. “Please wait here,” he said. “I’ve got something I need to attend to. I should only be a few minutes.”
And then the door shut.
The time ticked by. Nicole shuffled, shifted her weight from one foot to the other. God, she was still so tired. Like she’d been drugged. Her eyes were heavy. No chance yet for coffee, and she needed some caffeine badly.
The time dragged on. She pressed her ear to the door and listened but there was nothing. It didn’t sound like he was in a meeting or anything.
She checked her cell phone. It was now 9:30. She’d been up here waiting almost half an hour.
After another twenty minutes torturously passed, she sank to the floor and sat with her back against the wall. Had he forgotten she was out here?
Of course not. This was all planned, deliberate, just like everything else Red did. Unfortunately, he was still the head of this company and she was just an intern, so she couldn’t disobey him now.
Another half an hour passed and she started to nod off.
“Well, well, this is cute,” a voice said.
Startled, she looked up to see a tall, statuesque brunette coming towards her. Nicole got to her feet, her cheeks burning. “Sorry, I’ve been waiting out here for so long, I just got tired—“
The woman laughed condescendingly. “No need to apologize darling, I myself have had one too many cocktails on a Friday night. Of course, it’s not Friday yet, is it?”
Nicole stammered incoherently. The woman stared down her nose at her. She was tall, very well put together. She was obviously older, more experienced, but still beautiful in a kind of frighteningly serious way. She reeked of money and class and even sex.
And then she was knocking on the door to Red’s office. He opened it slowly, smiled at the woman. “Ah, Talia, how nice to see you. Come in, come in.”
Talia walked inside. As Red shut the door without so much as glancing at Nicole, she heard the woman laugh. “I see you have a little wrinkled hobo laying outside your door. Trying to recreate skid row right here at Jameson International?”
Both of them laughed and the door clicked shut, muffling their brutal guffaws.
Nicole held back her tears. She was furious. At herself for allowing him to make a fool of her, and at that bitch for thinking she could treat her like a piece of dirt. But more than anything, Nicole was angry with herself.
Maybe Danielle was right. Red didn’t respect her at all.
She considered leaving, just walking out of the building and never returning. Ignore his calls, if he made any—get a new job. Move on with her life and forget Red Jameson ever existed.
But she knew that she couldn’t really do that. Which only made her more angry and hurt. She was at his mercy in every way and he knew it.
Another forty minutes went by before Talia left. She left as she’d entered, laughing and joking intimately with Red. On her way out she brushed by Nicole without so much as a word.
When the woman disappeared from view, Red turned to Nicole with a brutal expression. “Get in here.”
“She’s a bitch.”
“I said get in.”
She strode past him and he closed the door behind her.
“What was all that about?” she asked.
“You don’t ask the questions around here,” he spat. His voice was barely controlled. She saw that he was absolutely as furious with her as she was with him.
“I didn’t do anything wrong. I don’t deserve—“
“You don’t deserve?” he scoffed, walking to the bar and pouring himself a glass of water from a pitcher. He didn’t offer her anything. “You don’t even know what you deserve. You’re a child.”
“I know that I should be treated with respect.”
“Bullshit. Who told you that? One of your little teeny bopper friends?”
She flushed. Everything she thought, he seemed to know it. “Is this because I came in late to work today?”
He drank some of his water. “You say that as if it’s a minor detail.”