Company Ink Page 14
She glanced to the left and the right, looking for the quickest exit while refusing to meet his gaze. “That’s none of your business.”
“I believe it is,” he replied. “After all, it was you who led me to believe we were headed somewhere.”
“What? No, that’s not what happ—”
Steve stepped closer. “You were the one who called me after I left you my number, right?”
“Yes, but I—”
“And you were the one who agreed to have dinner with me, didn’t you?”
Violet felt her strength wane. Suddenly, she was the twenty-year-old baby face Steve could talk circles around. “I did, but … ”
He began backing her toward the CVS window display. “Well then, why would you go out with another guy? Do you like lying to me?”
Eyes wide, she struggled to find her voice. “No, I—”
“Are you playing games with me, Vi?”
“No, that’s not—”
“It seems like you are.” Steve was so close, she could feel his breath on her face. “Why can’t you just tell me?”
With a burst of exasperated energy, Violet shoved him away. “Would you shut up and let me speak? Yes, I agreed to have dinner with you. And you stood me up, remember? That was just enough to snap me out of my momentary lapse of judgment,” she said, determined not to give him a chance to speak. “And I don’t know where you thought I was leading you on, because I told you the very next time I saw you that I was seeing someone else and wanted nothing to do with you. Now, if you’re looking for someone to double-talk and trick, look somewhere else, because I am not that girl anymore!”
“Look at you,” he sneered, grabbing her by the arm. “You may have fooled other people into thinking you’re this strong-willed woman with a mind of her own. But here’s the thing, princess. The two concepts don’t exist where females are concerned. So save it for your punk bitch boyfriend, because I know what you are and where girls like you belong.”
A voice rang out in the distance; the doorman from a building several feet away was approaching at a rapid pace.
“You are disgusting!” She yanked her arm away from him, completely horrified to learn that, in the years since they’d broken up, he’d managed to become even more of a pig.
Violet’s hand connected with the side of his face so hard, she was sure his ears were ringing. But he grabbed at her again, this time shoving her into the window just hard enough to get a startled scream out of her.
Suddenly, the doorman and another stranger flew at Steve, holding him back as a man and woman clad in CVS-branded polo shirts surrounded Violet to make sure she was okay.
“Right, Vi, you’re real strong,” Steve called out, taunting her as she climbed into a cab someone hailed for her escape. “I’ll see you later, little girl!”
• • •
She was still shaking when she walked through her door twenty minutes later. Tears were now streaming down her face; the fear, humiliation, and anger threatened to make her fall apart at the seams. She kicked off her shoes in the living room, pulling her shirt over her head with frustrated grunts as she made her way to the shower. The thought of calling Ben crossed her mind briefly, but she was too much of a mess to talk to him now. She was naked by the time she reached the bathroom, sniffling and holding back sobs as she ran the shower, setting the temperature as hot as she could take it.
She stepped under the torrent of steaming water, wishing she could wash away the last half hour of her life. So many things she should have said, so much she should have done. She’d imagined for years how it would be to stand up to Steve, finally let him know he held no power over her. In her mind, she’d failed—she ran when he stepped the game into high gear. In fact, she’d never felt weaker. Steve could still pull her apart without much effort, and it made the years she’d spent changing her life seem like a waste.
If she couldn’t stand up to the guy who’d essentially abused her all those years ago, then how the hell was she supposed to be strong anywhere else?
Then there was Ben and the feeling that being in his arms could right everything, and it made her angry. Tears streamed down her face again as she reprimanded herself for wanting to fall into a guy’s arms like some damsel in distress. Stubbornly, she shut off the shower—no more feeling sorry for yourself, Vi! She wrapped a towel around her body and padded into her bedroom where she towel-dried quickly as small pools of water began to form at her feet by the side of the bed. She turned off the light and got into bed, still naked.
What happened tonight would never happen again.
An hour later, Violet woke up to a case of the shakes that she’d never experienced before. Her teeth chattered, and the blanket on her naked skin felt like sandpaper. She jumped up and got dressed, her body stinging with every move she made. Every sign pointed to her having a fever. Dammit, her thermometer was sitting in her medicine cabinet in desperate need of a new battery. She groaned and dropped back onto the bed. Had a phantom cold struck during the hour she’d managed to sleep, or was she having a panic attack? The cold seemed more likely, since she hadn’t had a panic attack since … Right, since Steve.
Knowing she was in for a long night, she rolled over and grabbed her cell phone. It took one phone call, an apology for calling after ten o’clock, and five minutes of persuasion to get another icer to cover her shift tomorrow. Hopefully, Ben had been paying attention the last time they did production together, because the task would be all his tomorrow. Unwilling to call him and go through an explanation and possibly talking him out of coming over, she left Ben a text message:
Calling out tomorrow, not feeling good. Talk later.
Inundated with nightmares, Violet tossed and turned in complete darkness for the first few hours as she listened to her phone buzz on the nightstand. Somewhere between consciousness and dreamland, she thought she might have heard her doorbell. Safe in her cocoon within her tightly locked and barricaded apartment, she snuggled deeply under the covers, muttering curse words in the direction of the front door. She had no idea what time it was when sleep finally took over, but she was thankful her brain had finally given up and pushed current events into her subconscious.
When she awoke, her head felt empty, and her body ached as if she’d been drinking all night. The alarm clock told her it was 10:00 a.m.—unheard of for Violet, who was normally an early bird. She tried to stretch, but it was painful; she knew immediately that she could probably use a few more hours of sleep. Her eyes closed, lids heavy, as she reminded herself that she had no desire to participate in the world today anyway.
Her phone buzzed at that moment. Crap. There was still a world out there looking for her. She whimpered from beneath her blankets, reaching out and grabbing her phone. The backlight nearly blinded her as she activated her screen. She squinted as she read her alerts: twenty-six missed calls, three text messages. She released an exhausted sigh. Six of the calls were from Ben, while the other twenty were from a private number.
“Steve,” she muttered, her tummy wrenching at the thought of him.
Thankfully, the text messages were all from Ben, and they were all dripping with concern:
Are you okay, Vi?
Is everything okay?
Vi, please call me.
Her fingers moved swiftly over the keyboard as she typed her response. She didn’t want to talk about anything concerning last night. After carefully choosing her words, she finally hit send:
I’m okay, just sleeping it off. Please give me the day. I promise I’ll tell you everything tomorrow. xo
Satisfied, she turned her phone over and tugged off its back to pop the battery out and set the pieces on her nightstand. Finally, she gave her body what it desperately wanted; she closed her eyes and buried herself under her blankets, sleep mercifully claiming her within a few short minutes.
• • •
Ben was at Violet’s station in the bakery, gathering everything he needed to do production, when his phone
buzzed in his pocket. He had three employees talking to him at once; he held up a hand to silence all of them.
He was more than slightly disappointed when he realized it was a text message.
“Excuse me a minute,” he answered distractedly, walking toward the hallway.
Violet’s words told him nothing and only stoked his insecurities about the night before. Her last words to him were that she needed to go home to “process all of this”; by the end of the night, she was calling out of work and not answering her phone. Sure, he was panicking. Ben was all but certain at this point that his divorce had finally driven her away. If he could just speak to her now, he knew he could put her mind at ease. The time he’d spent with Ethan and Tommy had been fruitful; there was no longer a doubt in his mind that this would be over soon.
Defying Violet’s request for some alone time, he swiped his way into his phone’s contact list and dialed her number. His heart sank when it went straight to voicemail—he’d never felt so out of control in his life. He didn’t bother leaving a message out of concern that he might say something stupid in the heat of the moment. He didn’t want to be needy, or pushy, or controlling. He’d gotten the impression that she’d had enough of that to last her a lifetime, but he couldn’t be sure because they hadn’t actually spoken about her past much in the wake of his drama. He’d given her a number of outs; all he could do now was hold on to the fact that she hadn’t taken them and believe that she was being honest, not only with him, but with herself. He stuffed his phone back into his pocket and told himself to suck it up, hoping that the damage hadn’t already been done.
• • •
Violet slipped in and out of consciousness for the remainder of the day, hearing noises at her door at random points without caring much for who was behind it. Between naps, she thought of ways to stand up to Steve once and for all. She wanted so desperately to assert her dominance, to prove that she was different and that she’d grown. Steve had taken advantage of her naiveté in the worst possible way, and she needed to prove to herself—just as much as she wanted to prove to him—she wouldn’t be anyone’s doormat again. Each time she imagined facing him, she’d begin piecing an epic rant together, the kind of speech from which he’d have no choice but to walk away. And each time she’d string a few words together, sleep would take her.
She finally woke up, without the aid of her alarm, at four o’ clock the next morning. Full of renewed spirit, Violet jumped out of bed and headed directly for the bathroom. After what she thought was a pretty amazing shower, Violet dried off and began to get dressed, feeling absolutely positive today would be a better day. As she set up her usual breakfast, prepped her lunch, and put her bag together to take to work, it felt great to be engulfed in her usual routine. And by the time she walked out of the apartment, she couldn’t wait to get to work and, more importantly, see Ben’s face.
She strolled into Wynne’s Kitchen at five thirty, her usual arrival time. Counter staff and bakers alike greeted her warmly, asking if she was okay, as she made her way downstairs to the office. When she entered the office, she was surprised to see Ben sitting at his desk. He was hunched over, head in his hands. She regarded him with a tilt of the head, her heart swelling as she realized she’d missed him more than she thought.
“Hey, you,” she said softly.
Ben sat up straight and turned, worry etched on his face. “Vi.”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have shut you out like that.”
He shook his head. “I haven’t exactly given you reason to think you can come to me. I’ve been so caught up in the divorce and just keeping away from Elena that I—”
“It’s okay,” Violet insisted, pressing her back against the office door. “We also didn’t exactly start on the most solid ground, did we?”
“No, I guess not,” he replied. “I guess we’ve got a little damage control to do, huh?”
“I wouldn’t say damage control.” She grinned, pushing off the door and walking to her desk. “But we do have to talk. After work, I’ll meet you at your place, cook, and we’ll talk all night if you want.”
“As much fun as that sounds,” he answered as she took her seat, “I feel like we need to hash this out now. At least so I know what I’m headed into tonight.”
Violet raised an eyebrow. “I mean, our situation is complicated—I just didn’t think it was that complicated. What is it you’re worried about?”
Pressing his lips together, he stood. “Never mind, you’re right—we’ll talk at the house tonight. I’ve gotta get the cash into the drawers anyway.”
Violet watched him, bewildered, as he clammed up and went about his business. What was eating at him? With a sigh, she logged in to her computer and began to set up her morning.
• • •
Ben headed up the stairs with two register drawers in his arms, a little disappointed in himself for giving Violet a passive-aggressive cold shoulder. She was absolutely right to say they’d talk later; how in the hell would they ever get a decent conversation in while they were running The Rock? That said, he was more anxious about their pending conversation than he was willing to let on; he couldn’t vouch for her state of mind yesterday, but he’d worried himself into a completely sleepless night wondering whether or not Violet was on the verge of leaving him.
Ben slammed the drawers into their respective registers, feeling like an idiot for being so crazed about something that he had no control over. If she did have second thoughts, could he stop her from going? Probably not. But did he want her to stay? My God, yes. It was completely unnatural to be falling for someone else when his divorce papers hadn’t even been signed yet, but there it was.
He blew out a gust of air as he made a split decision to avoid Violet as much as he could today, only because he wasn’t sure he could control his urge to drag her into one of the walk-in refrigerators and demand they have this conversation now. Ben was used to immediate satisfaction when it came to his curiosity, and the fact that he’d waited even twenty-four hours to discuss the immediate future with his girlfriend was a damned miracle. The impatience coursing through his veins would likely drive him crazy before the morning ended, but for Violet, he’d wait.
• • •
After one of the longest, most awkward days she’d ever spent in Ben’s presence since they began dating, Violet couldn’t wait to get out of the bakery. The only thought that kept her going was that the tension between them would certainly be long gone by the end of this evening. She’d cook, they’d talk, and Ben would finally know the story between her and Steve as well as what the jerk had been up to lately. Violet couldn’t wait to get it all out in the open and hopefully end up in Ben’s arms at the end of the night.
Thankful she hadn’t run into Ben when she entered the office, she grabbed her things and sped out of the bakery before anyone could call her back. She grabbed her cell phone and stopped just outside the store to send Ben a quick text message saying she’d see him tonight, followed by a few x’s and o’s. Hoping that would be enough to make him smile, she began to walk toward the bus that would take her to Ben’s neighborhood. She was startled to find Steve, disheveled and wild-eyed, standing in front of her. She stepped back into a defensive position, determined not to let him send her running.
To her surprise, he held up his hands submissively. “Wait, wait! Relax, I’m not here to start trouble.”
She watched him silently, poised to punch him and yell for the police if the situation called for it. Steve kept his hands where she could see them, thank God.
“Vi, just … just take it easy. I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry?” Violet repeated, stunned.
“I am. I was an absolute jerk to you last night, and I’m sure it only reminded you of the guy I was in the past.”
“The guy you were?” Violet asked. “I think we’re way beyond talking about your behavior in the past tense.”
“You’re right,” he replied. “I deserved that. That�
��s why I had to make sure I apologized before...” His shoulders were hunched as he closed the distance between them just a little more. “Look, I’m going back to Florida. Here—New York—is not where I’m meant to be, and it’s definitely not what I need. You deserve better than how I acted.”
She watched him carefully, unsure of how to take his statement. He seemed genuinely apologetic and humble, but she couldn’t help but feel like he was holding a proverbial knife behind his back.
“Being up here brought back everything I hated about myself, things I thought I let go when you left me,” he continued. “And when you rejected me, and I saw you with that guy … Well, you know.”
Violet’s arms dropped to her sides. “Yeah, I know.”
He held his hands out in an imploring gesture. “I don’t expect you to ever forget the way I treated you, but maybe one day you can forgive me?”
She wanted to tell him off. But there he stood before her, seemingly vulnerable and taking responsibility for his behavior by asking for eventual forgiveness. She looked away and folded her arms before letting out a sigh. “Maybe.”
An awkward moment of silence extended between them; Violet was considering just walking away when she felt Steve grab her arms aggressively. Her eyes flew upward to meet his and, before she could exclaim, he crushed his mouth against hers. She struggled against him, but he held on, his strength proving too much for her. Bile rose in her throat, and her stomach churned in the worst way; his slimy tongue made its way into her mouth as he forced himself on her. She jerked her head to one side and screamed against him; she felt him laugh against her before pushing her away with so much force that she almost flew backward into the street.
She gagged momentarily as he wiped his mouth and watched her, his gaze dripping with disdain. “Yeah, that’s what I thought you’d taste like—a bitter, deluded bitch.”
Violet straightened her back and glared at him before reaching out and shoving him as hard as she could. “Who the hell do you think you are?”