Owning Violet
Page 94
But really, all we have is smoke and mirrors. None of this is real.
“So you’re just using me.”
“Isn’t that what we established from the get-go?”
She’s quiet again. I hear her breathing. I swear I can hear the slow, steady beat of her heart. The fine little crack I just struck through it with my callous words. “I really hate you sometimes, Ryder,” she whispers just before she ends the call.
I dump the phone on my desk and run my hands through my hair, sliding them down until they cover my face.
Sometimes, I really hate myself, too.
I feel like I’ve been summoned to the great and powerful Oz’s lair. Or the gallows where I’ll get my head chopped off, take your pick.
The voicemail was waiting for me when I returned to my office after lunch. A solo lunch I spent at an extremely crowded hole-in-the-wall sandwich shop. I ate a roast beef with Swiss on sourdough at a table so tiny my knees kept bumping into it. I stared out the window, sipping on my extra-large Dr. Pepper, and watched the people pass by, filled with regret. And I never have regret. Life throws shit at me and I just move on. When opportunity knocks on my door, I take it. Run with it.
I look at my time with Violet as an opportunity to get ahead in this company, so why the hell can’t I run with it?
Because you feel guilty.
I’m taking. Taking and taking from Violet and enjoying every fucking minute of it, too. Slowly but surely, I’ve been giving, too. I want to take care of her, not ruin her. I want to spend my days and nights with her, not use her, toss her aside, and move on to my next opportunity.
I think the very opportunity I want is a relationship with Violet. But I’ve already fucked that up.
The voicemail waiting for me had been from Forrest Fowler’s assistant, Joy, asking me to meet with him at three o’clock on the dot. I returned the call, confirming I would be there, then sat in my office until two forty-five, my brain on speed mode as I thought of the many things Forrest Fowler might want to discuss with me.
Hardly any of them good.
I’m in his office now, sitting in a plush, oversized chair, watching as the president and CEO of Fleur Cosmetics reigns behind his desk, trying his best to wrap up what appears to be an extra-long phone call all while sending me apologetic glances and holding up his finger, gesturing it won’t be much longer.
No big deal. I have all the time in the world. My schedule is slow this afternoon and I’m still grouchy as hell after the way I treated Violet. She didn’t call me, she didn’t text, she didn’t email, and usually she’ll reach out to me somehow. Some way. I know she’s pissed. I wonder if she told her daddy just how pissed she was.
If this conversation has anything to do with his daughter, I will lose it. Swear to God.
He finally hangs up the phone and reaches beneath his desk, hitting some secret button that shuts his office door with a quiet efficiency that only the very wealthy can afford. “How are you doing, Ryder?” He smiles benignly, and the sight of it puts me on edge.
I sit up straight. Something about this man commands my absolute attention. I don’t want to disappoint. I don’t want to look like a slacker. I want this man’s respect, and the only way I’ll receive it is if I give him the respect he deserves in return.
He also just so happens to be the father of the woman I’m fucking, and I can’t lie—being in his presence makes me extremely nervous.
“I’m very well, sir. And you?” I sound like a putz. But shit, what else can I say? Definitely not the truth.
It’s been insane these last few weeks, old man. I’m jealous every time I see Violet with her smarmy asshole ex. Jesus, that guy is a prick. By the way, I think I know who you’re banging, so I guess it’s not such a secret anymore. And I’ve also been fucking your daughter all over the building. As a matter of fact, I really pissed her off when I reiterated—yet again—that I’m just using her.
Other than all that crazy nonsense, I’ve been most excellent, sir.
“I hear you’ve been busy lately, working on Violet’s new project.”
His casual mention of Violet makes my heart drop. Here it comes. He’s going to demote me. Fire me. Whatever. “We’re in the process of having the package prototypes put together. By next week they should be available. I know … I know Violet is extremely excited.” Not a lie. She’s very protective of this project and I can’t blame her, considering her name is appearing on everything.
“Violet says they’re going to be beautiful.” He looks at me pointedly. “She told me you’ve been a big help with the line, even suggesting marketing ideas when that’s not necessarily your area of expertise. She says that you really know your stuff.”
“Uh, thank you.” I’m shocked. When did he talk to her about me? And why would she heap so much praise on me? I thought she hated me.
“I’m sure you know about Zachary Lawrence’s temporary promotion,” he says, changing the subject completely.
I try my best to remain neutral, but my lips curl into a sneer for about two seconds. Long enough for the very astute Forrest to notice. “Of course,” I say stiffly.
He laughs and shakes his head. “You don’t have a very high opinion of him?”
“Not in the least, sir.” I say nothing else. He can’t hold it against me if I remain fairly neutral.
“I understand, son. I’m not too fond of him myself.” His use of the word son startles me. No one calls me that. My own father called me a no-good, money-sucking bastard. I have no idea how to let an older man care about me in a fatherly manner. I didn’t think it was possible.
“So you’re just using me.”
“Isn’t that what we established from the get-go?”
She’s quiet again. I hear her breathing. I swear I can hear the slow, steady beat of her heart. The fine little crack I just struck through it with my callous words. “I really hate you sometimes, Ryder,” she whispers just before she ends the call.
I dump the phone on my desk and run my hands through my hair, sliding them down until they cover my face.
Sometimes, I really hate myself, too.
I feel like I’ve been summoned to the great and powerful Oz’s lair. Or the gallows where I’ll get my head chopped off, take your pick.
The voicemail was waiting for me when I returned to my office after lunch. A solo lunch I spent at an extremely crowded hole-in-the-wall sandwich shop. I ate a roast beef with Swiss on sourdough at a table so tiny my knees kept bumping into it. I stared out the window, sipping on my extra-large Dr. Pepper, and watched the people pass by, filled with regret. And I never have regret. Life throws shit at me and I just move on. When opportunity knocks on my door, I take it. Run with it.
I look at my time with Violet as an opportunity to get ahead in this company, so why the hell can’t I run with it?
Because you feel guilty.
I’m taking. Taking and taking from Violet and enjoying every fucking minute of it, too. Slowly but surely, I’ve been giving, too. I want to take care of her, not ruin her. I want to spend my days and nights with her, not use her, toss her aside, and move on to my next opportunity.
I think the very opportunity I want is a relationship with Violet. But I’ve already fucked that up.
The voicemail waiting for me had been from Forrest Fowler’s assistant, Joy, asking me to meet with him at three o’clock on the dot. I returned the call, confirming I would be there, then sat in my office until two forty-five, my brain on speed mode as I thought of the many things Forrest Fowler might want to discuss with me.
Hardly any of them good.
I’m in his office now, sitting in a plush, oversized chair, watching as the president and CEO of Fleur Cosmetics reigns behind his desk, trying his best to wrap up what appears to be an extra-long phone call all while sending me apologetic glances and holding up his finger, gesturing it won’t be much longer.
No big deal. I have all the time in the world. My schedule is slow this afternoon and I’m still grouchy as hell after the way I treated Violet. She didn’t call me, she didn’t text, she didn’t email, and usually she’ll reach out to me somehow. Some way. I know she’s pissed. I wonder if she told her daddy just how pissed she was.
If this conversation has anything to do with his daughter, I will lose it. Swear to God.
He finally hangs up the phone and reaches beneath his desk, hitting some secret button that shuts his office door with a quiet efficiency that only the very wealthy can afford. “How are you doing, Ryder?” He smiles benignly, and the sight of it puts me on edge.
I sit up straight. Something about this man commands my absolute attention. I don’t want to disappoint. I don’t want to look like a slacker. I want this man’s respect, and the only way I’ll receive it is if I give him the respect he deserves in return.
He also just so happens to be the father of the woman I’m fucking, and I can’t lie—being in his presence makes me extremely nervous.
“I’m very well, sir. And you?” I sound like a putz. But shit, what else can I say? Definitely not the truth.
It’s been insane these last few weeks, old man. I’m jealous every time I see Violet with her smarmy asshole ex. Jesus, that guy is a prick. By the way, I think I know who you’re banging, so I guess it’s not such a secret anymore. And I’ve also been fucking your daughter all over the building. As a matter of fact, I really pissed her off when I reiterated—yet again—that I’m just using her.
Other than all that crazy nonsense, I’ve been most excellent, sir.
“I hear you’ve been busy lately, working on Violet’s new project.”
His casual mention of Violet makes my heart drop. Here it comes. He’s going to demote me. Fire me. Whatever. “We’re in the process of having the package prototypes put together. By next week they should be available. I know … I know Violet is extremely excited.” Not a lie. She’s very protective of this project and I can’t blame her, considering her name is appearing on everything.
“Violet says they’re going to be beautiful.” He looks at me pointedly. “She told me you’ve been a big help with the line, even suggesting marketing ideas when that’s not necessarily your area of expertise. She says that you really know your stuff.”
“Uh, thank you.” I’m shocked. When did he talk to her about me? And why would she heap so much praise on me? I thought she hated me.
“I’m sure you know about Zachary Lawrence’s temporary promotion,” he says, changing the subject completely.
I try my best to remain neutral, but my lips curl into a sneer for about two seconds. Long enough for the very astute Forrest to notice. “Of course,” I say stiffly.
He laughs and shakes his head. “You don’t have a very high opinion of him?”
“Not in the least, sir.” I say nothing else. He can’t hold it against me if I remain fairly neutral.
“I understand, son. I’m not too fond of him myself.” His use of the word son startles me. No one calls me that. My own father called me a no-good, money-sucking bastard. I have no idea how to let an older man care about me in a fatherly manner. I didn’t think it was possible.
