Sadie
My first day at the accounting firm was a flurry of paperwork, orientation videos, and nervous chatter. My boss, Mr. Collins, was a man in his late fifties with a slicked-back combover and a smile that never quite reached his eyes. He seemed friendly enough at first, but as the day wore on, his compliments became a little too personal, his touches a little too lingering.
"You're a real firecracker, Sadie," he said, patting my hand as he showed me around the office. His hand lingered on mine for a beat too long, and I pulled my hand away, a strange, cold dread crawling up my spine. "A lot of energy. I like that in a woman."
I forced a tight smile. "Thank you, sir."
"You can call me Bill, my dear," he said, his smile widening into a leer. "It's a real pleasure to have a face like yours around here." He winked, a slow, deliberate gesture that made my stomach churn.
I spent the rest of the day trying to avoid him, but he seemed to be everywhere. He'd come to my cubicle to "check on me," his eyes scanning my body instead of my work. He'd make suggestive comments about my clothes, my hair, the way I drank my coffee. The comments were veiled, but the intent was clear, and it made me feel sick.
By the time I got back to my apartment, I was a nervous wreck. I stripped off my clothes and stepped into the shower, scrubbing my skin as if I could wash away the feeling of his eyes on me. I stood under the hot water for a long time, trying to calm my racing heart, but it was no use. The image of his slicked-back hair and leering eyes was burned into my mind. I was a third-year accounting student. I was supposed to be a success story, not a victim of some pervert. The irony was not lost on me. I wanted to cry, but I was so angry, a white-hot rage that made my hands clench into fists.
My mind went to Zane. He had told me to report if anyone made me uncomfortable. And a part of me, the same part that had been thrilled to hear his voice, knew that if I told him, he would handle it. A chilling thought, but also a comforting one. The thought of his dark promises, of his possessive gaze, felt like a lifeline in a world that had suddenly become very cold and hostile. I could call him. But no, that wasn't enough. I needed to see him, to feel his presence, to know that he was real. I needed his darkness to swallow up this man, this pervert who had made me feel so small and powerless.
I changed into a pair of jeans and a comfortable sweater and grabbed my keys. I had his office address, of course. His company's name was etched on the penthouse floor of the tallest, most intimidating skyscraper in the city. I was going to his office, and I was going to tell him everything.