Читать книгу The Key - Jennifer Sturman - Страница 7

T he one advantage to being among the few female bankers in the department was that I could always retreat to the ladies’ room when upset—or, in this case, enraged. It was a relatively safe place to get my emotions in check; the only other people I was likely to encounter were the administrative assistants on the floor. They were a sympathetic group, but it was still a relief to find I had the room to myself.

I ran shaking hands under cold water from the tap and bent forward to splash some onto my flaming cheeks. No matter how level I’d managed to keep my voice, my face always betrayed me. I didn’t need to look in the mirror to know that two spots of crimson were staining my usual late-winter pallor. I averted my gaze—I didn’t want to see my reflection; it would only drive home the overwhelming feeling that I was trapped, running toward a goal that proved ever more elusive. How many times had I stood before this same sink, trying to calm myself after a disappointment or confrontation?

Get a grip, I told myself. Don’t let him get to you.

But how dare he question my abilities? Much less my commitment? I’d been at it for eighty hours a week for years, but that weasel assumed, just because I was female, that I was some kind of dilettante, that I’d wandered into Winslow, Brown by accident and was sticking around on a whim. If anything, I was as ambitious as any of the men at the firm, perhaps more so—I’d dealt with so much crap— to borrow one of Gallagher’s favorite words—that I was determined to make partner, if only to prove that I was better than most of the men with whom I worked. Another few months and that partnership would be mine, or so the department head, Stan Winslow, had assured me. Not only would my income soar, I finally would be in a position to start doing things the way I wanted to do them.

I took some more deep breaths, exhaling slowly as I waited for my anger to subside and for my fantasy of beating Gallagher over the head with a blunt object to work its cathartic magic. After a minute or two, my hands were still trembling, but just a bit, and Peter’s ring shone bright and reassuring on my finger. I took a final deep breath, squared my shoulders, and headed through the door.

I crashed immediately into Dahlia Crenshaw.

“Ooof,” I said.

“Oh! I’m sorry. Are you okay?” I didn’t have time to answer before Dahlia burst into tears.

“I’m fine,” I said, leading her back into the safety of the ladies’ room. “But you’re clearly not. What’s going on?”

She sank onto one of the stools in front of the vanity. “You have to ask?”

“Gallagher?”

“I hate that man.”

“He’s a rat,” I agreed. “But you can’t let him get to you.” Easier advice to give than to take, as I well knew, but suggesting that she fantasize about beating her boss over the head with a blunt object seemed unprofessional, at best. I crossed to a stall, ripped a length of toilet paper from the roll and handed it to her. She wiped her eyes and blew her nose.

“Why don’t you quit?” I asked.

“I’d leave in a heartbeat if I could, but the money’s good and the firm pays for my night classes—I’m getting my nursing degree, did you know? I can’t afford to quit. After all, it’s only my pride I’m sacrificing here.” She said this with a bitter smile, and fresh tears began streaming down her cheeks, streaked with black from her running mascara.

I perched on the counter beside her. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Dahlia shook her head. “You could kill him for me,” she joked with false bravado.

I laughed. “I’d kill him for myself. He sure hasn’t won me over. I don’t know how you can stand it.”

“I can’t,” said Dahlia in a forlorn voice, the bravado gone. She turned to the mirror and began dabbing at the tracks the tears had left. “So much for waterproof mascara.”

“No mascara could stand up to these working conditions.”

“Working for Gallagher is bad enough. But it’s even worse knowing that everybody thinks we’re having an affair.”

I felt a wave of shame wash over me. That was exactly what everybody thought, including myself until a moment ago.

I was a bad liar, so I didn’t even try to convince Dahlia that the rumors weren’t out there. “Look, people are so desperate for a bit of intrigue, they’ll believe anything. But that’s a rumor that can be squashed.”

“I hope so. I mean, it’s not like he didn’t come on to me when I first started working for him, but I nipped that right in the bud, and I’m too good at my job for him to get rid of me. But how could anyone think I’d have anything to do with him? And why does he always have to be such a jerk, yelling and obnoxious? Didn’t anyone ever teach him any manners?”

“He does seem to have missed out on the common courtesy gene. I wish I knew how to solve that one.”

“You can’t,” said Dahlia. She sighed. “Sorry to unload on you like this.”

“No problem. I’ve had a few nervous breakdowns in here, too.”

“You? Impossible. You’re always so poised. Calm, cool, and collected.”

If she only knew. “Hardly. Anyhow, are you feeling better?”

“Better? Not really. But I’ll be fine.” She dabbed at her face a final time and rose from the stool. “And I should get back. This new deal seems to have him particularly worked up. Do you know that two different people have already called from Thunderbolt for a team list?”

“They probably want to send some more materials over,” I said, but I had to stifle a groan as I followed Dahlia out the door. The last thing we needed was another influx of documents and spreadsheets. It was hard to believe it was only Monday. And it was depressing, too. An entire week ahead and not a break in sight.

Little did I know what the week held in store.