Page 87 of Brutal

Patrick is sitting two seats away from me.

Fucker.

I fight the urge to glower at him. I have to at least pretend to be professional, after all, and that smug asshole would love it if I humiliated myself in front of some of the most influential people in the company.

Right.

Which leads my attention back to the junior members who are speaking, trying to suck up and get noticed so they can climb the corporate ladder.

Their presentation doesn’t even start out interesting.

Normally, I’d be fine listening to numbers and the way an app is functioning, but I just can’t focus. My mind is back home, on Mimosa.

On the way she rebuffed me so thoroughly, on the way she’s gotten so deep into my head that it’s like I’ll never get her out after such a short period of time.

I pretend to pay attention to the meeting even as my thoughts focus on her, but the truth is, I barely even know what’s going on.

This is a joke.

I used to love my job, but now I feel like I’m just playing pretend. I’m so out of touch with everything that’s happening, and the vacation Caroline had told me to take suddenly feels like it had been a bad idea. It’s only distancing me further from everything that’s going on.

When Patrick gets up to speak, I stare at him.

What he’s saying is no more memorable than the rest of the meeting, but I have the strong urge to fire him on the spot. It would never work, of course; he does his job. He probably has evidence of selling shit to me, too, and even if I got him ousted for dealing drugs, I’d be fucked too.

And it’s a long, long way to fall.

Patrick says something, numbers that are probably important, but my eyes are drawn to his jaw, where I’d once bitten him while we were both cock-deep in one woman.

Mimosa asked me if I’d ever fucked a guy. Once, when we’d both been high, Patrick had seemed like he was suggesting it. I’m glad I never took him up on that offer.

His voice is grating against my ears, like he’s purposefully speaking in a tone designed to piss me off.

“Any questions?” Patrick asks, his eyes squarely on me.

I should have questions. I should want to know what they’d been talking about, or to pick apart whatever bullshit they’d just presented.

I look at my phone and say, “No. You all can finish up without me. I’ve got another meeting I need to rush to.”

I head out, not giving a fuck what this looks like. Instead of returning to my office, though, I duck into the nearby bathroom and splash water on my face.

My hands are shaking.

I’d been able to drum up a few of the pills Patrick used to give me when I’d first returned to work, but they’re all gone now. Withdrawal is hitting me hard, and I don’t even know what the fuck I’m withdrawing from to try to find another supplier. I’m sure someone would love to blackmail me by saying they dealt me drugs.

I’m not sure the risk wouldn’t be worth it, but at the same time… It would be just one more thing for Mimosa to judge me for.

I look about as bad as I feel, I discover when I look in the mirror, and I wonder if everyone can see it. Can they just glance at me and tell that I’m fucking coming apart at the seams?

I hear footsteps, and I don’t want to deal with whoever it is. I go into the closest stall and sit down on the toilet, willing my breathing to calm down.

“Christ, did you see Drake?” a voice asks. “If he’s going to get high at work, he could do it more subtly.”

I roll my eyes. Right, like the day wasn’t shitty enough, of course I get to overhear the lackeys badmouthing me.

“You gonna tell him that? Your job isn’t that secure. Doesn’t matter who your daddy is.”

“Fuck off, I worked my way into the company.” He doesn’t sound mad about the accusation though.