Page 156 of Hate to Love You
“Sit down, Heather!” Roman snaps, leaving no room for Heather to argue. Reluctantly she obeys and takes her seat. Leaning against the doorway I stare at Roman, cocking my head to the side.
“Oh, Heather, what happened?”
“You crazy fucking bitch! You did this to me!” She screams, before lunging out of her chair at me.
Roman stands, but Cal is closer, quickly stepping in front of Heather and grabbing her arm, pushing her back to the chair.
“He said sit!” He says firmly.
“I have no idea what you are talking about,” I reply, my voice flat.
“Look at it!” She screams, gesturing to her chest, the blood drying on her skin. “I’m going to have this for the rest of my life!”
“Oh gosh,” I say sweetly, placing my hand dramatically over my mouth. “You really should get that checked out, Sweetie. You wouldn’t want that to get infected.”
“Arrrgh!” She screams, once again lurching toward me, and once again being stopped by Cal and shoved into the chair.
She turns her angry glare on Roman.
“You’re going to let her get away with this?!” She seethes, her bloodied chest heaving.
But Roman is ignoring her, his gaze locked on me.
“Heather,” he finally says after what feels like a small eternity. “Go home.”
“Excuse me?” She replies, completely bewildered.
“I said,” Roman says darkly. “Go home, Heather. Or maybe to a doctor. Either way, you’re done for the day.”
Heather scoffs.
“You’re joking,” she whispers, her jaw slack.
“No, I’m not,” Roman says, his voice soft but firm.
“You’re actually taking her side?!” She snaps her voice shaking. “The side of a woman who…who…”
She snatches her bag from atop Roman’s desk and pulls out an envelope.
“Here,” she snarls, throwing it onto his desk.
It’s then that I notice that this envelope has “Mr. Antonov” written on the front, in my clear, cursive, and very distinctive handwriting.
There was only one envelope I’d addressed with his name:
My resignation letter.
A letter that I’d specifically shredded after attending his little meeting with his monster friends. Except that clearly someone had specifically fished it out of the bin, taped it back together, and held onto it. For such an exact time as this.
My heart stops beating, and I stop breathing, realizing that I’m fucked.
Roman’s eyes scan over the tattered cross-stitched document, darkening with every breathless second that passes. When he finally looks up at me, I want to evaporate on the spot, paralyzed by the haunting rage reflected in his face, restrained only by his $3000 suit.
Heather turns to me, a smirk playing on her lips.
“You see? She was going to quit. The bitch doesn’t even want to be here. And after this?” She gestures to herself, “She shouldn’t be. She’s a monster!”
Roman glares at me, his blue eyes now dark and cold. The only sound in the room is Heather’s shaky breathing and the crinkling of the paper slowly crumpling in his hand as he closes his fist, his jaw tensing.