The Meeting
415 Words
7:00AM. Resort conference room.
Open air. Ocean behind him.
Damien was back in a suit. Tie perfect. Sunglasses on the table.
No sign of last night.
“Morning,” he said. Flat. Professional. Like I was a stranger.
Like he hadn’t said my name like a confession 8 hours ago.
“Yes, Mr. Cole,” I said. Same tone.
My hair was up. High ponytail.
I’d covered it. I thought.
7:32AM.
He stopped mid-sentence.
Stared at my neck.
My hand flew up.
The shirt I’d borrowed from him last night. High collar. But I’d reached for a pen.
The sleeve pulled back.
Just for a second.
A mark. Purple. On my collarbone.
I froze.
It wasn’t his.
I didn’t know how it got there. Probably the shower door. Probably nothing.
But his eyes tracked it.
The whole room went quiet.
He didn’t blink.
“Ms. Lane,” he said. Voice lower. Colder. “Are you listening?”
“Yes, sir.”
He looked away. Fast.
“Continue,” he said to the VP.
He didn’t look at me for the rest of the meeting. Not once.
Not when I passed out agendas. Not when I took notes.
Nothing.
After, he dismissed everyone.
“Ms. Lane. Stay.”
The door closed.
He stood by the window. Back to me.
“Explain,” he said.
“Explain what?”
“That.” He turned. Pointed at my collarbone. Not touching. “Did someone touch you, Ava?”
“No,” I said too fast. “I— I hit it. In the bathroom. Last night.”
He didn’t believe me. I could tell.
His jaw was tight. Hands in his pockets like he was holding himself back.
“Don’t lie to me,” he said.
“I’m not.”
A long silence.
“Good,” he said finally. “Because if someone did, they’re fired.”
The threat wasn’t for me.
It was for whoever he thought did it.
“Is that all, Mr. Cole?”
He picked up his sunglasses. Put them on.
“Go to your room,” he said. “You’re off the rest of the day.”
“Why?”
“Because I said so.”
I left.
Outside the door, I heard his chair scrape. Hard.
Like he’d punched the table.
*Note to Self: He’s angry. Not at me.*
*Note to Self #2: He said ‘if someone did.’ He thinks I was with someone.*
I wasn’t.
But he doesn’t know that.
- Writer
