3: Negotiations With a Wolf
1354 Words
The phone rings six times and I count every single one of them, and by the sixth ring I finally swipe to answer.
“H-hello?”
His voice comes through the speaker. “Ms. Voss, I’m downstairs and you should come down now.”
I rush to my window so fast I nearly trip over the shoes I kicked off earlier and I yank back the curtain and look down at the street, and there it is, a sleek black car parked directly in front of my building with its engine running.
“I—it’s not even—” I start but I can’t finish because what am I going to say, it’s not even a reasonable hour to threaten your employees?
“I’m very well aware of the time, Ms. Voss,” he cuts me off. “This conversation needs to happen now.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about—” I try but it sounds weak even to my own ears.
He laughs and it’s the most dangerous sound I’ve ever heard, low and dark and nothing like the polite corporate chuckle he uses in meetings. “Don’t insult my intelligence, you have two choices, come down immediately or I come to you”
The anger hits me so fast it overrides the fear for exactly three seconds. “Are you THREATENING me?”
He hangs up and I’m left staring at my phone screen with my heart pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat, and I think about not going, but then I know he’s not bluffing about coming up here.
I go back to bed and pull the covers over my head like I’m five years old and that’ll make the monsters go away, but my brain won’t shut off so I sit up and grab my laptop from where it’s balanced on my nightstand.
I type “how to kill werewolf” into Google, the results are useless, silver bullets which I don’t have and wouldn’t know how to use anyway since I’ve never even held a gun, wolfsbane which sounds made up, and fire which seems impractical for multiple reasons including the fact that I live in an apartment building and probably shouldn’t commit arson.
My phone buzzes with a text from an unknown number and I know it’s him before I even look.
“Ignoring me is a mistake.”
“How do you know where I live?!”
The response comes immediately. “Employee records.”
“STAY AWAY FROM ME.”
“Not an option anymore. See you soon.”
I stare at that last message he’s coming up here, into my space, into my shitty apartment and I can’t let that happen.
I text back. “Fine. I’m coming down. Give me five minutes.”
I don’t wait for a response before I’m pulling on jeans and a sweatshirt and I shove my feet into sneakers and grab my keys and my phone and I’m out the door and down the stairs.
The lobby is empty and I push through the front door and the cold air hits me like a slap, and there’s the car, huge and black and expensive with tinted windows so I can’t see inside.
The driver’s door opens and he steps out and he’s changed clothes since I saw him in the office, now he’s wearing dark jeans and a black henley that shows off his arms and there’s a leather jacket that makes him look dangerous.
“Done running?” he says leaning against the car.
“This is harassment and I’m calling the police,” I say and I pull out my phone but my hands are shaking too much to unlock it.
He laughs again and there’s no humor in it. “And tell them what, that your boss is not human and you’re scared? They’ll love that, probably get you a nice psychiatric hospital.”
“I took a screenshot,” I blurt out and I don’t know why I’m saying this except that I need some kind of weapon. “Of those websites about werewolves and I’ll—I’ll—”
“You’ll what, Astrid?” He moves closer and it’s too fast, one second he’s by the car and the next he’s three feet away and I didn’t see him cross the distance. “Post about it online? Who’s going to believe you?”
“I have PROOF and I saw what I saw!” My voice comes out louder than I meant it to and somewhere above us a light turns on in an apartment window.
He stops and looks up at the window and then back at me. “You have blurry memories and I have lawyers, very expensive lawyers who are very good at making problems disappear, so think very carefully about your next move.”
He’s close enough now that I can smell him
My body reacts and I hate that too, hate that my heartbeat speeds up and I can’t tell if it’s fear or something else entirely.
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” he says and his voice drops lower, rougher, and I can hear that growl underneath it again. “You’re going to get in my car and we’re going to drive somewhere private and we’re going to have a conversation like adults.”
“This neighborhood isn’t exactly safe at this hour,” he adds and there’s something insulting in the way he says it.
“And if I refuse?”
His eyes flash gold again, just for a second, and I’m not imagining it this time. “Then I’ll make sure you’re fired and blacklisted from every firm in Seattle and questioned about that little embezzlement charge I’ll manufacture in your employment records.”
I stare at him because surely he can’t be serious. “You wouldn’t—”
“Test me.”
We stand there for what feels like an hour but is probably only thirty seconds, and I’m running through options in my head but they all end badly, and finally I walk to the passenger side of his car because what choice do I have.
The door unlocks with a soft click and I get in, the door locks automatically behind me and I know because I try the handle immediately.
He gets in the driver’s side and starts the engine and we pull away from my building and I watch it disappear in the side mirror, and neither of us says anything for the first five minutes and the silence is worse than talking because it gives me time to think about how stupid this is, getting in a car with my evil boss who’s a werewolf/devil and who’s threatened to ruin my life.
His jaw is clenched so tight I can see the muscle jumping and his knuckles are white where he’s gripping the steering wheel, and I realize he’s not as calm as he’s pretending to be.
I open my voice recorder app as quietly as I can and I hit record and clip the phone inside my purse positioned toward him because I need to be sure of my safety.
I’m also making a mental list while we drive, DEMANDS IF WEREWOLF BOSS IS REAL, and I’m refining it in my head, trying to figure out what I can actually ask for without sounding completely insane.
He pulls into an underground parking garage attached to a building that I recognize because it’s one of those luxury high-rises downtown that have their own zip code practically, The Meridian where penthouses start at three million dollars.
“Why are we at your place?” I ask and suspicion creeps into my voice.
“Because my office has cameras and HR reviews footage randomly”
“I’m not going to your apartment,” I say but I’m already unbuckling my seatbelt.
He doesn’t answer. He opens his door, steps out, and walks toward the building, folding his jacket over one arm.
My legs are shaky when I climb out and follow him.
- Writer
