Entangled With My Boss

Emily's Point Of View The dormant smell of burnt toast clung to the kitchen air as I shuffled between the stove and the coffee machine, wanting everything to be perfect for my man. I tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear and hummed under my breath, trying to drown out the nervous thud of my heart. "Okay... okay... almost done," I whispered, placing two slices of toast onto a plate. They were warm, not hot.. never hot but I couldn’t risk burning them again. Connor hated burnt food. Connor hated a lot of things and I couldn't afford to mess it all up. The coffee machine beeped. I poured the dark liquid into his favorite mug.. One I had got him two years ago on valentines day which had the inscription "World’s Best Man" and placed it carefully beside his plate. My hands shook slightly. I forced a smile, rehearsing how I'd greet him when he came down. Happy, obedient and grateful. The heavy thud of his footsteps on the stairs made me flinch instinctively. Smile, Emily. Smile. Connor appeared in the doorway, shirtless, his toned body like something carved out of stone. His hazel eyes, usually the color of whiskey in sunlight, were dark now, clouded. Dangerous. He crossed the kitchen in two strides ignoring my greetings, snatched up the coffee, and took a sip. Then froze. His face twisted with disgust I held my breath. "This is cold," he snarled, his lip curling in disgust. "I'm sorry," I said quickly, voice trembling. "I… I made it a little earlier and I didn’t want to wake you, so I…" The mug shattered against the tiled floor as he flung it from his hand. Coffee splattered across my bare feet, scalding hot. "You stupid cow," he roared, his voice loud enough to rattle the windowpanes. I tried to back away, but he was faster. His fist came out of nowhere, slamming into my cheekbone with a sickening crack. My body hit the ground hard, the tiles unforgiving under my ribs. I tasted blood instantly. For a long moment, I just lay there, the world swimming around me. Somewhere distant, I heard the front door slam. He was gone. Off to the gym, or the bar, or wherever Connor went when he needed to cool off. I forced myself to sit up, wincing as pain flared through my jaw. Don’t cry. Don’t f*****g cry. This was normal. This was love. At least... it was the only love someone like me deserved. Connor was gorgeous… model handsome. A perfect ten. And me? I was the joke. The punchline. The fat nerd who was lucky anyone even looked at her. Connor reminded me of that every day. "If you leave, no man will ever want you," he once whispered into my ear, after another night that ended in bruises. "You’re lucky I even stay." And maybe he was right. Still trembling, I crawled to the kitchen sink and rinsed my bleeding lip with cold water. Then I hobbled upstairs to our shared bathroom, flipping on the harsh fluorescent lights. The girl staring back at me in the mirror barely looked human. My left cheek was already swelling, the beginnings of a deep purple bruise blooming under the skin. I sighed and reached for my makeup bag, layering concealer, foundation, powder.. painting myself back into something resembling normal. "You're fine," I whispered to my reflection. "You're fine. Just... late." I pulled on a navy blue cardigan, hoping it would hide the finger-shaped bruises blossoming on my arm, grabbed my purse, and hurried out the door. **** Traffic was a nightmare. Horns blared and the city buzzed around me in a blur of color and noise. By the time I reached the towering glass building that housed Westwood Enterprises, my hands were sweaty on the steering wheel. Damien Westwood didn’t tolerate tardiness. incompetence Or... well, much of anything, really. I sprinted across the marble lobby in my sensible flats, my heart pounding with each step. When I reached my floor, I dumped my bag on my desk empty, untouched and headed straight for his office. No time to waste. No time to second-guess. I knocked once, sharp and quick before pushing open the heavy oak door. "Mr. Westwood, I’m so sorry I…" The words died on my tongue. The scene before me slammed into my brain like a freight train. Mr Damien Westwood…my boss… was standing behind his massive mahogany desk, his pants around his thighs. Bent over the desk, moaning shamelessly, was Sabrina Vale, One of Westwood’s senior Executives whose mouth usually curled into a permanent sneer around me. Her short red dress was bunched around her hips. Damien's hands were gripping her waist tightly as he pounded into her, the sound of flesh against flesh obscene in the heavy silence. I froze. So did they… well, Sabrina did, shock flashing across her face. Damien barely missed a beat. Sabrina's mascara-smeared eyes widened as she turned her head and saw me. "f**k," Damien muttered under his breath. I stumbled backward, slamming into the doorframe. "I…I’m so sorry," I gasped, my face burning with shame and shock as I began to retreat. "I didn’t.. I wasn’t… I didn’t mean to… " I immediately turned and bolted, hearing the rhythmic slap of skin continue even as I fled down the hall. I didn’t stop until I was back at my desk, my hands trembling so violently I had to clutch the edge to stay upright. What the hell had I just seen? What the hell was happening today? I sank into my chair and stared blankly at my computer screen, the buzz of the office fading into white noise. First Connor. Now this. The sharp sting in my cheek pulsed in time with the ache growing in my chest. Not just embarrassment. Not just fear. Something deeper. Something broken. And for the first time in a long time, a small voice whispered inside me… You don’t deserve this. Any of this. I buried it deep. There was no room for foolish thoughts like that. Not in a world like mine.