SOMETHING SNAPPED
855 Words
NICOLE POV
By the time lunch rolls around, my palms are damp with sweat.
According to Jared, this is the best time to approach the Creative Director. During lunch, he's usually more relaxed.
Hopefully.
I clutch the salary advance form tightly against my chest as I make my way down the hallway.
Stopping in front of the office door, I inhale deeply before knocking twice.
Not too loud and not too soft. Just enough not to annoy the man inside.
"Come in." A gruff male voice answers.
I slowly push the door open.
The office is spacious but untidy. Files are scattered across the desk, coffee stains decorate forgotten documents, and the faint smell of stale cigarettes lingers in the air.
The man sitting behind the desk looks to be in his fifties.
His beard is uneven, his hair unkempt, and the first thing that strikes me isn't his appearance—
It's the way he's looking at me.
His eyes roam over my body without the slightest attempt at subtlety.
The hairs at the back of my neck stand.
"Good afternoon, sir."
His gaze lingers for another moment before finally lifting to my face.
"You're the new graphic designer."
"Yes, sir."
He doesn't ask me to sit.
He just keeps staring. Slowly and shamelessly.
His eyes trail down my body again, stopping long enough to make my skin crawl.
He catches his lower lip between his teeth.
A wave of disgust rises inside me. I force myself to keep my expression neutral.
"What brings you into the lion's den?" he asks, a crooked smile spreading across his face.
My brows knit together.
He laughs loudly at his own joke. "I mean my office."
The laughter echoes around the room.
I don't even smile. What exactly is funny?
"I need your assistance, sir."
His laughter dies down.
"My family is going through an emergency. I'm the eldest child, and my father is dead. There's no one else to help us. If it's possible, I'd really appreciate a salary advance. I know today is my first day, but I promise I'll work hard enough to make it worthwhile."
He leans back in his chair.
"Oh. I'll definitely make sure you work hard."
The way he emphasizes work sends a chill racing through me.
His eyes sweep over me again.
Every instinct inside me screams that something isn't right.
Still, I need his signature.
I swallow the uneasiness threatening to rise.
"Come here."
I hesitate. "Why, sir?"
"So I can help you fill the form."
He opens a drawer and pulls out another copy before placing both forms on the desk. "And then I'll sign it."
My stomach twists.
Against my better judgment, I walk over.
He slides the paper closer. "Fill it out here."
I nod.
Taking out my pen, I bend slightly over the desk and begin writing.
Name.
Department.
Employee ID.
Reason for request.
I barely finish the second line before I feel something brush against my waist.
His hand. It slowly trails downward.
Without thinking, I slap it away. "Don't do that, sir."
He raises both hands immediately.
"Relax." A grin tugs at his lips. "It was an accident."
An accident?
I stare at him.
There isn't a hint of remorse on his face.
Only amusement.
I get angry more but I'm almost done filling the form.
Just finish.
Get the signature.
Leave.
That's all.
Ignoring the knot in my stomach, I lower my head and continue writing.
Just a few more lines. A few more seconds.
Then—
A rough hand lands fully on my backside.
Not an accident. A deliberate squeeze.
My entire body locks. Disgust explodes inside me.
I jerk away so violently that the pen slips from my fingers and clatters onto the desk.
"Get your hands off me. " I can barely recognize my own voice. It's shaking with rage. His hand returns to my a*s.
I struggle against his brutal force.
He doesn't look embarrassed.
If anything, he looks entertained.
"Come on." He chuckles.
"Don't pretend you don't know how these things work. You want the money. I want something too."
My stomach turns.
"You disgusting—"
Before I can finish—
The office door slams open with a deafening bang.
BAM!
A thunderous voice tears through the room.
"WHAT THE f**k IS GOING ON HERE?!"
The walls seem to vibrate with the sheer force behind the roar.
My heart leaps into my throat.
The Creative Director shoots to his feet so fast his chair crashes against the wall.
I whip around toward the doorway—
And every ounce of air leaves my lungs.
Ian.
His chest rises and falls with heavy breaths.
His golden eyes burn with a fury so primal that they don't even look human anymore.
The temperature in the room seems to plummet.
Every muscle in his body is rigid. His jaw is clenched so tightly that I think he might actually shatter his teeth.
For one terrifying second...
No one moves.
Then Ian's gaze drops to the Creative Director's hand.
Still resting where it has no business being.
Something inside him snaps.
- Writer
