COHEN

I breathe out as I sink into my black leather chair, bouncing back and forth a few times before coming to a rest to pump out the last of my work. The thought of meeting with Stella in a few minutes is the only thing keeping me going. Outside, a couple of our secretaries snicker together. They’re new here, but still… I hate it when they do that shit. I’ve told them before to knock it off. It’s unprofessional, not to mention unbecoming. It’s hard finding secretaries that can live up to all the strict rules we have in place, being the high-profile business that we are. I’ve been thinking of trying out someone from an agency, to see if their professionalism is more up to par, but nothing’s set in stone yet.

I finish up what needs to be done, flicking my signature over the last few sheets of the only somewhat-important papers, then rest back and stretch my arms above my head.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see a figure sweep past my office, but I pay them no mind. Normally I’d stick my head out to see who it is, because on any other day it would be someone looking for me – but by some miracle I was able to clear my schedule for the next four hours, and I’m already mentally checked out.

It’s only when the figure returns a few minutes later, this time running, that I stand at attention. I pull open my office door and step into the middle of the hallway.

“Stella?” I can’t tell if it’s her, but it looks like her from here. If it is her, she must not have heard me. I break into a jog to catch up to her. If it is her… something’s wrong.

“Stella?” I say again when I round the corner. She’s waiting at the elevator, almost more panicked than she was when I pulled her out of that bad spot at Sapphire. When I reach her, I expect her to fall into my arms, the way she always looks like she wants to; instead, she looks like she wants nothing less.

“Don’t touch me, Cohen.” I was right.

“What are you doing up here? What’s wrong?” Her look is killing me; something’s wrong, and she’s not telling me what it is.

When at last I find out, I submit to her line of questioning until it becomes unreasonable, until I’m disgusted with the next question, until it becomes something that we shouldn’t have between us, but do – because of whoever it was she saw in that office, and because of Scarlet.

Instead of answering her, I hold out a finger and turn around.

I storm past my office, peering into the next one. Its lights are off. Empty. It takes no time at all for me to reach the next office in line, the sixth one from the end, which is the one Stella described. Without bothering to look inside, I throw my hand down on the handle. The door swings open and thuds against the wall behind it. This office belongs to a recent hire, a man I haven’t yet gotten to know. A man I won’t be getting to know from here on out.

I don’t know who the woman is. She must be new here too, and she must have been hired by someone else.

The woman lets out a scream and lunges off the man’s lap, diving for her clothes. The man says, “What the–” but holds his breath the instant he recognizes me.

I hold my ground near the door. “Get out,” I say calmly.

“Oh man,” he moans as his fingers fly, wrapping his tie around his neck and buttoning up his collar. I remember his prior formality during our conversation when I hired him two weeks ago. Now, he knows that formality is pointless. “Come on, give me a break.” He points to the girl. “She came on to me.”

“What?” the woman screeches, a bundle of clothes in her hands. “Fuck you.”

“Get the hell out of here. Both of you. Before I call security.”

The woman doesn’t object. She fishes through the clothes in her hands, desperately trying to find her shirt while at the same time trying to maintain what little dignity she has left.

“Look, Cohen…” the man says, still working at his collar.

I tense. He speaks as if he has some kind of authority, as if he actually thinks he can pull the wool over my eyes again and talk his way out of this.

And did he really just call me by my first name? After the act I just caught them in, and what I just told him to do? Rage flows through me. It’s the rage that’s been itching to come out since I first saw that Stella was hurt, and that built up to a boiling point when she told me it was someone here who did it to her. Now it’s overflowed.

I walk over to him. When he sees me coming he gives up on his collar, holding his hands out in front of him in defense. I grab him by the shoulder, the loose fabric of his shirt bunching in my fist. I have a good four inches on him in terms of height, so he’s easy to command.

The woman has managed to get herself reasonably dressed. She scoops up the rest of her things and rushes out the door, and as she does so my eyes stop on Stella, who pauses and flattens her body against the door as the woman rushes past her.

“Hey, man. Okay, stop,” he says, still wanting to reason with me. He’s resisting while cowering beneath me at the same time. His voice rises in anger. “Get your hands off me.”

I don’t stop pulling. I’m being pretty gentle with him though; if I wanted to, I could throw him around with ease.

“I said, get your hands off me.” Out of nowhere, his fist flashes across my field of vision, and it only takes an instant for it to connect with my nose.

The blow briefly throws me. I stumble a bit, touching my nose and then pulling back to see if he drew any blood. My hand comes back clean. I restore myself, standing straighter than before, and land my own blow, right in the center of his face.

The room falls silent. He doesn’t know what hit him, but it worked. He doesn’t say another word. Stella places her hands over her mouth.

With one final shove, I lift him up and push him out the door. This time, I don’t hold back – he falls and then scurries to his feet, mumbling and swearing and holding his head as he finally leaves.

I rest against the desk in the center of the room. My eyes want to close. The fact that this happened despite how hard we work here, despite everything we put into this… everything my father put into this… it’s now getting to me. The way people like that man I just had to throw out disrespect you after the respect you go out of your way to show them, that’s getting to me too.

At first, Stella doesn’t react beyond covering her mouth. I’m worried she doesn’t like what she’s seen here – not that she liked any of it, but that the way I reacted might have changed her perception of me. I wouldn’t blame her. Then she drops her hands away.

She rushes to me and wraps her arms around my waist. I hug the back of her shoulders and neck, then bend and kiss the top of her head.

“Are you okay?” she asks.

“Yeah,” I say. “Stella, stay away from here. The people here… they’re not good for us.”

“You want me to stay away from where you work?” she says meekly, obviously not liking the idea.

I shake my head. “No, forget that I said that. I didn’t mean it like that. I just mean that everyone I work with knows how much money I make and what I’m worth. Some of them, especially some of the women, want to try to take advantage of that.”

I wish I could explain to her that this is what they mean when they say money can ruin your life. I wouldn’t go so far as to say it’s ruined mine; there’s enough in my past to have done that on its own without the help of money, but if you don’t watch yourself, if you’re not careful – this is how it does it. One of the ways. There are countless other ways too that people like Stella, as smart as she is, are oblivious to.

“And I want you to know about that,” I say, reading her, “if it were to ever happen again. But I don’t want them to see you here. I don’t want anyone to take advantage of you again.”

“I guess that’s fair.” She backs up. “Can we just get out of here now?”

I huff a laugh. “I take it you’re not impressed with your first taste of Thatcher Industries?”

“You were my first taste of Thatcher Industries. Not this place.”

I raise my brow, a grin forming at the corner of my lips. She blushes, but slowly smiles, then laughs. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“We definitely can,” I say, stopping to clear my voice, trying to restore it to its former strength. “But there’s one other thing I need to do.” I pick up the phone nearest us and check for a dial tone.

“Oh. Do you still have some business? I can come back.”

“You could say that, yeah. But I want you to stay.”

Having gotten the tone, I set the handset down and press a button to its right, one that will dial through to our intercom. Within a second, a familiar voice calls out over the speaker and echoes in the office. It’s a woman’s voice, the familiar voice of one of our assistants who works downstairs. “Yes, Mr. Thatcher?”

“Send Scarlet up, please.”

The voice replies quickly, echoing, “Yes, sir.” Then it’s gone.

“Oh no,” Stella says. “Cohen, please…I don’t want to face her.”

I take her face in my hands, cupping her at the jawline. “You don’t have to. Only I have to do that. What I want you to do is stay here.” I pull the chair over for her. “Right in this office.” I wait for her reaction, wondering how she feels about waiting in this office, that one that was so very close to becoming tainted, and sitting in this chair, which, as far as I’m concerned, already has been.

She’s not as sensitive as I take her for. Her warm breath passes over my skin as relief sweeps over her. “Okay.” She strips herself of her jacket and purse, placing them neatly next to her on the floor, and then sits. She nods in my direction, giving me the okay.

Just outside the office, I stand in wait for Scarlet to arrive. It doesn’t take long. Scarlet saunters over, her piercing heels digging into the carpet as she takes her determined steps. I’m surprised she even showed. She knows what she did; of course she does.

“Hello, Mr. Thatcher,” she says when she reaches me. She clasps her hands in front of her and tightens her lips. I can’t tell if she’s aware that Stella is inside the office to my left, or if she’s oblivious. She seems oblivious, focused solely on me. “You called for me?”

She looks the same as she always does – her long, pin straight blonde hair flowing freely, never tied back or done up, and shiny black heels with bright red soles clicking whenever she walks. Her makeup is done with the same, usual care. Scarlet is young, and she’s pretty. Any man would admit that. She’s been working here for over a year now, and although I don’t interact with my assistants much, preferring to take care of most things on my own–because almost everything I do around here is too important to leave to anyone else–there are some occasions in which I’ve needed her. During those, she’s handled herself professionally, showing no disrespect or signs of ulterior motive.

Although, thinking back now, there was one occasion during our Christmas party last year that I found to be borderline inappropriate. We were all gathered together to watch a cheesy karaoke, and she stepped up from behind me and took hold of my hand, entwining her fingers with mine. For the briefest of moments, before I had a chance to pull away, her and I were connected; which was awkward for me, but for her – apparently comfortable. Confused, I’d turned and looked at her, only to find that she was on the verge of being drunk, and on her face was an innocent, playful look that in some sad way made me feel sorry for her. Still, not sorry enough to hold her hand. I slipped mine out of hers and instead used it to hold my drink.

“Unfortunately, I did,” I say, the memories meaning little. I push my shoulders back, which lengthens my spine, raising me even further above Scarlet’s already tall figure.

Her face drops. “Is something the matter?”

“Yes, something is. Something was brought to my attention a few minutes ago, and I have reason to believe it involves you.”

She sticks her chin out. “Well, am I allowed to ask what it was? People around here do say a lot of things. You can’t always believe many of them.” She huffs. “That’s something I learned early on.”

“You’re right about that. Which is why I’m giving you this chance to defend yourself.” Really: which is why I’m curious to see what you have to say for yourself. She may have the guts to stand face to face with me after the fact, but so far, it looks like she’s not going to cop to it. She’s actually going to deny it. Where do we find these people?

“What it was,” I continue, “was an accusation. Brought against you by someone very close to me,” I watch closely as her cheeks flush bright red, “someone who I know would not lie to me.”

“Go on.”

“Scarlet, you know who this person is. And you know what I’m talking about. I know you do.”

She lifts her arms in innocence, her jaw gradually hanging open. “Cohen,” her breath escapes her in a laugh of disbelief, “I…”

So I was right. She is trying to deny it. That same, now-familiar rage creeps up, coursing through my veins once again. “Don’t call me by my first name.” My voice is lifted and deep. I sound like I mean business. I sound vicious. The words came out sounding harsher than I intended, but only a little.

I expect her to submit in some way or another, but she doesn’t. She recoups herself and crosses her arms, her long painted nails sticking out over her sleeves. “Mr. Thatcher, I’ve worked for you for a good amount of time now.”

I nod in agreement. “That’s right, you have. Over a year now, isn’t it?”

“And,” she goes on, brushing me off, “I wouldn’t lie to you. But it would be nice to know what I’m being accused of.”

I can certainly relate to that; although in my case, I was telling the truth. “In that case, I’ll get to the point.” I thumb to my left, not wanting to draw attention to Stella inside, but having no other choice. “Were you or were you not aware that there was inappropriate activity going on inside this office?”

She cocks her head, briefly acknowledging the office. “When?”

“A few minutes ago.”

At first, she doesn’t say anything else. Then she brings her hands together in front of her waist, pushing her shoulders back. “Yes, I was.”

“So you admit that you directed Stella to this office in the hopes of her thinking it was me in there with some other woman.”

“I don’t admit anything, Mr. Thatcher. And I won’t.”

Her answer is one of attempted provocation, but I relax, having gotten most of what I needed out of her. “Of course you won’t. Just tell me something. Is this a regular thing that I don’t know about?”

“Is what a regular thing? I’m not sure what you mean. And I told you, I’m not admitting to anything.”

Part of me wonders if she just wants to hear me say it outright. I start to, but close my mouth before a word is uttered. I’m not going to give her that satisfaction. “It seems my company is in need of a culling.”

“A culling, sir?”

“Yes, a culling. And the first to go is you.” Well, the third, actually. But I don’t want her to know that.

That blow hurts her. How could it not? But she does a good job of not letting it show. Her pride won’t allow it. And she might be waiting for me to say more, but what more is there to say? Slowly, she steps forward. She touches my shoulder with delicate fingers, and then leans in and plants a single, carefully-placed kiss on my cheek.

I don’t hold back my stoic glare when she pulls away. “Goodbye, Scarlet.”

“Goodbye, Cohen.” She turns, her eyes the last of her to break away from me.

I step back inside the office and am met by Stella, waiting. I know she saw the whole thing though the panes of glass. Hell, there’s no way she couldn’t have. She more than likely heard all of it, too.

Sure enough, she’s sitting exactly where I left her – that is, directly facing the glass panels, which gave her that perfect view. Her feet are flat on the floor and her hands are cupped patiently in her lap. The look on her face is one of exhaustion.

“I’m ready to leave now,” she says.

I sigh. “Me too.”

After lunch, we head back to her place. She stops, her keys dangling in the door, and turns back to me. “It’s messy.”

I rub the back of my neck. The day and all of its drama is finally getting to me, and I want nothing more than to lay down, anywhere, with her. “That’s okay. You should see my place after I actually spend time in it.”

That makes her feel a little better; her face lights up, but only for a moment before she turns her attention back to her keys. She swings the door open, and then reaches in front of me to switch on a light on the wall beside us. I’m greeted by the warm smell of candles. There aren’t any burning, I notice as I look around, but she’s clearly a candle person.

“It’s nothing compared to your place.”

I take a seat at the stool in front of her counter, swinging it on its hinges and taking the seat backward. I haven’t sat like this since I was in high school. It feels good. “Why are you being so hard on yourself lately?” I take another look at her apartment, scanning the area. “I like it.”

“Am I?” She closes the door of the fridge, turning around with nothing. “It’s just a habit I guess. An impulse when I get stressed.” She shrugs. “I guess I don’t really mean it.”

It hurts, realizing that I am a part of that stress.

She leans forward across the counter. The heat kicks on in her apartment, wafting a warm wisp of her scent toward me. “I understand why she kissed you,” she says.

I don’t look away from her like a lesser man might do. I’m glad she brought that up. I didn’t like it lingering, staling the air between us. I laugh. “Why? Because of my money?”

Stella keeps her straight face. “No. Because…” she straightens up again, fishing for words but coming up short. “Because you’re Cohen.”

“Right. So because of my money is what you’re saying.”

“No,” she rolls her eyes, a little of her sense of humor breaking free, “not because you’re a Thatcher. Because you’re Cohen.”

I get what she’s saying, but being me, I don’t get the appeal. My mind drift to its darkest corners, to the place where I can’t help but think of the past and the biggest thing I failed at – which just so happened to be a big enough failure to overshadow any possible successes. I think about the woman in the car’s future, which was taken from her, and the family she left behind.

I clear my throat. “Maybe not everyone sees me the way you do.” I try to keep the words meaningless, but I fail. Emotion creeps up and I have to swallow it back down.

She catches it, but does a good job of changing the subject to avoid bringing up something that’s too deep for the moment at hand. “You don’t have to get back to work?”

“I’m not going back today.”

“What about your appointments?”

“I’m cancelling them. After what happened, we won’t be back in business until I can get my staff sorted out.” I lean back. “It’ll take some emergency meetings, so to speak.”

“I guess something like that is a pretty big deal.”

“Members of my staff completely undermining me? Hell yes it is. I’ve just learned I can’t trust about eighty percent of my them. I can’t be in business until I can trust my staff.”

“So if it’s an emergency,” she sits next to me, “does that mean you’ll be leaving me?”

I shake my head. “Tomorrow.” Truthfully, it should mean today; but I just want to be here with her. “I should be able to get it sorted out pretty quickly.”

“How are you going to do that?”

“By firing lots of people,” I half-joke. “And what about your job?”

“What about it? It’s the usual. Boring.”

“Have you applied for anything on the side?”

She shrugs. “Not yet. I’m still thinking that over, to be honest with you. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’ll have to come up with something. It’s not like your bills will adjust to your level of income. Wouldn’t that be nice?

“That’s very true. They won’t. But my offer still stands.”

She cracks a smile of genuine thankfulness.

We spend the afternoon on her couch, browsing through her television, coming to rest on some mindless comedy to pass the time. The show doesn’t matter to me. The only thing that does is the warm glow that Stella’s body is radiating onto my side. Eventually, she settles back, leaning into me as if she can’t burrow deep enough. I drape my arm over her shoulders and we pass the time that way until the sun starts to set.

“Are you hungry?” she asks, positioning herself to get up off the couch. The place where she’d been resting against me suddenly becomes cold at the lack of her presence.

Instead of answering her, I lean in and slide a hand under her shirt, cupping the warm flesh of the small of her back. Instinctively, she knows, but she doesn’t want to say it. She leans back against my hand, increasing the pressure. I hoist her forward until she’s straddling me and then tuck my face into her neck.

“Cohen…” she says, pausing.

I want to tell her that it’ll all be okay. No matter what happens, even though I know all too well that that can, at times, be a lie.

I entwine her fingers with mine, and at that she gives in; she leans down at the same time that I lean up, and our lips collide. I brace the back of her neck as I smoothly move her onto her back, then lift her shirt and graze her smooth stomach with my mouth, stopping just before the I reach the crest of her jeans.