Mitigation (5 page)

He’s a
fifteen
, I remind myself. So I say with measured calm, “Matt…
some of these corrections are just semantics. I think it’s a
little unfair to call my work sub-standard when you are basically
disagreeing with word choices.”

His voice is sharp
and laced with disdain when he says, “Word choices in a legal
document can make or break a case. You could sink an entire claim
with just one poorly chosen word. It’s a lesson you desperately
need, and I’m going to make sure you learn it. Furthermore, you
are not to
ever
question my opinions on your work again.”

Okay, that does it…
Fifteen or not, I’m not going to let him walk all over me. Matt
Fucking Connover is going to get a piece of my mind.

Standing up from my
chair, I put my palms on his desk and lean in. “You are being
completely unfair. You’re taking your anger out on me when it’s
not deserved.”

Matt stands up,
placing his palms opposite mine, and leans in as well. His voice is
controlled, but laced with menace. “I’m not taking my
anger out on you. I’m telling you that your work product is
poor. Learn the difference.”

My control sort of
snaps at this point, and I shove the bloodied document under his
nose. My voice raises an octave. “This is not poor work
product. This is you desperately trying to find some fault with my
work so you can punish me.”

“Punish you?”
he sneers as he grabs the document out of my hand. “Why would I
possibly do that?”

“Because I cut
you off, and you can’t handle the rejection,” I snarl.

Matt laughs at me…
a full-blown, mocking laugh. His eyes glint with danger. “Get
over yourself, Mac. You were replaced and forgotten just like that.”
He snaps his fingers to punctuate the point.

Pain lances at my
heart and fury courses through me such as I have never felt before. I
have to dig my nails into the palms of my hands to stop from smacking
his face.

My voice is
venomous, and I’m just one decibel short of an all-out yell. “I
can’t take this shit anymore. I did nothing to deserve this.”

I grab the document
out of his hand, hoping I leave him with a paper cut or two, push off
from his desk, and spin toward the door, intent on leaving. But Matt
is quick. I have no clue if he vaulted his desk or ran around it, but
within a nanosecond, he has my elbow clutched and he spins me around.

If I thought Matt
was angry before, I didn’t know what true anger was. His face
is practically contorted in rage when he roars, “You did
nothing to deserve this? You fucking denied me.”

You would think that
this would be a somewhat selfish and bratty statement on his part.
But the anguish with which he says those words cuts me deep. He’s
hurt. Truly, deeply hurt, and a pang of sympathy goes through me.

However, I hold my
ground but soften my voice. “I denied you nothing, Matt. I
simply asked for more.”

Matt’s face
undergoes an amazing transformation. The terrible lines of rage
disappear. The darkness of his eyes lightens to amber, and his hand
falls from my elbow. In an instant, he’s no longer furious but
appears stricken by my words.

His eyes lower from
my face, and he reaches up to brush his fingers through his hair in
bewilderment, turning slightly away from me. Shoulders sagging, he
walks back around his desk and sits heavily in the chair. He stares
at his computer, but I can tell he sees nothing. He’s only
staring at it to avoid looking at me.

“Get out,”
he says quietly. “I want another draft of those Answers by the
end of the day.”

It’s eerie…
the level of uncertainty in his voice right now. Gone is the furious
animosity, and all that’s left behind is confusion.

And pain.

My heart tumbles
over itself in empathy, and I have a brief moment of hope that maybe…
just maybe, that Matt will be receptive to discussing our
relationship. I take a step toward his desk. His gaze rises up, and
he stares at me blankly.

“Matt…
I’m sorry you’re hurting. I am, too. Maybe if we talked
this out, we could figure—”

He cuts me off, his
face starting to harden again. “There’s nothing to talk
about. Now leave.”

I’m losing
him, and it makes me desperate. “Please… I want to make
this better—”

I’m cut off
again by Matt’s mocking laughter. His eyes are once again dark,
and my stomach flips over in wariness. “You want to make this
better?” he sneers as he stands up from his desk, his hands
going to his belt buckle. “The only way you can make this
better, Miss Dawson, is if you get over here on your knees.”

Agony courses
through my bones over the hurtfulness of those words. This is not the
Matt Connover who held me while my mom died. I have no clue where he
is, but he’s gone, and I can’t stop the tears that well
up in my eyes.

We stare at each
other for a moment. His eyes piercing… mine wet.

I suck in a shaky
breath, just so I can have the oxygen necessary to say quietly,
“You’re despicable.”

Turning around, I
start walking toward the door, glad he has only my back so he can’t
see the tears that now slide down my cheeks.

“Mac,”
he says in a desperate sort of way, but I don’t stop.

When I open the
door, he tries again… this time a little more desperate.
“
Mac
.”

I ignore him,
stepping out of his office and closing the door behind me. I jump
slightly when something crashes from inside his office, and I hear
him yell, “
FUCK
!”

I’m on
autopilot. I walk to my office and log off my computer. Packing a few
files in my briefcase, as well as shoving Matt’s slaughter of
my document in there, I turn my office light out and close the door.

Walking past Bea’s
desk on the way through the lobby, I say, “Send all my calls to
voice mail. I’m taking two sick days. I’ll be back in on
Monday.”

I get just a flash
of a surprised look from Bea as I walk by her, and she hesitantly
asks, “Are you all right?”

“I will be by
Monday,” I tell her confidently.

And I am confident.
I’m purging Matt Connover from my mind.

Correction…
I’m replacing Matt Connover.

It’s time for
another trip to
One Night Only
.

It’s Friday
night. Macy and I have decided to have a “junk” night.
That’s where we buy or prepare our favorite “junk”
food, and we slug out on the couch to watch movies. It was actually
Macy’s idea, which surprises me because this is really not how
my girl likes to spend her weekend nights. She’d much rather be
knocking boots with some hot stud.

But this is perfect
for me. I have my bestie hanging out with me, food to help console
me, and my yoga pants on so when I gorge on my “junk”
food, I can still feel comfy.

Besides, it’s
not like I had anything better to do. I mean… who was I
kidding? When I walked out of the office yesterday morning, telling
myself the only way to get rid of Matt Connover from my existence was
to screw someone else, I was living in a dream world. I just didn’t
have it in me to use rebound sex as a means of forgetting. I was
stuck depending on the only true cure… time.

Yesterday, I worked
from home making the changes that Matt demanded on my document. I
emailed them to him with a short note saying, “Here are the
changes requested.”

He immediately fired
back an email, clearly not even having bothered to read the attached
document. It said, “Are you okay? Miss Anders said you were
taking a few sick days.”

I actually laughed
out loud at that. I mean, how dare he act concerned? He told me just
a few hours before to get on my knees—a thought that actually
had me slightly horny and greatly embarrassed that it made me horny.

Bastard.

I didn’t even
bother replying, and he never sent me another email.

Macy walks out of
the kitchen with her hand stuffed down a bag of Cheetos. She plops on
the couch next to me, daintily nibbling on the end of one. “So,
what movie do you want to watch first?”

Leaning over, I pick
up the DVDs I rented. “Let’s see… we have Thor,
Captain America, Iron Man, or The Avengers.”

“Hmmmm. I’m
sensing a theme here,” she muses. “Why the need for
super-hero action?”

Shrugging my
shoulders, I grumble, “I just need to see some hot men in tight
clothing to distract me.”

Macy leans over and
pats me on the knee. She knows exactly what happened with Matt on
Thursday and has been babying me a bit since then. I suspect that’s
why she’s with me now on “junk” night rather than
hooking up with some random.

Grabbing Thor,
because let’s face it… he’s the yummiest of the
choices, I put it in the DVD player and head back to the couch. Just
as I’m sitting down, my phone buzzes, indicating I have a text.
Picking it up, I feel a zap of electricity course through me when I
see Matt’s name.

The text merely
says,
I’m sorry.

“It’s
from Matt,” I say to Macy, and she leans over my shoulder to
look at it.

I immediately write
back,
For what?

Because if he’s
going to apologize sincerely, I want to make him work for it.

A few minutes pass
and nothing comes through. Macy and I exchange looks, and then I set
my phone down so I can start the movie. Just before I can hit the
“Play” button, I get another text.

Fot ebwryrhing

“He’s a
terrible texter,” Macy comments.

“And he
clearly has his auto-correct turned off,” I add.

I text him back.
?????

For evwtthimf

I start to text back
another, “?????” when another message comes through.

Fuck

Macy snickers and I
start to text something, but then the phone starts ringing. It’s
Matt.

I answer it and
press speakerphone so Macy can hear. “You’re a terrible
texter.”

Matt doesn’t
say anything, but I can hear a lot of background noise. Loud music
and people talking, some yelling, some laughing.

“Matt?”

“H-e-e-e-e-y
Mac,” Matt practically sings into the phone, his voice happy
and carefree. “Didja get my text?”

“Are you
drunk?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely,”
he says, and then he yells at someone, “You missed…
drink, motherfucker.”

There’s a lot
of laughter and then some cheering. I’m glad he’s having
such a great time while I’m eating junk food and letting my
belly hang out in my yoga pants.

“I don’t
have time for this shit. Call me when you’re sober.”

I start to hang up,
but Matt says, “Wait! I need to tell you something.”

“What?”
I ask in exasperation.

“I just…
it’s just… Aw, fuck. I just miss you, McKayla.”

I suck in a quick
breath, my heartbeat tripling with his proclamation. Glancing over at
Macy, she just sadly shakes her head. She’s thinking the same
thing I am… drunks have no inhibitions, and he probably won’t
remember a damn word of this tomorrow.

Which pisses me off.
I’m getting sentimental and sappy by his claim that he misses
me, and come tomorrow, when he’s sober, he probably won’t
remember it, and if he does, he’ll probably push it deep down
and become the cold-hearted bastard I’ve recently come to know.

“I’m
hanging up, Matt. Don’t call back.”

Again, I start to
disconnect when Matt says quietly, “I lied, McKayla.”

Macy tries to grab
the phone, startling me. I grab it out of her reach and mouth the
word, “What?” to her.

She whispers, “Hang
up… you don’t need to listen to his bullshit.”

But I can’t…
because he might say words that I have been longing to hear, and
although they may be drunk words, I will take whatever I can at this
point.

“What did you
lie about?” I ask him.

“I didn’t
use
One Night Only
again. I just couldn’t go through
with it.”