Ambushed by M.E. McAndrews
Chapter 1 - Breaking My Billionaire Bully
Present Day - Lara
I’m going to throw up.
The stink of rotting gorgonzola cheese overwhelms me, his repulsing breath on my face as I finish typing the order. Why is he standing so close to me, hovering like an annoying bug?
It’s not the first time Mr. Rowles has breached the bubble of my personal space, but I stay silent, because he’s my boss. My rent is due on Monday and my paycheck is in his office.
The featureless clock on the wall of the barren lobby says it’s ten to five, and I can’t get out of this hellhole soon enough. Mr. Rowles picks at his teeth with his pinky nail, peering over my shoulder at the computer. “The tires… don’t forget to add the tires.”
“Got it.” I punch the ink stamp down on the final invoice, assuming it’s clear to him that I’m ready to leave for the day.
Stillten minutes to five? Jesus, is the clock broken?
He’s so close now, I hear his stomach grumble. “You’re in a rush, huh? Got a hot date tonight?” he chides.
The idea of me going on a date is humorous to him, and his laughter triggers a knot of tightness in my chest. I may not be the most beautiful bird in the flock, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have a love life. And my chest tightens as I remind myself that he’s right. I don’t have a love life. But I’m not desperate enough to sleep with him. I’ve been on dates, and I’ve been with a few men, but it was never more than a fling or a one-night stand. They always leave after they’re done with me. Some people say you know love when you see it, but I’ve never seen it, so who knows if they’re right? I hope I never see it, because I’ve been through enough pain to last me a lifetime and I’d rather not have to hurt anymore. I just want to get my paycheck and go home. I can’t breathe in this place.
I force a smile through my clenched teeth. “I’m just looking forward to a quiet night in.”
He sighs, running the tip of his finger down the length of my forearm. “You know, Lara, you could really go places if you were just willing to help me out, too.”
The glare of the overhead light glints off his wedding band.
Is this guy for real? What a pig. This is just more proof that love is not all that. I’m much better off without it. Who wants to fall in love with somebody, get married, and then have her troll of a husband chasing every skirt around? Not me, thank you very much.
“Could I get my paycheck?” My voice is barely above a whisper, my gaze locked on the front doors as I plan my escape.
He reaches out, his fingers twirling around my long auburn hair.
An icy chill floods my veins, and my muscles harden and freeze.
“Sure.” His breath against my neck making me squirm. “Let’s go to my office.”
As soon as I get up, he presses himself against me. His growing erection, pitching a tent in his pants, grazes my thigh, and it’s so revolting I feel the urge to scrub myself raw to remove the skank.
I want so badly to push him away, to ask him to give me some space, to scream ‘fuck off’… to tell him he should see a dentist for that halitosis. But my voice catches in my throat. What would be the point? It would only make things worse.
It’s ironic that at twenty-five, I still cower beneath the pressure of those above me, afraid of speaking out for myself. Demanding to be heard. Seen. I want my place in the world. He may be my superior, but don’t I matter? Shouldn’t I matter? Why is it I’m always the one at the bottom? The one that doesn’t matter. The invisible one. The one who’s worth nothing. All I’ve ever wanted was to be like everyone else. To matter. To be more than just someone to be used. A toy, a joke, a nobody. Why won’t they see me?
He licks his chapped lips, and I swallow back a surge of bile.
“I’ll wait here.”
“You can,” he nods. “But let’s be honest, Lara… we all have needs. You need this job. And I need a distraction. So, why don’t you help me help you, huh?”
It’s not my first time going through this, and it won’t be the last. But it doesn’t make it any easier to deal with. How do you say no to someone who is more important than you? Better? How do you speak up when your voice doesn’t count? And even though he’s right and I need this job, why does he automatically assume that means I would just spread my legs for him, literally, when I already have to do it metaphorically every single day?
My eyes stay focused on the glass door and our hazy reflections, his burly body towering over me. “And if I say no?”
He scoffs at the question. “Well, then corporate will learn that you miscalculated our sales income last month.”
I snap my head sideways at the false accusation. I’m good with numbers. Better than good, in fact. “I have never made a mistake, Mr. Rowles.”
“You haven’t made a mistake… yet.”
An amused sneer spreads across his face, and it’s clear to me that the ‘mistake’ he’s referring to has nothing to do with reconciling the books.
An entire conversation plays out in my mind. Angry curses, demanding him to give me my paycheck, quitting right here and now. Maybe calling him a perv.
Instead, my vocal cords freeze, and I slide past him, trying not to touch him.
“Where are you going?”
My response comes in my swift footsteps. The glass doors swing open and I’m outside in the bright afternoon sun of the Houston heat, my breath escaping me in a giant exhale. I reach into my purse for my sunglasses and my hand comes out empty. Shit. I left them inside.
I may not be able to speak for myself, or to stand up to those who take advantage of me, but as long as I have the choice to walk away, I will use it every single time. That one time I wasn’t able to was enough for a lifetime.
But I refuse to dwell on that now. Shaking my head to myself, I already know I won’t go back for my paycheck. I won’t report him. I won’t return on Monday. Because he is my boss, and his voice is the one they hear every time. Not mine. Never mine.
Gripping my steering wheel, the scream that erupts from my lungs vibrates my whole body. I let it out along with some of my frustration because there is nothing else I can do, and being powerless is the most frustrating, angering, and debilitating feeling in the world.
As I let out a melancholy sigh, the buzzing from my purse snaps me back to reality. It’s just my phone. Reaching inside to see who it is, all I can think of is wanting to set my boss on fire , or just disappear from the face of the Earth. I take a deep breath as I look at the screen. It’s a text from Gary.
(Gary)Bitchhhh! You out yet? It’s Fridayyyy. Let’s drink!
(Me)I’m out for good ☹
(Gary)You got fired AGAIN?!?! Oh God, please tell me he didn’t actually try it.
(Me)He tried it. And I walked out.
(Gary)Yass, Queen. Funk that prick.
(Me)I know, but I thought this was it. Like an actual career for once.
Gary’s last response is so right that it hurts.
(Gary)You realize I love you, but you always think it will turn into a real career. You’re picking the wrong places, Hun.
A notification pops up on my phone, interrupting our chat.
(Me)Sorry G. Gotta go. TTYL?
(Gary)Of course, girlfriend. TTYL.
I pop open the notification app on my phone.
“Fuck.” It’s an overdraft message from my bank. My checking account is negative seventy-five.
And there’s an overdraft fee of forty bucks.
“Double Fuck.”
I log into my bank account and do the quick math in my head. I’m going to be four hundred dollars short.
I’ll figure this out. I always figure things out. Somehow.
Looking outside to where I just left my sleazeball boss hanging, reality dawns on me. I’m fucked.
The stream of thoughts spins around inside my head faster than I can handle. How the hell am I going to come up with that money in two days?
I text Gary back.
(Me)Yeah, well, career or not, I’m out of a job. Again.
(Gary)Maggie’s is still hiring
Gary’s been trying to get me to work at the breakfast café for years. I’ve never followed up because the starting salary is less than my customer service jobs, but at this point, I’m desperate.
(Me)How soon could they could start me?
(Gary)Probably not until Wednesday. Maggie is out of town and she likes to interview all the new hires. Even my besties.
I rest my forehead on the steering wheel and stifle a scream.
(Me)Okay, I’ll let you know.
A squeezing pressure fills my chest and as I hang a right out of the parking lot, I pull up at the stoplight, trying not to panic. My eyes blur with tears, and as I swipe them away, I glance up at the massive billboard across the street.
Eden’s Playhouse.
Beneath the billboard is a silhouette of a naked woman, her long skinny legs hooked around a stripper pole. I’ve passed the brick building every day I worked at Rowles Auto Parts for the past eight months, but I’ve never given it a second thought… until now.
Servers Wanted-Immediate Hire
No. I will not work at a strip club. If Rowles was bad, imagine the men in there.
The light turns green, but instead of turning left, I hit the gas and drift through the intersection, parking out in front of the building.
This is probably a mistake. A huge mistake. But it doesn’t have to be long term. If they’re hiring immediately, I can work the weekend shift, make enough to pay rent, and then take up Gary’s offer at the café.
I shut off the car and slide towards the door, reaching for the handle, but stop myself. What the hell am I doing? Am I really considering working in a place that treats women like sexual objects? Sure, it was many years ago, but after what they did to me, am I that naïve? The memory makes me shiver, even though the inside of the car is an oven from the blazing sun and the Houston heat.
Stifling my pride and telling myself that it couldn’t be any worse than Rowles, I drag myself out of the car and up the steps toward Eden’s Playhouse. Before I can reach out for the handle, the door swings open in a violent arc and slams against the wall of the red brick building. A woman in a skintight tank top and denim shorts stumbles out, glancing over her shoulder.
“Yeah—whatever! You can go to hell!” She takes one look at me and smirks. “This place is a joke.”
This is my chance to turn around. I know I should, but against my better judgment, I catch the door before it closes. Stepping inside, I can barely see a thing. It’s like I just passed through a time warp. For the past two hours the clock at Rowles has been stuck at ten-minutes-to-five, and now suddenly it might as well be midnight. This place is like a cave, and the only thing I can see are flickering lights coming from a large stage at the far right end of the room where an Allman Brothers tune is playing. Standing in the pulsating lights are three shiny silver poles that sprout from the base of the stage and stretch to the ceiling. A short woman in a black corset is twirling lazily around one of the poles.
As my eyes adjust to the darkness, I realize I’m standing in front of a huge collection of round wooden bar tables, most of them surrounded by four chairs. Other than a single lone gentleman sitting at a high top next to the stage, all the tables are empty. He’s leaning over the edge of the stage waving something in his hand in the direction of the corseted woman. He’s a pudgy bald guy, probably over two hundred fifty pounds, and easily in his early fifties.
“God dammit,” a booming voice from behind me grabs my attention, momentarily drowning out the music. “Shelly—I need you to cover the lounge tonight. Matilda just quit and we’re already understaffed.”
The woman on the pole stops twirling, walks towards the bald man and snatches whatever it was in his hand, and storms off the stage in my direction, weaving through the scattered collection of empty tables toward me. “No fucking way. I’m dancing tonight.” She brushes past me. “Who the fuck are you?”
“I-I’m here for the server job.”
“Look at that.” The woman throws up her arms. “One bitch leaves, and another appears.” She disappears into a hallway at the back of the room as I spot the source of the voice behind me.
“You of age?” the man asks, approaching me from what looks like a bar area.
A knot forms in my throat as I force an affirmative nod.
“Great.” He struts toward me, an affable grin spreading beneath his chiseled cheekbones. “If you can start tonight, you’re hired.”
I barely hear his words.
I’m numb, frozen. As I stare into a pair of hauntingly familiar dark eyes, a shiver runs through my body and the only words my brain can summon are, No fucking way.