Out of Left Field

Chapter 20 - Just Help Me (Sloane)

Sloane

The corner of his mouth lifted higher, a satisfied grin replacing the smug one. This is exactly what he wanted.

Me.

Alone and vulnerable.

Even worse... Pliable.

Stu had no idea that I had Matty in my back pocket already. He was prepared to force my hand to get what he wanted and the twisted, deranged look in his eyes was terrifying.

"Come on in," he stepped out of the threshold, gesturing for me to step inside his office.

I took a breath big enough to calm me, but just small enough that the shakiness of my exhale was easily concealed by the shuffle of my feet as I took slow steps into his office.

Doing everything I could to avoid his touch, I made myself as small as possible, my back sliding against the heavy wooden door. Despite my attempts to pass by untouched, his hand reached out to rip the purse off of my shoulder.

Keeping my composure when I was this close to him was hard. The pungent smell of his cologne burned my eyes and stung my throat, bringing back an unwanted slideshow of horrible memories. Even his smell triggered my fight or flight, my heart thrumming wildly inside my chest.

I stood incredibly still as he reached into my bag, fumbling around with loose hair pins, receipts, and wadded-up gum wrappers. I held my breath, hoping he wouldn't recognize the pen tucked into the side pocket.

"What are you doing?" I snapped, thankful my voice sounded much stronger than I felt.

Stu rolled his eyes while he sifted through my belongings. "I'm not an idiot, Sloane."

My heart sank, worried that he'd identified the mic as easily as Zoey did.

"I have to make sure you aren't recording anything," he replied matter-of-factly, taking just another second to look around before thrusting the bag back into my chest, "I'm glad you aren't."

It took almost all of my willpower to stop the look and feel of relief from showing on my face.

He didn't find it.

I stood with my back still pressed to the door, watching him closely as he walked further into his office. His finger traced the wooden top of his desk like he was swiping for dust. I shuddered thinking about the fact that his hands used to touch me.

Stu perched on the edge of his desk, crossing his legs at his ankles. "Take a seat," he nodded towards the chair placed in front of him and my jaw clenched to keep my face from twisting with disgust.

If I sat where he was directing me, it would put me at eye level with his groin. It's without a doubt what he intended, but I refused. "I won't be staying."

His jaw ticked in frustration, his hands clenching against his desk before relaxing. It made me sick to my stomach that I was just now seeing these tiny movements for what they were: giant fucking red flags.

How could I not tell before just how hard it was for him to control his anger around me? I'd been in the room for less than 60 seconds and he was already fighting against the violence raging inside of him.

"Why are you here?"

"You know why I'm here."

His arrogant smile returned, seemingly satisfied with the giant mess he's created in my life in the past couple of days. "It didn't have to be like this."