June
I felt naked. The huge windows of his office looked out on the park below, and although the people were too far away for me to be able to see their heads clearly, it was as if they were all staring up at me, abandoning their dogs and kids to entertain themselves with the sight of me. It was ridiculous, and yet, I couldn't shake it off.
I'd dropped books, pens, and even a picture frame — flushing red every time, but Albert pretended like he didn't notice, calmly continuing his tasks. Countless times had I been on the cusp of leaving, wanting to truthfully say I had a headache, and every time, something held me back. The question on the edge of my brain.
Was I going to ask?
There weren't many opportunities left now. His shelves were empty, the heavy reference works packed in boxes, all the files moved from the cabinets, not a paperclip to be found on the desk. We hadn't even needed an hour to clean out everything. Albert was such an organized, minimalist man that there really hadn't been that much to do, and combined with his distaste of talking, it made the job go unnaturally fast. If his colleagues hadn't stopped by every few minutes to comment on him leaving and to investigate the mystery of who I was, we could've been done even sooner.
Was I going to ask?
It all didn't make sense.
Albert closed the last box. Tomorrow was his retirement party. Nathan had told me that'd been more Will's idea than Albert's, and I definitely believed him. He didn't seem like the type to want to celebrate milestones, or even to care too much about them. There was no nostalgia in his movements at all, just a calm designation. With precise, steady fingers, he peeled off the final sticker and stuck it on the top. Books other M-Z, it said, in his beautiful, slanting, nearly unreadable handwriting.
But he could make sense of it.
Maybe he could make sense of Nathan too.
"Albert," I said, and I almost jumped at the sound of my own voice after all that quiet, "why did you ask Nathan if I wanted to help you?"
There was a deep, deep sigh, like it had to travel all the way to his feet. Then he looked up. "I didn't."
"You didn't?"
That made even less sense. The twisted mess in my mind tangled even further, like tying of shoelaces gone wrong, and I rubbed at my temple, hoping to stop the thunder rumbling there.
"Then why did he say you did?"
For a second, he didn't answer, and I thought he hadn't heard me at all. Until he looked up. "Nathan is a plonker. That's all I can say. Thank you for helping."
What kind of answer was that? I wanted to turn away, but: "Will you come to the party tomorrow?"
I was so stunned he asked all I could say was "yes".
I'd been standing in the lobby for far too long, options spinning around me. What was I going to do? Either I could go back to the house, let things happen, and pretend that I never almost kissed him again, that he never lied about Albert, or I could march into his office and demand a full explanation. The truth. No matter how terrifying that was.
"Miss Guevara!"
The booming call was so unexpected that I shrunk instantly, my hands clenching into fists. My head pounded extra heavily, and if this hadn't been a respectable law firm, I would've unleashed a waterfall of curses.
When I turned around, he was smirking at my reaction, hiding it behind his hands in a weak attempt at faking humbleness. Anders Marsden, if I recalled his name correctly. He'd been one of the colleagues who'd introduced himself to me today, one who almost literally had to be shoved from the office, like a fly that'd found the perfect warm spot to sit in. "Guilty conscience?" he asked, still with that maddening smirk on his face. "Need a lawyer? I can give you a discount."
Oh, yes, you are so funny. I'd definitely never heard that joke before. How original. I was tempted to walk away there and then, away from all those middle-aged-rich-white-man-privilege vibes he was sending off. Although I was no fashion expert, I could tell his suit was handmade, at least as expensive as three months rent for our Soundview apartment, and that his sickeningly penetrating cologne must've cost around the same. With his hands loosely in his pockets and his full, dark blond hair, graying at the tips, he was handsome — handsome, but not attractive. At all.
"No," I said, "I'm smart enough not to get caught in the first place."
To my annoyance, he laughed at that, so loud that I flinched again. "You're a sassy one, aren't you? You need to go for drinks with us. We're going to toast on Albert's career, at the bar down the street. Just a few colleagues. Nathan too, I think."
This man was inviting me out for drinks? Why? To be entertained some more? What could someone like him possibly want from someone like me? Nothing good, probably. "Thanks, but I'm a little tired and—"
He didn't even let me finish my sentence: "Oh, come on," he said, opening his arms wide. "You have to come! I've known Albert for two years, and he's never even nodded at me in the hallways. I've seen him smile at you. He must like you a lot." He smiled, a practiced, charming smile, designed to make women feel faint. "Not that I blame the man," he added with a wink.
Don't be flattered by this ass, June. Just don't. This was what men like him did. Flirt with all the women, only for the thrill of it. This was a game to him. He'd probably done it millions of times before — it didn't mean a single thing. "I don't know—"
He put his hands together under his chin. "Please, do us all a favor. I think he might say twenty more words if you'd be there."
Despite myself, I laughed. Did he really think Albert was that fond of me? We didn't even know each other that well. In that case, maybe I should've kept pushing for answers about Nathan's strange behavior. Maybe I still could. "Is it a bar-bar?" I heard myself asking. "Because I'm not twenty-one yet."
That clearly surprised him. No matter how good he was at this, his response came just a little too late to be natural. "No, no. It's a dinner type of place. We'll just get you a soda, then."
Maybe it wasn't a good idea, though. It wasn't likely that Albert would explain anything when surrounded by half of his colleagues, especially not with this man being there. A nineteen-year-old high school graduate amidst lawyers who were closer to their pensions than a classroom — what good could come from that?
What good could come from walking away again?
"Oh, alright," I said, "I'll come."
"Perfect!" He checked his watch, a shiny, golden thing, looking exactly like the fake copies some of the guys in Soundview wore around their wrists. "So, want to go now? We can procure a table. The others will be joining as soon as they're done."
"Sure."
He held the door open for me, and I let him, knowing it was all a part of his performance. What a weird week this had been. Not long ago, I'd been watching La Casa de las Flores with Luis in my lap, between Valentina the waitress and David the mechanic, and now, I was parading down the San Francisco streets on a Friday afternoon, in the company of a boastful lawyer who probably made more in one year than my dad had in his lifetime.
It wasn't hard to decide which situation I preferred.
Leather white chairs were scattered around a room with high ceilings, paintings of red and blue stripes lining the walls. Marsden led me to a table in the back, fairly private, like he'd sensed my discomfort. At least, I wouldn't be bothered by others staring at me, and for that I was thankful. He was an easy talker, chatting away about nothing important at all while giving the impression of discussing something of significance. "This is the second time this week I've seen you at the office," he said, when we'd received our drinks, water for me, a beer for him. "You haven't been there before, right? I'd have remembered you then, of course." Another one of those winks.
Oh, please, June, why are you liking this? So cringey, so over the top, and you were enjoying it. You should be ashamed of yourself. If Valentina had been here, or any other woman, it would've been her he was winking at, and me that was being ignored — I knew that, and still, I wasn't doing anything to stop it. Pathetic. If only the rest would come already... How much longer until five?
In my lap, my left hand curled into a fist, suddenly nervous because of the attention he was giving me. He was an expert at this, staring at you like there was no else around — almost as if he was honestly interested in the answer to his question. "No," I said, trying not to look away — he'd only like that. "I haven't been in California for two years, and well, Albert and Nathan still worked in London back then."
Marsden nodded. "Yeah, London," he said, with the air of someone who regularly visited the city on the weekends. "They haven't told much about their time there. You'd think if you have a gorgeous British girlfriend like Nathan does, you'd show her off every chance you get. But he's been weirdly private about her. They say she'll be at the party tomorrow, though. What's her name again? Caroline? You met her?"
"Charlotte."
"Oh, yeah, that's right, Charlotte—"
His mouth kept moving, but a buzzing in my ears drowned all other sounds out, everything around me fading to a hazy mist. He didn't notice, with his arrogant gestures and smooth moves, he didn't notice that right next to him, I was crumbling to dust, sliced in two, bleeding from the inside. Charlotte. It couldn't be. He had to be wrong. They'd broken up — that was what he said, that they'd broken up, in the same year he and I had kissed, he'd told me himself. So, Marsden had to be wrong, right? He had to be, right?
"Are you sure?"
He'd been in the middle of a sentence when I asked, and now, he looked at me with his mouth half-open, like he'd never been interrupted before. "Sure about what?"
"About Charlotte. That she's coming to the party."
He laughed shortly, unconvincingly, then took a gulp from his beer. "Positive," he said, and from the way he was examining me, I knew he was trying to figure out why that mattered to me. "The whole firm has been gossiping about it for weeks. They say Nathan threw this big fit when Albert told him he'd invited her. Like I said, he's very private about her. Probably worried that someone might steal her away." And there was the charming smile again. By now, it'd totally lost its effect. "He doesn't have a reason to be concerned, though. I prefer brunettes."
Every time I'd ever burned my arm on the stove, the shock had come before the pain — a hot flash through your heart, making you pull back. Only when I'd fully realize what had happened, did the wound start to sting.
It was like that, in a way. Why was I so upset? What caused this sudden blow, made my breath catch in my throat?
I looked at Marsden. He looked back.
There was no indication, no explanation in his gaze at all, to why that hand was on my knee.
His hand.
No. It couldn't be. That was impossible — I was hallucinating, hearing about Charlotte must've messed me up, no way he would do that.
The hand traveled further up my hip, slipping under my skirt.
Marsden lent closer, like a child who wanted to share a secret.
This was not okay.
Without hesitance, I kicked my chair back, standing up. My legs were trembling, almost collapsing under the weight of my body, my heart pounding irregularly — uno, dos, tres, uno, dos, uno, dos, tres, uno, uno, uno, dos, tres. I wanted to flee, I wanted to scream, I wanted it to not be true — how? How did this happen?
Had I imagined it?
I shook my head, curls flying around me, trying to get rid of the confusing mist clouding me. "I don't —" I said, but my voice was barely there. "I didn't..."
He'd apologize. He'd apologize, say it was an accident. Right? That was what it was, right? So why, why did he slump back in his chair, rubbing his brow? "Oh, come on now. You were asking for it, with all your flirting. Don't pretend like you weren't."
This was the moment I had to throw my drink in his face. The moment I had to scream for help, shout to call the police. The moment I should kick or punch or say something smart. The moment I let Anders Marsden know he was a fucking asshole.
But I couldn't.
My mind was paralyzed — I couldn't think; there was only the feeling of him on my leg, burning, simmering, contaminating my skin.
I snatched my bag from the table and ran for the ladies' room. I needed it to be locked, I needed to be safe from him, away from him and the things he shouldn't have done and could still do. The shaking made it difficult, and I was starting to panic, my breathing speeding up — but then, it was turned.
He couldn't reach me.
He couldn't reach me, and it had just been a hand.
Come on, June, don't overreact. Just a hand. Just a hand you hadn't invited over.
I put the toilet seat down, flinching at the loud bang. Sit down. Sit down, June. Calm down. Think.
It was just a hand. Don't overreact. Valentina had had much, much worse, remember?
Just a hand.
I didn't get it. Stuff like this didn't happen to me. I was disabled. Yeah, they liked to flirt with me, tease a little, just for fun or practice or power... Not because they actually wanted something from me. No one saw me like that. No one thought I was attractive. No one. I knew I was pretty, and my dad had known, and Valentina, and maybe mom, but that was it, right?
I didn't get it. Why had he done it?
Oh god. What had happened?
My stomach turned upside down, and back, and up, and back, and I rested my elbows on my knees, putting my head on my hands. Don't puke. Don't you puke, June. Not over something as insignificant as this.
You were asking for it.
Was I? What the hell had I done to make him think that? His colleagues would be joining us any minute, and he thought I wanted that? He could've been my father, for god's sake. Handsome he was, yes, but old, too old for a nineteen-year-old, and he'd known, he'd known I wasn't even twenty-one. This wasn't on me, right?
Calm down, June.
I took a deep breath, attempting to steady my heartbeat. The toilet smelled of artificial roses, the light above me far too bright on my eyes. I had to get out of here. I had to get far away from that man, safe in my bed at home, with the sounds of Sam racing up the stairs and Nathan watching the news. I didn't care about anything else, I just needed to get away.
For once, my hand seemed to listen to me, taking my phone out of my purse and selecting the number. Speaker. Now wait.
Beep...
Beep...
Beep...
"Hey, June, what's up?"
Somehow, the sound of his voice brought tears to my eyes, although I didn't feel any urge to cry. "Sam," I said. "Sam, could you please come pick me up? Something happened."
Silence. "June, you're scaring me. What's going on? Are you in danger? Do I need to call the police?"
"No, I'm fine, it's just — I don't know."
There was a man, and he touched my leg suddenly sounded ridiculous, and I was sure he would laugh at me. Was I overreacting?
"Just send me your location, and I'll be there as soon as I can, alright?"
"Yes. Thank you."
"Anytime. See you in a few, alright?"
"Wait, Sam! — I'm... I'm in the ladies' room. Can you... get me there?"
"In the ladies' room? Why? What the hell happened?"
"I'll explain later."
I cut the call off myself, scared that he would ask more, and I would have to answer him. What could I tell him? Nothing had even really happened. Women were raped every day, and here I was, only touched for a second and already acting like the world had ended. I should be ashamed of myself. I couldn't tell anyone about this — they'd never take me seriously again. Valentina came home from waitressing with complaints almost every week, and she didn't break down on the toilet over it. I had to get over myself.
Shit. Why had I called Sam? It wasn't like Marsden would throw himself on me in the middle of a high-end bar. I could've just taken an Uber. Maybe I still could, maybe I—
"June? June, are you there?"
I jumped, dropping my bag. My phone slid out of it, but I couldn't bother to pick it up.
"June, please, answer me!"
Without standing up, I turned the lock, allowing him to open the door. There, right in front of me, was Nathan. He was tugging at his hair with both hands, breathing hard, chest going up and down rapidly, his shirt drenched at the armpits. Had he come running all the way here? How had he even known where I was? His eyes scanned the whole of me, like he was looking for something. What was he doing here?
"I called Sam," I said, because I didn't know what to do with this.
"Yeah, and he called me. I work across the street, remember?" It was almost an accusation, like he was mad at me for asking Sam for help instead of him. He seemed to realize that himself, rubbing his face before shaking his head shortly. "Are you okay?"
No. I was not okay. But I couldn't say that, not after last night. "Yeah, I just... I overreacted. It's fine."
"Are you sure?" Ocean blue stared right at me, right through me. He didn't believe me. He knew me too well, still, even after those two years. He knew me, and I didn't know him. Charlotte.
"Yes. Can we please get out of here?"
He didn't protest, just nodded. I didn't want to look at him, afraid I'd burst into tears again, make a fool of myself again. Picking up my phone and bag, I followed him back into the bar — every muscle in my body tensed, preparing to see that man, to have to run — he was gone, though. No sign of him. Thank god.
Only safely in the car, did I relax again. I rested my head against the headrest, taking in the scent of new leather and Nathan. I was safe. Out on the road with him, that'd always been the safest it could get.
I didn't want to think. He kept stealing glances at me, as if I wouldn't notice. I was grateful he didn't ask, though. What would I say? Would he even believe me?
Would anyone believe me?
"Can you bring me to Hayley's? I was going to do a movie night with her."
He didn't respond, but I knew he would do it. We drove in silence, the Lexus not making a single sound, and for the first time since that hand on my knee, I did want to cry. Not about Marsden, no, he wasn't worth it. About the kiss that never happened last night, and all the other things that could've come after. Because there weren't many guys I could call that would come running to rescue me, and if there was a type of person a girl should be with, it was one like that.