The Perfect Fit

I read through my route for the day, and my stomach drops when I see the location of the last delivery on the list. “Craig, there’s one here for the WXZ building.” I’ve only worked here for two weeks, but I like this job. He’s a good boss who didn’t ask any awkward questions about why I left my previous one.

“Sorry, kid. Got no one else to do it. You’ll have to take this one.”

I look around at everyone filling their backpacks. Surely one of them can swap with me. “But Craig, we agreed. Can’t someone else do it?”

He sighs. “I told you I got no one else.”

Tears prick at my eyes, and he frowns. “What’s your deal with that place, anyway? You in some kind of trouble or something?”

I shake my head. “No, nothing like that. It’s … Please, Craig. I’m begging you.” It wouldn’t be so bad if it were just the building, but the delivery is for the devil himself. He’s had packages sent to his office every day since I started here, and until now, Craig has been cool with my flat-out refusal to take them.

“Deliver the package.” He turns toward his office.

“I can’t.”

He doesn’t stop but calls over his shoulder, “Then you’ll be looking for another job, kid, and it would be a damn shame to lose you.”

“Can you please just sign it?” I give the security guard my biggest, sweetest smile. “Please? It only needs a signature. It doesn’t have to be Mr. West’s,” I lie.

“I can’t help you, ma’am. More than my job’s worth,” he says with a grim shake of his head.

Goddamn you to hell, West Archer! Grumbling under my breath, I haul Betty to the elevator. Her busted wheel makes a strange squeaking noise with every rotation. I was so distracted by the thought of coming here today that I crashed into a post and fell into a muddy puddle, scraping my cheek on the pavement. I ignore the gawking faces of the employees I pass. I don’t give a tiny rat’s ass what they think of me or that I have mud and mascara streaks on my face. They can all go straight to hell alongside their three megalomaniac bosses.

By the time I get to the top floor, my emotions are about ready to boil over. Rage bubbles in my stomach, threatening to burst through my chest at any moment, but it’s tangled up among all my other emotions. The most pervasive being shame. I’m ashamed that I was such a damn fool. That I believed three of the most powerful men in the country could want me for more than just a little fun and that I allowed them to turn me into a crying, trembling mess almost every hour of every day. But riding shotgun with my anger and mortification is overwhelming misery. It’s not enough that these men humiliated and betrayed me, now they feel the need to continue making my life a goddamn misery. And for what? Their own twisted amusement?

The elevator doors ping open, and I stumble forward, pushing my broken bike out with me. I scan the empty hallway, my heart racing at the recollection of the last time I was here. I came to visit West and Xander at work, and I distinctly remember feeling like the luckiest girl in the whole goddamn world. Hindsight can be a sick son of a bitch.

Then I see him. His huge frame fills the hallway as he saunters toward me, a smile on his arrogant, entitled face. But then he sees my busted bike, my torn jeans, and his smile falters. “Lily?” He picks up his pace until he’s practically jogging down the hallway toward me. No doubt he’ll make himself feel all self-righteous with his show of concern.

I throw the parcel at him, and he catches it with ease, his brow furrowed. I stumble back from him. Screw the signature. I don’t care. I don’t fucking care.

“Lily,” he says again. “Are you hurt?”

“Screw you, West. Yes, I’m fucking hurt.” My words echo down the empty hall. “You nearly cost me my job today with your bullshit.” Tears drip from my eyes, and I swat them away with the back of my hand. I hate that he’s seeing me cry, but I’m done with trying to hide what a complete mess their little power games have turned me into. “I get that a few hundred bucks a week means nothing to you, but this is the only goddamn job I have. So the next time you think it will be fun to drag the poor stupid bitch you and your friends messed with over here just so you can admire your handiwork, do me a favor. Remember that this might be a game to you, but it is my fucking life, you entitled, conceited, entitled, self-obsessed, entitled prick!”

Spinning around, I drag my bike with me, but the stupid wheel grinds to a halt, refusing to move any further.

“Piece of shit!” I kick it over, and it hits the floor with a metallic crash. Tears blurring my vision, I stomp toward the elevator, vaguely aware of West calling my name again. He’s probably trying to tell me to take my piece of crap bike with me, but I ignore him. This is the last time I will allow him or his two psycho friends to get to me—the last fucking time.