Wanting the Man
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Maree O'Brien
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1,4M
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14
Chapter 1 - The Morning After
Book One: Smeared
âMiss OâNeil,â the sour voice on the other end of the phone stunned her. She couldnât remember answering the phone. The annoying ringing had been there, in the background, as she stared at her computer screen in disbelieving shock, but given what she was seeing, she shouldnât have picked up the call.
This wasnât real. None of this was real. It must be a dream, no, a nightmare.
Wake up, wake up, wake up, she chanted to herself as she closed her eyes and scrubbed her face with the hand that wasnât holding the phone.
âMiss OâNeil, I know you are there,â the acidic voice forced her eyes open. No change. The screen was the same.
âYes?â she didnât recognize her own voice.
âMr. Wood would like to see you in his office at 10 a.m. sharp,â the short sharp words caused her to take a sudden intake of breath. Mr. Wood was the CEO of Wentworth Accounting Services and sheâd been trying to get his attention for the past year. This, however, was not part of the plan.
âIâm sick,â her voice stuttered, âIâm sick today.â
âIâm not surprised,â the woman at the other end of the phone sniffed in what sounded like disgust.
Andrea cringed at the monitor again. It wasnât possible that Mrs. Windsor, head of Human Resources, had the graphic pictures plastered all over her screen too, was it?
This must be about something totally unrelated.
âIrrespective, you will be in Mr. Woodâs office at 10 a.m. and I do not suggest you make him wait.â
âThereâs been a mistake,â her voice quivered as her eyes burned. This wasnât happening. Why was this happening? âItâs all a big mistake.â
âYes, that too is evident,â Mrs. Windsorâs cold voice interrupted her as she started to mumble out an excuse. âYou will have an opportunity to explain your actions to Mr. Wood in the meeting. Good day, Miss OâNeil.â
Good day? Andrea looked at the dead receiver. Good day? How could anyone possibly construe today as a âgood dayâ?
She glanced at the screen which was now making frantic pinging noises as the number of unread emails and Facebook messages banked up. The images were still there.
The woman on the screen still looked identical to her and if Andreaâs head had been glued onto someone elseâs body it wasnât comically obvious.
She stumbled out of the chair and headed for the shower. That would make this better. She smelled like vomit, stale beer, and cigar smoke. She stood like a statue as the hot water cascaded over her.
Usually this relaxed her and erased her worries. Not today. Today she was too busy fighting to remember what happened last night. How did she get into this mess?
The WAS company Christmas Party was traditionally held on a Wednesday night during the height of the festive party season.
So, with no clashes with other functions, it was compulsory for everyone to attend.
It was usually a fun night, but something had happened last night and now she wished she had been somewhere else, anywhere else.
Part of the problem was that she couldnât remember the sequence of events that would make those pictures make sense.
Arrivingâyes, that was clear, the Christmas Party speech was also fresh in her mind, but everything after that was a blur.
Getting drunk and being photographed in Joshua Woodâs office chair, on his desk, and in various positions around his office werenât even faint memories.
How could she possibly âexplain her actionsâ when she had absolutely no idea how or why she did what those pictures claimed she did?
She ran the towel over her numb body; that wasnât her. It couldnât be her. She was the good girl. In high school, she had been the invisible nerd.
In college, she had been the unadventurous straight-A student. And now she was the ambitious accountant. She didnât âdoâ parties. She didnât get herself into these situations.
She sat in the front row and took notes.
Hesitating in front of her wardrobe, she pulled out a suit. No, it fell to the floor; the skirt was too short. The next one followed the first; the blazer too tight.
Soon a pile of pressed business clothes lay heaped at her feet, each more inappropriate than the last.
The phone rang. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. This time she wasnât going to answer it.
âAndrea Ethel OâNeil,â the answering machine amplified the shrill voice of her mother. She grimaced.
Her mother only used her middle name when scolding her, and the use of the name itself was punishment enough.
âPick up the phone, young lady. Iâve just turned on the computer, and you have some explaining to do. Iâve already had Aunty Doreen in my ear. How could you do this to me? I brought you up better than that! If the golf ladies see this.â
The voice trailed off as her mother issued a plaintive moan, âItâs your fatherâs side of you. I knew it would come out eventually. I canât believe you would do this to me.
âIâm speechless, Andrea, utterly speechless. What can I do when you show so little respect for me and the way raised you? I canât talk to you. I simply canât. You need to make this go away. Fix this, Andrea. Fix this now.â
The crash of the call ending made her flinch. Why did she link her Facebook account to her mother and all her extended family?
Oh hell, she realized, when she was tagged in those pictures it must have made them visible to all her Facebook friends.
Grabbing a pair of dark trousers and the most covering shirt she could find, she threw them on and headed back to the computer. Her mother was right about one thing; she needed to fix this now.
Kicking herself for being so stupid, she clicked on the first picture to delete it. Thatâs when she noticed the boxes beneath: Likes 25,674; Shares 33,569; Comments 46,985. How was that possible?
The pictures were only posted a couple of hours ago, and she didnât have that many friends.
Her hand shook as she maneuvered the mouse, looking for the delete menu. Facebook wasnât something she was that familiar with.
Sure, she checked in every morning and evening, but that was for the funny anecdotes, cute cat pictures, and occasional status update about people who had lives, but in truth, it was more for entertainment than social networking.
It was then she noticed the clock in the corner of the screen. Her heart sank. She was out of time. Already late for work, if she didnât leave now, she wasnât going to make this meeting with Mr. Wood.
Abandoning the computer, she grabbed her things and headed for the door. This would have to wait until she could ask Jill at work how to delete. Another hour wasnât going to make this any worse.
At nine forty-five a.m., she walked into head office. Andreaâs plan was simple.
Everyone would be at their desks working, she would calmly and discreetly walk directly to Mr. Woodâs office, and then she would find Jill.
She had never been called to Joshua Woodâs office, so she knew this was serious, but it couldnât be connected to the pictures.
Neither he nor Mrs. Windsor had any social connection to her, and she doubted that the broody workaholic even had a profile on Facebook.
It stood to reason that if she was that drunk, she must have embarrassed herself in some other way.
The security guard on the entrance door to the building was leaning back in his chair, looking her up and down as she waited for the elevator.
She turned her attention to the metal doors in front of her. It was all in her head. Paranoia was setting in. Either that or these pictures were just the tip of the iceberg.
Had she made a spectacle of herself in public as well as within the private office of her CEO?
In the lift, she closed her eyes and tried to mentally prepare herself. It wasnât uncommon to get drunk and do embarrassing things at the company Christmas party.
Last year Jack Welsh had gotten sloshed and had draped himself all over any woman who came too close. Everyone laughed that off. The year before, Beth, the receptionist, threw up in the fish tank.
She was teased, but nothing more came of it. Andrea knew if she could ignore the jibes, it would become old news and people would move on.
So when the doors opened, she exited the lift with her shoulders back and her head held high. The open-plan floor was humming with activity as she strode towards the office at the south end.
She released the breath that she hadnât been aware she was holding in, and her lips twitched into the small smile of relief. It was all in her head.
Her overactive imagination had made this into a bigger deal than it actually was.
Halfway across the floor, as she did every morning, she turned to say hi to Jill. Her step faltered. The smile frozen on her face, she just stopped mid-step. Everyone was looking at her.
Before she could think about it, she had twisted in a full circle. Everyone was staring at her with wide eyes and shocked expressions. Then it hit herâthe deafening silence.
It was like someone had hit the pause button, stopping time for everyone except her.
She teetered, unsure as to what to do.
âSlut,â the word cut the air. It came from somewhere behind her but, as she subconsciously swung to face her attacker, the insult released her colleagues from whatever held them in place. The stunned looks changed to glaring scowls and looks of open disgust. The silent air became alive with a discontented buzz.
She took three slow steps backwards, towards her original direction, before turning and with shaky steps, she continued, head down, shoulders stooped, and with numb movement.
Something hit her and bounced off. She scurried through the growled words and accusations, but her brain refused to process them.
These people she had worked with for three years. She knew these people. They were her friends. This wasnât right.
Blinking back tears, she almost ploughed into a door. Looking up at the tall dark wood directly in front of her, she knew that she had run in the wrong direction. She should have made for the exit.
Her racing heart was telling her to get as far as possible from this place. But instead, she stood at the place she least wanted to beâJoshua Woodâs door.
Blinking rapidly, she contemplated running. If she made it back through the gauntlet, she might escape this hell.
One foot was twisting free of the stilettos she foolishly wore today when the door opened.
There he stood. Despite everything, she felt she couldnât help but admire the man.
Joshua Wood was six foot two worth of toned flesh, broad shoulders, and chiseled face that Renaissance painters would have queued up for.
To say that he was gorgeous was the understatement of the year.
âAlright, get back to work,â his gravelly voice, directed at the office behind her, had her weak knees shake further. âMiss OâNeil,â his jaw tightened as he stood aside to allow her to enter his office.
She stabbed her foot back into the shoe as she stumbled into the room that was now so familiar to her.
âMr. Wood, thereâs been a mistake,â stuttering, she faltered under the weight of his cold eyes.
âTake a seat, Miss OâNeil,â a raw rage was barely concealed in his short clipped words. âYou know Mrs. Windsor and Iâve asked Mr. Shaw to join us.â
She shrank into the chair offered to her with Mrs. Windsor scribbling notes to Mr. Woodâs left and an empty chair on his other side. They sat in ominous silence as they waited for her manager to join them.
Something inside of her wanted to make small talk about the weather, anything to break the tension in the room. But she sat watching her hands as a cold foreboding seeped into her bones.
âSorry Iâm late,â the voice was bright as the door closed behind Henry, âItâs been a hell of a morning. Youâre a wild card, Andy. If I was a betting man, Iâd have empty pockets today.â
She winced, an automatic response not to what he said but to Henryâs persistent use of that name.
She hated her name being shortened to the male version and, despite her insistence, he seemed unable to comply.
She didnât move her eyes from her hands as he fell into the only chair left in the room. He would have winked at her if she had, and today she couldnât deal with him. He was harmless really.
Overconfident in an upfront in-your-face way, but most of it was for show.
There was no denying he was handsome, but no matter how expensive his clothes were, he always looked a little scruffy and lacking something she couldnât quite put her finger on.
Even though they were friends and of similar age, Henry Shaw didnât compare to Joshua Wood.
âIâve called you into my office today, Miss OâNeil, to explain your actions,â Mr. Woodâs eyes did not lift from the paperwork on his desk.
Andreaâs mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out.
âYour behavior was totally inappropriate and not what we expect from an employee. We encourage everyone to enjoy the Christmas party and maybe, in retrospect, that was a mistake. Frankly, Miss OâNeil, Iâm shocked and appalled that you have such a low regard for the companyâs reputation and my personal credibility.â
âI donât understand?â a small voice sheâd never heard before left her lips.
âDo you deny that this,â he slid the full-color printouts across his desk in her direction, âIs you? Can you tell me that this woman is someone else?â
âNo,â she whispered as she couldnât take her eyes from the pictures, the same ones that were on her computer this morning, âBut how?â
âHow indeed, Miss OâNeil, please tell us how and why you did this?â
She shook her head, not knowing what to say.
âHas the company done something to you that would warrant this action? Have I offended you, upset you, or caused you embarrassment?â he continued when she shook her head. âThen, please explain to everyone here why you would attack the good name of this company and my own personal reputation?â
âI donât know,â her eyes flicked around the room in panic before finding a spot on the carpet to focus on.
âSo you have no reason or defense for your transgression?â
âCome on Josh,â Henry sounded like he was rolling his eyes, âThe women of WAS all leave little wet puddles around this office because of you. Sooner or later, something like this was bound to happen. I canât see why you are making such a big deal over it.â
âThis is not a laughing matter, Henry. What would you have me do?â
âGranted, it shouldnât have gone public, but thatâs not her fault. I would have thought you, of all people, would have wanted to downplay the event.â
âItâs out of my hands,â he growled. âI have no choice but to make an example of her. Itâs up to me to discipline her.â
âI thought youâd already done that,â Henry laughed under his breath.
Andrea looked at Henry, confused by his obvious joke, and found that she wasnât the only one trying to understand his ill-timed humor.
Mr. Wood glared at Henry and shook his head with the slow movement of someone trying to hold their temper in control.
âApparently,â he closed his eyes and when he opened them he ignored everyone else and looked directly at Mrs. Windsor, âBecause we provide unlimited alcohol and have no written policy on conduct during company functions, I cannot dismiss you outright.â
âDismiss me?â Her credit card debt, car loan, and rent payments flashed before her eyes. This was her dream job and sheâd worked her butt off to get it. She couldnât afford to lose it.
âThatâs a bit harsh, isnât it Josh?â Henry scoffed.
âThe company name is all over the pictures, Henry,â Joshâs biting tone left no doubt how furious he was, âMy name is being smeared all over the internet, Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, Google.â
âYouTube,â Henry added.
âAnd gawd knows what other,â Mr. Wood paused, âYouTube?â
âBut they were only on mine. Just on my Facebook,â panic was clear in her voice.
âThey are everywhere, Andy,â Henry shrugged, âYou and Joshâs little tryst is traveling faster than Pepe Le Pew on Viagra.â
âMe? What tryst?â Mr. Wood growled.
âNo,â she whimpered as his hard, angry expression turned to her.
âCome on Josh,â Henry laughed, âIt takes two to tango, or has it been so long that you have forgotten how sex works?â
âAre you implying that Mr. Wood features in this indiscretion?â Mrs. Windsorâs voice was cold and calm.
âThe YouTube footage only shows Andyâs performance. But sheâs not the only one in the room, and although you donât see his face, who else would it be?â
âWhat?â both Mr. Wood and Andrea uttered the word simultaneously, differing tones but the same word.
âHave a look,â Henry shrugged like this was nothing to be worried about. âGoogle âW.A.S. it good for you?â a nice play on the company acronym, or âWhy wouldnât you, Mr. Wood? Itâs listed under a number of more vulgar references, but those two are my favorites.â
Andrea stared at Henry, her mouth hanging open. In the background, Mr. Woodâs fingers hit the keys with harsh resolve. The computer made a sound. Then it came to life with her voice.
Joshua Wood swore as he closed his eyes and dug his fingertips into his forehead. When his hands dropped to fists on the desk, the computer was all but singing his name in her voice.
From the slither of screen she could see, she couldnât believe what was vivid, clear, and indisputable to everyone in the room. The pictures had come to life with added detail.
Currently the âherâ on the screen was rubbing his name scroll in a way that left nothing to the imagination.
They all looked at the name scroll still sitting center front on his desk. It was a company thing. Each employee was given a triangular-shaped cylinder and two pieces of paper.
Once a year, they were asked to write their career goals on one sheet of paper and their personal goals on the other.
The papers were folded together and slid inside the sealed scroll which carried their name.
The theory was their goals would be in front of them every day and motivating them by having them within reach.
His goals, however, were motivating her to reach something that she doubted he had written on either sheet of paper.
âHoly hell,â he groaned as the version of her on the screen writhed.
She felt the blood run to her feet. She didnât want to believe any of this. She couldnât believe any of this.
And yet her voice was very clear, and that creature on the computer was an exact replica of her, right down to the scar she received as a teen. Her stomach rolled.
A plastic-lined bin appeared before her just in time to catch the contents of her stomach.
âThatâs not me,â Mr. Wood was pointing at the silhouette of a man on the screen.
âSheâs moaning your name, Mate,â Henry laughed. âDonât worry about it, Josh. It proves youâre a man, not a machine. I mean, what guy wouldnât react like that to a performance of such quality. Itâs nothing to be ashamed of.â
âIt. Wasnât. Me.â Mr. Wood spat the words out individually.
A glass of water appeared before Andrea.
âIrrespective of whether it is you or not,â Mrs. Windsor sounded like her teeth were glued together. âWe have a lot of damage control to do, and I donât have time to sit here and listen to you two bickering.â
âHow did you get into my office?â
Andrea lifted her head and was temporarily mesmerized by his steely glare.
âHow did you get the key for my office?â Mr. Wood repeated.
âI donât know,â tears burned in her eyes as her throat constricted with emotion.
He growled a frustrated noise.
âWe canât fire her? We still canât fire her, can we?â
Andrea closed her eyes as the tears bled down her cheeks.
âMiss OâNeil, I am formally issuing you with a warning. Should you do anything further to discredit Wentworth Accounting Solutions or any of its employees or management, I will be forced to terminate your employment. Do you understand?â
A sob escaped her as she nodded her head.
âCollect your things and report to Mrs. Windsor. Thank you, Jane,â he said as Mrs. Windsor left the room, her phone glued to her ear before she was even out the door.
âBut,â she hiccupped, âYou said I wasnât fired?â
âThat is correct,â his voice held no emotion, âBut given your new celebrity status, we can hardly have you in a customer-facing position. Iâm moving you from the Audit Department to Internal Finance.â
âWhoa!â Henry choked, âShe works for me!â
âNot anymore,â Mr. Wood was scribbling his signature on something. âIâm putting her where I can keep an eye on her. You must be aware of the position sheâs put me in.â
âI think we are all aware of the position she wants you in!â Henry laughed.
âHenry,â Mr. Wood ground his teeth.
âCome on Josh, do you really think thatâs wise? Having her,â Henryâs left eyebrow twitched, âworking on your staff?â
âHenry, thatâs enough,â Mr. Wood's stern warning was met with a smirk.
âThink how the staff will react to the news that sheâs working under you,â the innuendo was thinly disguised in Henryâs voice, but Andrea was too distraught to react.
âThat is entirely inappropriate, Henry.â
âThe whole situation is inappropriate, Josh! Leave her where she is. Let the whole matter blow over.â
âNo, there are two million hits on this YouTube clip. I have no idea what Iâm going to tell the customers. Sheâs violated my office, my stationary, and my furniture. Even the stapler wasnât spared. The board will be after my blood for this. And I will not allow the staff to think she has gone unpunished.â
âTwo point six million hits,â Henry looked at the screen, âAnd rising.â
âYou are not helping, Henry,â his voice was cold. âIf you want to do something constructive, you can take Miss OâNeil with you as you leave. Ohh, and take the bin with you, I have enough vomit in this room.â
Her eyes followed his to the wet spot on the carpet that was stained an unnatural color. Red Bull. She remembered being handed something called a âMighty Aphroditeâ.
When she turned back to Mr. Woods to apologize, he was already on the phone.
âI suppose that means the promotion is out of the question,â she said to Henry as he helped her up.
âI think thatâs safe to assume,â he smiled sympathetically. âHang in there, Andy. Youâll be laughing about this before you know it.â
Laughing about it? Maniacal, crazy laughter as she was being committed to some psychiatric hospital was always possible. Other than that, she couldnât see any end to this nightmare.
Her career was in tatters, and she was one step away from being unemployed and bankrupt.
Everyone she knew, including her mother, herself, and the cleaner whom she nodded a hello to every morning, hated her.
And to top it all off, the man she had fantasized about for the past three years couldnât stand the sight of her. Yes, she could definitely see herself laughing about this.
