Wednesday her nightmare began.
D
rew Albertson looked like a Scandinavian movie star with his blond wavy hair, gray-blue eyes, and long eyelashes. He was tall and thin but quite muscular. His custom-made shirts were fitted a tad too tight, giving the impression that he was so buff his muscles were about to bulge through.
For Peyton’s first few days on the job, he was very warm and welcoming, expressing his desire that she feel at home and enjoy her work at
The Bountiful Table
and assuring her that if she had any questions or concerns he was there to help her.
Drew was married to Eileen, the daughter of Randolph Swift, the patriarch of the company. Peyton met Eileen briefly when she swept through the office one morning to drop something off at Drew’s office. She was a big-boned woman with shoulders a linebacker would envy, but she wore beautiful clothes. Her cashmere coat was definitely black label, and her boots cost well over a thousand dollars. Peyton recognized them from a Neiman Marcus ad she’d seen in a magazine. After two minutes with the woman, Peyton decided the clothes were the only beautiful thing about her.
Eileen stopped at her desk and looked Peyton up and down as though she were scrutinizing a specimen in a jar. “So, you’re the new girl,” she said, not hiding her disdainful smile.
Peyton put on her most pleasant face and extended her hand. “Yes, I’m—”
“I know who you are,” Eileen snapped. “Peyton . . . something.”
“Lockhart,” Peyton offered.
“Yes . . . whatever,” Eileen said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Just do your job, and you’ll get along here. My husband has high standards . . . very high standards,” she repeated. “If you want to make it in this company, you’ll see that he gets what he needs.”
Peyton bit her lip to keep from snapping back at the rude woman. She managed a faint smile before saying, “I’ll do my best.”
“See that you do,” Eileen said and then turned and walked away.
Peyton didn’t think she’d ever met a more abrasive woman in her life. If this was her normal way of communicating with people, it was a wonder anyone would speak to her, let alone get close to her. The one thing she had going for her was money. Most likely that was what had attracted Drew. She came from money and was due to get lots more. Peyton had learned from Lars that Eileen and her younger brother, Erik, would inherit the publishing company and a fortune in stocks and bonds just as soon as their father retired as CEO. Even more money would come to whoever took over and ran the business after Randolph was gone. Since Erik had been away at school for several years, it was fully expected that Drew would step into his father-in-law’s shoes.
Peyton thought Eileen was the most repulsive person she had ever met. That is, until she got to know Drew Albertson.
One wouldn’t expect such a handsome man with the sweetest smile and the softest voice to be a sexual predator—at least Peyton didn’t expect it, which was why she was slow to react. But a sexual predator was exactly what Drew was, and in hindsight, she realized she had been foolishly naive.
His creepy seduction began almost immediately. On her fourth day at work his hand brushed against the side of her left breast . . . and lingered. It happened while she was sitting at her desk and he was leaning over her to point to a graph on her computer screen. She was mortified, but because he didn’t say anything or apologize, she thought he hadn’t realized what he had done. She assumed it was an accident.
The seventh day on the job he followed her into the file room, shut the door, and trapped her as she was trying to get past him. Pretending to get out of her way, he pinned her against the wall, his pelvis against hers, and said, “You must be used to men telling you how beautiful and sexy you are. I’ll bet they make fools of themselves fawning all over you.”
She shook her head. “No,” she said. “Please move away from me. You’re making me terribly uncomfortable.”
He acted as though he hadn’t heard her and brushed a strand of her hair over her shoulder. “So silky,” he crooned.
She pushed his hand away, squeezed around him, and without a word, left the room. She resisted the urge to slam the door in his face.
That evening she spent a long while researching sexual harassment on the Internet, gathering information to take to Human Resources. She had a strong feeling that Drew wasn’t going to let up, and she needed to know what she legally could do about it.
A few days later he trapped her at her desk. He snuck up behind her, put his hands on her shoulders to keep her from bolting, then leaned down until his lips were next to her ear and whispered, “I look at you and all I can think about is touching you. I dream about you and me.”
She dreamed about Tasing him. She twisted in her chair, forcing him to let go of her. Anger radiated in her voice when she said, “Mr. Albertson, it isn’t appropriate for you—”
“Call me Drew, honey. I can tell, you and I are going to be real close.”
That thought was so repulsive she cringed. He didn’t seem to notice. He raised up and crossed his arms, assuming the posture of an authoritative boss. In his professional voice, he said, “I’ll give you a couple of weeks to find a place and get settled here in Dalton, but then you and I are going to Hartford. There’s a restaurant there I want to review. From there we’ll fly down to Miami and do an interview with the owner of a new Cuban restaurant I’ve been hearing raves about.” He leaned closer and lowered his voice. Minty fresh breath blew in her face when he added, “Our schedule will be tight, but there will be a little time for relaxation. Be sure to pack your bikini.”
Right. Bikini. Like that was going to happen. The only way she would go anywhere with the letch was if she could take a cattle prod, a Taser, a couple of pepper sprays, and maybe a pair of handcuffs. She doubted, however, that any airline would let her carry these weapons on board, so that left a three-hundred-pound bodyguard. Where could she find one of those in Dalton?
He smiled his most seductive smile, and with his voice still low said, “I’m sure you’ll warm up before then.” Finished with his sexual harassment for the afternoon, he went back to his office to get his coat and strolled out the door.
Peyton was so angry her hands shook. She took a deep breath and tried to calm down, but it didn’t work. She still wanted to scream. There had been a moment when his lips were actually touching her ear and his hands were pushing down on her shoulders that she had felt trapped and helpless. The feeling was so foreign it almost overwhelmed her. Almost. And only for a few seconds. Now, outrage was taking over.
Armed with the information she had gathered from the Internet on sexual harassment Peyton went to Human Resources to lodge a complaint. The office of the director, Annette Finch, was usually guarded by Bridget, and, thankfully, she had already left for the day. The director’s door was open. Peyton knocked to get her attention.
“May I have a moment of your time?” she asked.
The heavyset woman with a severely short haircut pointedly looked at her watch before giving a nod. “Make it quick,” she said, her tone brisk. “What do you need?”
“I would like the necessary forms to fill out to file a complaint against my immediate supervisor, Drew Albertson.” Peyton could have sworn she saw a hint of a sneer on Annette’s face.
“What kind of complaint?”
“Sexual harassment.”
Tapping her lips with one finger, she said, “Hmmm.”
“Excuse me?” When the woman continued to stare at her without saying anything, Peyton asked, “Would you like me to tell you what happened, or should I write it down and—”
“No, absolutely not,” she snapped. “Do not tell me what happened.”
Her reaction was so hostile Peyton wasn’t sure how to proceed. “May I have the forms, please?” she asked.
“No.”
Annette was drumming her fingers on the desk now as she stared at Peyton. Her lips were pinched together, and her eyes had narrowed. For some reason the request had infuriated her.
“It’s your job to—” Peyton began, flabbergasted by the woman’s behavior.
“Don’t tell me what my job is,” she said. She forced a smile then, and it was creepier than her scowl. “You took me by surprise. No one has ever wanted to complain about Drew, you see. That surprised me. You’ve only been here a couple of weeks, right?”
“Yes.”
“It’s a policy that you can’t file a complaint until you’ve been here three months. If you still want the forms then, I’ll give them to you.” As a dismissive gesture, she stood and reached for her coat.
“That’s it?” Peyton struggled to keep her temper controlled. “Come back in three months?”
“That’s our policy,” Annette insisted. “You’re new here, and once you’ve settled in you’ll calm down.” She turned her back to Peyton as she put on her coat and began to clear the credenza behind her desk.
Now what? Peyton wondered, astounded that the head of HR refused to let her file a complaint. She didn’t know what else she could do to stop Drew’s lecherous behavior. He was such a vile person. She came up with a couple of sadistic ways to do him in, but unfortunately none of them were legal. She justified her bloodthirsty attitude by telling herself she was protecting future women who came to work for the magazine. She had never had murderous thoughts about anyone before—not even when Troy, the drunk, was slobbering all over her hand as he tried to stop her from giving his car keys to the restaurant manager—but she was certainly having those thoughts about Drew now. She could just see the sisters of Saint Michael’s shaking their heads. Peyton knew what they’d say, too: “Murderous thoughts? You’re on the highway to hell, young lady.”
Thank heaven she’d listened to Mimi and hadn’t rushed to sign a lease. The thought popped into her head and helped her get rid of some of her anger. That was a positive. There was another positive, as well. She hadn’t given in to the urge to punch him when he was panting all over her, so she didn’t have to worry she’d be dragged off to jail for battery. There was no question she was going to quit; however, she found it galling that the reason for her departure wouldn’t be noted in her file or Drew’s. She wished there was a way to prove he was a predator.
At least Drew was consistent. He stopped by her desk that afternoon to whisper, “I hope you’re thinking about our trip.”
Peyton didn’t look up from her work.
She was sitting there contemplating her options when Mimi walked toward her cubicle. Unlike Drew, Mimi could never sneak up on anyone. She was partial to J’adore perfume and doused herself with it at least twice a day. The fragrance announced her approach.
“So the jackass is already at it again,” Mimi remarked. She was shaking her head and had both hands on her hips. “He just never learns. I should have warned you. I started to a couple of times, but I thought, since you were different, he might go easy on you.”
“You heard him?” Peyton asked.
“I was in the hallway just now and saw him come up behind you,” Mimi explained. “I couldn’t hear what he said, but I can guess. Your face looked like it was on fire. I wish I could tell you that it’s going to get better and that he’ll eventually give up and leave you alone, but I don’t think that’s going to happen. He was promoted to this job about a year ago, and he’s already gone through two other trainees. I had a long talk with Sandy this morning. She’s an assistant in Human Resources, and she was in an unusual mood to chat about Drew. Come to find out, like most of the employees she doesn’t much care for him, either,” she added. “Anyway, I found out how you were chosen for the job.”
Before Peyton could respond, Mimi said, “According to Sandy, you fit all of his requirements and then some. Your photo gave you the edge over the others.”
Peyton shook her head. “I didn’t send a photo.”
“Oh, he got hold of one,” Mimi said. “Sandy told me that Drew had a stack of applications. He made her search the Internet for any photos or personal information she could find. All he wanted to look at were the photos of the women. She had to sort through the pile for him. He didn’t want anyone over the age of thirty, and she had to be single. He didn’t even glance at the applications from men. He told Sandy that, since the other food critics were male, he felt it was only fair to hire a female.”
Mimi glanced around the cavernous office to make sure they were still alone, lowered her voice, and said, “You were the prettiest applicant, and that’s why you were hired. I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but think about it. You weren’t hired for your experience. You just graduated from college and then did some postgraduate work cooking in France for a while. Didn’t you wonder . . .”
“I was told it was a training program, and I thought working for this magazine would be invaluable.” She didn’t go on. She felt so foolish. “I just jumped at the opportunity.” She thought about the long drive to Dalton and how excited she’d been to get started on her career. Now she felt crushing disappointment. “It’s so unfair.”
Mimi nodded her agreement, and then as though her own frustration couldn’t be held in any longer, the floodgates opened and she blurted, “You want to talk unfair?” she asked. “I’ve got you beat there. I’m an accountant, a damned good one, too. I’ve been with this company for over seven years, and up until Drew came along, I’ve been happy here. Drew married Eileen three years ago. He was in charge of production then. I didn’t really know him, but I had heard talk that he was a real letch. Apparently, there was trouble with one of the girls working under him. Rumor had it, he blatantly pursued her. I heard he gave her a ride home one night, and she didn’t come back to work for a week afterward. When she finally returned, he treated her so bad, she was forced to quit. I don’t know what happened, but the stories were flying. Eileen made sure everything was hushed up. And then he was promoted.” She added with a nod toward Drew’s office, “He didn’t have the skills for the job, but I guess that wasn’t important to Eileen. She’s the one who pulled the strings to get him in.
“I was going through a divorce back then. My ex had a girlfriend on the side and thought I should be okay with it. I wasn’t. Anyway,” she continued, sounding as though it was exhausting to talk about it, “since we didn’t have any children and he made more money than I did—even though he did the same job—neither one of us asked for anything from the other. It should have been a quick and easy divorce, right? But he worked here in accounting, too, and he was bitter—”