I am such an idiot for getting flustered by anything that man said.
But damn, it was so adorably unanticipated. His intensity with me sure caught me off guard. Never had anyone pulled up a string like that for me—showing up unexpectedly at my house. Maybe someone has, but definitely not a billionaire. Not even a millionaire. He went through all that stress to hand me a pair of my glasses I accidentally forgot because I was pissed at him. Now that's something new to me.
From the window, through the blinds, I peep outside like a child desiring to be set free to go play outside. I do this till his car is away from sight. I had no idea I'd been smiling the whole time. Now that I do, I criticize myself for it. I should be angry at this man, not flustered by him. I shouldn't be carried away by a nice gesture. After all, it's everywhere, that he's a manipulative person. He could be doing this so I fall under his spell and he'd brainwash me like he has done every other woman. Admittedly, he's very good at this game of manipulation. I-
"Why do you look so lost, standing near the window?" I hear Levi ask as she passes behind me. "Is there someone you're hoping to see or are you expecting Haven back?"
I swirl around and see her pouring herself a glass of milk as she questions me. I stammer my reply "Me? Of course not." My eyes follow the glass of filled milk in her hands to her mouth. I might as well have followed the milk down her throat, if I could see it. "There's no human being worth staring at in this neighborhood," I share and make my way back to my room to continue what I was doing before Lance came looking.
I walk back into my room, setting my hair free from the bun I'd forced them in to go see Lance.
I'm halfway through taking off the shorts, with one leg is inside the short and the other out, when I spin to look at the screen of my laptop laying at the center of my bed after I'd heard a catchy line. I focus on the voice of who's talking. It is not familiar, but the words she's spewing is somewhat disturbing.
For weeks since this Rape Report Program started, people have only turned in their stories, penned by journalists about their traumatic sεﾒual experiences. But sometime last week, Noah took it to a whole new level. He brought victims in to tell their story with their own voice, as against the doubtable method he was using. Only thing now I, they blur their faces.
I rewind the video to get the name of the lady currently speaking and see it's Amanda Rosco before I forward it back to where I was.
She makes mention of her abuser's name prior to the time she begins to talk about how he used to take her by force. "He didn't have a specific time of the day when he wanted me. If it was morning, mid day or at night, as long as the coast was clear, he'd take me into his room, do the bolts and shove me to the bed," Amanda, seated on a stool in the broadcasting room in the Capitol, tells her story to the world. Her voice is shaking in horror, and though I cannot see her face because identity has been withheld, I know she's crying profusely. "He always said he loved it when it felt like he was forcing me. He went as far to plead with me, that no matter what, if I enjoyed him or not, I should always scream 'stop' and cry for help. He loved it when I felt helpless, still he'd block my screams with his palms covering my mouth so no one would..."
I shut my laptop and take my time to breathe. I was already running short on air, I needed to take a break from that woman's terror-filled voice. It's not just what he used to do to her that has got me anxious and tormented, it's the person she says did all these things to her. Philip Rio is millionaire, owner of the largest brewery in San Francisco.
Now I'm thinking, if Philip could stoop so low to the level of raping is housekeeper, how much more Lance Haven, an even wealthier man. Although, wealth has no role to play in discerning if a man is an abuser or not, I used to think rich men could get any woman they wanted. Easily. It was almost impossible for them to force anyone into doing anything. After all, money could fix anything. But after hearing this about Philip, my mentality hasn't only changed, my instincts about Lance being guilty now feels more like the truth. The multiple women he has been alleged to mistreat is suspicious.
As a professional journalist, I know there's no smoke without a fire. If Lance has never been a bad person all his life, no woman would capitalize on it to want to ruin him. Philip's was his housekeeper, Lance's could be his very own girlfriends.
I do not return to that video because it's depressing, not just to the victim but to me who's watching her retell her experience.
Instead, I put a call through to Noah.
"Please, tell me you've finally gathered something," he greets me with harsh words after a few rings.
"Not about Lance," I say as I walk my way to my closet to find something to wear, I can almost feel him roll his eyes. "I was just on the RRP and saw this Amanda...Amanda..." I try to recall her last name. Before it comes to me, Noah snaps.
"Anderson, you have a huge problem adhering to the job you're given." His breathing sounds like a blaring horn or It's just me, I can almost feel the hot air against my ears. "Amanda Roscoe has nothing to do with the job you've been given."
"I-I know," I try to explain myself, eyes still in my wardrobe, precisely on my leather jacket. "It feels like the same story. I'm just hoping they'd link somehow—Amanda's and Lance's girlfriends in the past. It's a gut feeling, Noah. Please." I beg softly, pulling the jacket out from the hanger.
He breathes loudly again, I know he's fuming, but wouldn't blow hot and cold over the phone. "Your hope. Your gut feeling... when have they ever turned out to not disappoint you."
I'm completely quiet.
"Well, fine. If you desperately need Amanda's details, they're in a file here at the Capitol. Come get it!" The call ends on his grumpy voice.
A slow smile works its way across my face as I throw my phone on my dresser. I crash on my bed, feeling very achieved. I feel a step closer to getting something. Maybe not about Lance right away, but other millionaires that may have acted similarly. If I can get a better story about another millionaire then maybe Noah would give me more time and trust that I'd deliver the one about Lance.
I put on my jacket and do the zip all the way to my collar. I'm not really fond of jeans, but I find myself foraging through my line of jeans. I don't deliberate anything, I wear it and face the mirror to pack my hair.
My regular look is a middle-skull ponytail with all my hairs swept back. It's always tightly packed. I have not done, nor do I intend on doing anything out of the ordinary to my looks, except that I'm wearing a pair of jeans on a weekday afternoon, which is very unusual of me.
I grab my car keys after wearing my boot and I head for the door. "Levi?" I call out, propping my head back into the house, because I realized I didn't tell her I was leaving.
She calls back and it takes her a few moments before she opens the door. "Are you going out?" Her room door slams shut after she has walked out. "Why do you look so dressed?"
"Duty calls. It's quite serious," I say. "I'd be back before midnight, that I'm sure."
"Midnight?" She yells subtly and comes closer. "I had plans to use the car. David and I had plans to go out." Her face forms a frown.
I pull out my wallet from my back pocket and draw out a couple dollars from it. "Here you go," I offer her with my hands stretched out. "Get a cab. Any outing with David is not one you should drive from."
She takes the money grudgingly, rolling her eyes.
"I'll see you soon." I close the door and walk my way to the car.