as it is || harry styles au

thirty-six

tw // mention of rape/assault

i v o r y

I unbuckled my seatbelt and collected my purse from the floor. "Thank you, Mickie. I'll see you later."

He rolled down the passenger side window once I closed the door behind me. "Text me when you're done. I'll pick you up."

"O-okay. Thanks again, Mick." I waved and he drove off.

That meant I'd have to Uber back to the conference center after the meeting before texting him to pick me up. Maybe I could just get the Uber and tell him "oops, I forgot you were going to pick me up".

Yes, that was a great idea.

I walked into the building where there was already a hoard of people gathered and chatting while they waited in line to enter the conference room. Many of them were younger than I was—undergrads looking to network with alumni who worked their dream jobs. They looked bright-eyed and hopeful. I knew better than anyone that your first job wasn't going to be your dream job. Hell, you probably weren't even going to like it. Post-grad was a bitch. I'd gone through it twice. The first time, graduating with my bachelors, then the second time, graduating with my masters.

It was unfortunate I was here under false pretenses.

As I had planned on doing, I received my lanyard with my name on it, found a seat at one of the dozens of round tables in the massive room, and waited for the first speaker to come out and kick off the event.

Once the first speaker got to the microphone and introduced herself, I took a picture of the room, then excused myself quietly from the table. No one paid me any attention as I left through the doors we'd entered in. My paranoia that Mickie might still be outside for some preposterous reason had me looking up and down the street through the glass doors before I left the building.

I ordered an Uber to get to the coffee shop. It arrived soon after, and the drive over was less than ten minutes. My heart beat steady yet strong in my chest. My breaths were slow and deep, but it felt like I carried heavy weights on my shoulders that pushed me down in my seat.

I stepped out of the car on unsteady legs. The coffee shop was near the Massachusetts State House, but was located around a cluster of law office buildings—one of them being where Lance Brewer worked.

I chose to get here about twenty minutes early so I could scope out the place. I'd looked Lance up online and found out what he looked like. He was an average looking middle-aged man. Pasty skin, brown eyes, patchy beard. None of the people in the cafe were him. There were a couple groups of people scattered around the tables. There were some stuffy looking suits—obviously lawyers belonging to the offices nearby—some were old men playing chess, and others were students in headphones on their laptops.

     I found a table somewhere in the middle of everyone. I took out my phone and scrolled to the notes app where I had a bulleted list of things I needed to get off my chest in the meeting.

The most important bullet being that I wasn't afraid of him. If he continued to try and scare my son or I, no NDA would be able to keep me from exposing him. I'd tell anyone who would listen that the Boston Red Sox's 2022 season World Series MVP was a rapist and a stalker. It didn't matter if they tossed me in jail or sued me for all I was worth.

     Bells on the door to the cafe chimed as it opened up. It was only a woman in athleisure approaching the register.

     I breathed out steadily through my nose and checked the time.