I Quit Being Her Emotional Support Toy

The laptop flew out of Jeannie Gray's hand, grazing the head of finance's scalp before crash-landing at the floor-to-ceiling windows just across from me. Web-like cracks spread across the tempered glass.

The screen was still lit, and the net profit column in the third quarter's financial report was lined with jarring red.

I sat in the furthest corner of the conference room and watched as everyone stiffened in their seats.

The dozen-something high-level executives occupying both sides of the long conference table dared not even draw a breath.

The head of finance's necktie was askew. He'd raised his hand, which hung in midair, but dared not adjust his tie.

The head of marketing's pen had dropped on the table with a thud, its ink spilling red across the A4-sized paper. He dared not pick it up.

Even the air coming through the vent of the air-conditioning unit seemed to go quiet.

Jeannie stood at one end of the long conference table with both hands braced against the edge, her knuckles turning so white that the bones were on the brink of shattering. I could hear her labored breathing from where I sat. She sounded like an overworked generator.

"The acquisition's fallen through. Our new product launch is delayed. How could we have made such a loss in the third quarter?" Jeannie didn't raise her voice, but she sounded like she was grinding out each word. "Were your brains stuck in your asses?"

No one dared to speak up or offer a response. They knew that anyone who spoke up now would be hurled across the room next.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. I glanced down at the screen and realized Emma Sanderson, who sat across from me, had sent me a text.

It was a single word followed by multiple exclamation marks. "Help!!!"

She shot me a pointed look for good measure, then jerked her chin toward Jeannie.

I drew my hand back from where it rested on my knee, tugged on the cuff of my shirt, and rose from my seat. As I approached Jeannie, I ran the charges in my head.

A dangerous assignment fee of 150 thousand dollars for comforting Jeannie during a high-intensity emotional episode.

A physical contact fee of 100 thousand dollars as stipulated in the contract.

If I accidentally got hurt to the point of bleeding, I could claim work injury compensation of 500 thousand dollars.

All in all, I was guaranteed to earn at least 250 thousand dollars—750 thousand dollars if I were lucky. It was easy money.

I rounded the long table and quietly approached Jeannie from behind. She suddenly whirled around and glowered at me with bloodshot eyes, her voice so hoarse it might as well be sandpaper. "Gregory Larsen, don't you dare fucking leave!"

I fought the urge to chuckle. She didn't want me to leave, but she didn't stop me from taking another step toward her. She could try to sound tough, but her traitorous body was honest about what it wanted.

I said nothing, only reached out and snaked my arms around her waist from behind.

Her back stiffened, as if she'd turned to stone.

I counted the seconds as I waited. One, two, three… By the seventh, the murderous intent rolling off her skin gradually waned, and the fists clenched at her sides finally relaxed. Her heavy breathing slowed and steadied like a receding tide.

Angling her head to the side, Jeannie didn't look at me as she croaked, "Let go."

"Right away, Ms. Gray." I released her and took two steps back, standing firm as a professional smile slipped onto my face.

Jeannie adjusted the collar of her suit, pulled out a chair, and sat down. She opened a new folder before her, and when she spoke, her voice was so frosty that it was as if nothing had happened before this.

"Let's get back to the meeting and move on to the next item."

I stood right behind her and watched as everyone's shoulders simultaneously drooped with relief.

The head of finance wiped the sweat off his forehead with his sleeve, which came away wet.

The head of marketing gave me a big thumbs-up from under the table.

Emma, on the other hand, shot me a look that said, "I owe you big time."