"Mr. Dickerson, is something wrong?" I asked, playing dumb.
"You've still got the nerve to ask?" Dickerson slammed his palm on the desk and jabbed a finger at my face. "What did you do to Isabella last night?"
I kept the confused look on my face, glancing between him and Isabella, who was sobbing so hard she could barely breathe. "Do to her? I didn't do anything."
"Didn't do anything?" Dickerson pointed at Isabella's red, swollen wrist. "Last night, outside the women's restroom, what did you do to her?"
At his words, Isabella cried even louder.
"Mr. Dickerson, I was at the client's office until eleven last night. I never even saw Isabella."
Isabella wiped her eyes, her voice thick with tears. "I'm a decent girl. Why would I ruin my own reputation just to frame you? It took everything I had to work up the courage to come to Mr. Dickerson for help..."
Dickerson had clearly bought every word. His face darkened. "Enough. For Isabella's sake, I won't blow this up. You're fired. Apologize to her, and then you can get out."
"Hold on." I looked at the two of them, contempt in my eyes. "You've heard one side of the story, hers, and you've already pronounced me guilty?"
"One side? What girl would use something like this to frame a man?" Dickerson looked at me like I was garbage. "I gave you this internship because you graduated from a top school. But what good are good grades? You're morally bankrupt. Scum, that's what you are."
"Whether a girl would trash her own reputation to frame someone, I wouldn't know. But—" I pointed at Isabella. "She says I cornered her outside the restroom. She's lying. And she has no proof."
"No proof? Look at her wrist, all swollen. You call that no proof? She didn't do that to herself, did she?" Seeing me refuse to admit it, Dickerson only grew angrier.
"Not herself, no. Maybe someone else did it." I gave a cold smile and glanced toward the door. If I remembered right, the next act of this little show was about to begin.
Dickerson, still getting nothing out of me, was seething. He slammed the desk again. "What kind of attitude is this? You think I won't call the police and have you hauled off?"
The moment I mentioned the police, it was Isabella whose face changed first. She tugged at Dickerson's sleeve. "Mr. Dickerson, don't, please don't call the police. Graham just lost his head for a moment. Don't ruin his whole life over this."
Dickerson looked at her and softened. "You really are too kind." Then he turned back to me. "Since Isabella's pleading for you, I'll let it go. Now get out."
"Why should I be the one leaving?" I pulled out my phone. "She won't call the police, so I will."
Isabella's face drained on the spot.
