“Good morning, Shay.”
“Good morning. You’re here early.”
“I like to get an early start on Mondays. How was your weekend?”
I freeze, then force a stiff smile. “Great. Yours?”
She shrugs, dunking the tea bag up and down in her mug. “Relaxing. I read, got caught up on Netflix. Puttered around in the garden. By the way, Dylan quit unexpectedly over the weekend, so you might have to take over some of his workload until we find a replacement. I’ll try to make it as little as possible. I know you’ve got your hands full already.”
My breath catches. My heart skeps a beat, then starts to thud. I swallow nervously.
“Dylan quit?”
“Mmm. Left me a voicemail. Not very professional, but not all that surprising. He’s been having some issues for a while.”
My mind races. I’m not sure how I’m supposed to act calm and collected when everything inside me is tumbling around in screaming turmoil, but I manage to eke out a word.
“Issues?”
She removes the teabag, wrings it out with a spoon, sets it on a small ceramic holder shaped like a four-leaf clover on the countertop, then picks up the mug and looks at me.
“Interpersonal problems with the staff. He wasn’t well liked. I’m sure he won’t be missed.”
Her voice is smooth, but her stare is pointed. She sips her tea, gazing at me over the rim while I try very hard to make my face an emotionless mask.
She knows.
Not only that, but she also delivered a fabricated story about him quitting over voicemail without batting an eye, which is impressive in several ways, but mainly because she can claim to have accidentally deleted it if anyone in law enforcement asks to hear it.
I concentrate on keeping my breathing steady. Holding eye contact with her is one of the most difficult things I’ve ever done. “I see,” I say quietly. “Well. I…I’m happy to help in any way I can.”
She lowers the mug and smiles. “Thank you.” Then she walks to the door, pausing briefly to touch me on the shoulder as she passes.
It’s the same brief touch Cole gave Chelsea Saturday morning at my apartment.
The acknowledgment of co-conspiracy.
I can’t decide if that makes everything better or so much worse.
In the copy room after lunch, I overhear two female junior accountants talking about Dylan.
“Thank God he quit. He creeped me out.”
“I know, right? Me too. He kept asking me out for drinks, even after I told him I have a boyfriend. He actually had the nerve to say my boyfriend didn’t have to know.”
“Michelle said he cornered her in the parking garage one night. Really scared her.”
“What happened?”
“She was working late. Came out to find him waiting for her by her car. Nobody else around, just him lurking there. He’d parked behind her, blocking her in. Had his passenger door open like he was going to push her inside.”
“No!”
“Yeah. I guess one of the security guards got off the elevator to do his rounds right then and it spooked Dylan. He got into his car and drove away without a word. Michelle felt silly after because nothing happened so she didn’t say anything to anyone, but when she found out this morning from Kayleigh that he tried the same thing with her, they both freaked out. Now everybody’s talking about what a perv he was.”
I keep my head down and my eyes on the copy machine as the girls walk out of the room together. When I pick up the stack of papers from the tray, my hands shake.
As I’m driving home that night, my cell phone rings. It’s a number I don’t recognize.
“Hello?”
“Hi, baby.”
It’s Cole. I’m so shocked, I almost drive off the road. “Oh hi!”
“Why do you sound so surprised to hear from me?”
“I never gave you this number.”
“Did you really think it would be hard for me to get?”
“Riight. You being ruler of the universe and everything. I miss you.”
There’s a pause. Then he speaks again, his voice softer. “How do you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Make my heart flip.”
Smiling, I check the rear view mirror before changing lanes. “Just lucky, I guess.”
“What are you doing right now?”
“Driving home. You?”
“Sending a text to my personal shopper.”
“You have someone who buys your clothes for you?”
“No, I have someone who makes my clothes for me. My personal shopper handles everything else. What size dress do you wear?”