“You’re referring to the memo.”
“Yes, I’m referring to the memo. You remember the one with the giant black letters scrawled right over my polite request to see you?”
“I was having a bad day.”
“I’ve had nine of them since then.”
“So have I… Wait, you’ve been unhappy too?”
I can tell she’s annoyed with herself for admitting that, because she tosses her hair over her shoulder and adopts a bored attitude. “I’ve been great.”
I step closer to her, dying to feel her lips under mine. “Great, huh?”
“Amazing, actually.”
“Hmm.”
“I’m not joking.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
“Your face is saying it for you.”
“Shay?”
“Yes, Mr. McCord?”
I keep my voice gentle and look straight into her eyes. “I’m sorry I was so abrupt on the memo. I’m sorry I haven’t contacted you. I haven’t been able to get you off my mind, and I don’t know what the fuck to do about it. All I know is that I saw you standing there when the elevator doors opened, and I wanted to touch you so badly, I started to salivate.”
She studies me for a moment, then starts to laugh.
“Why are you laughing?”
“Because it’s ridiculous how easy it is for you to dazzle me.”
“I dazzle you?”
She stops laughing and says crossly, “Oh, don’t look so pleased with yourself. You know you do. And no, we’re not having a sleepover. I told you I didn’t want to be a bootie call.”
I never thought having someone say no to me could be so adorable.
“Okay. I guess I’ll be forced to keep doing this for the foreseeable future.” I withdraw her panties from where they lie folded neatly inside the pocket of my suit jacket. Holding them to my nose, I inhale deeply, savoring the delicious scent of her cunt.
Her face turns scarlet. “You brought them to work?”
“I told you they’d go everywhere with me.”
“I thought you were exaggerating.”
“I needed to keep you with me.”
“What you need is therapy.”
“What I need is you.”
We stare at each other until an alarm sounds. It’s the elevator, complaining about being stuck between floors.
“Time’s up, Mr. McCord.”
“Let me come over tonight.”
“No.”
“We don’t have to do anything. We can just talk.”
“No.”
Frustrated with her stubborn refusal to give me what I want, I scowl at her.
Which, naturally, makes her laugh.
She turns and presses the Stop button, setting the elevator in motion again. Turning back to me, she says, “Don’t forget, Mr. McCord, there’s a company policy against fraternizing between employees. I know, because you specifically told me the first day I started.”
The elevator doors open. She turns and steps out onto the landing. She’s about to walk away from me without another word, so I do the only thing I can think of to make her reconsider.
“How’s your mother?”
She freezes in place. Then she spins around and stares at me with wide eyes and parted lips, the color draining from her face.
We’re still staring at each other as the doors slide shut.
Shay
I can’t breathe. I can’t think. I can’t do anything but stare at the closed elevator doors as my pulse burns like wildfire under my skin.
I recall the murderous expression Cole wore the night of our dinner date when I told him my mother’s boyfriend beat her up. I recall his scraped knuckles and blood-stained shirt the morning I woke with no memory at my apartment when he told me about Dylan. And I recall his eerie calm and splattered briefcase the night he wandered into his kitchen after leaving me alone to “work.”
Goose bumps form all over my body.
It was him. He’s the reason Bob left.
Disappeared, more accurately, probably into a deep hole dug in the desert sand.
Holy shit. I’m in love with Tony Soprano.
“Hello, Shay.”
With a strangled scream, I jump and spin toward the voice. Simone stands there, smiling at me.
“Are you just breaking for lunch now? It’s a bit late in the afternoon. I hope we haven’t been working you too hard. How’s the 401(k) audit coming?’
Breathless, I stare at her in her lovely cream-colored suit and triple strand of pearls and don’t know whether to burst into tears or hysterical laughter. “Fine. It’s coming along fine. I’ll have it completed by tomorrow.”
“Good.” Her smile turns into a frown. “Are you all right? You look a little pale.”
I swallow and nod, desperately trying to pull myself together. “Yes. Just hungry. I have, um, what’s that low blood sugar thing?”
“Hypoglycemia.”
“Yes, that’s it.”
I can tell by her expression of doubt that she doesn’t believe me, but I don’t care. Without another word, I stumble past her, headed blindly into the cafeteria. I don’t bother trying to get any food down, I just navigate to an empty table, collapse into a chair, and stare at my hands when I flatten them on the tabletop.
They’re shaking hard.
I stay in the cafeteria until my shaking has stopped, and my pulse has settled. I know I won’t be able to concentrate on work, but I take the elevator back upstairs and sit at my desk looking busy for the benefit of the cubicle field visible through the glass walls of my office.
I shuffle paperwork, click around aimlessly on the computer, and smile as if I’m not having an existential crisis, and my boss/sex partner isn’t a man who makes other men disappear.
All very normal, nothing to see here.
At five o’clock on the nose, I leave the office and drive home to wait.
I know it’s not a question of if Cole will show up. It’s only a question of when.
Like a werewolf, he arrives at midnight with the full moon.
I’ve been pacing for hours. I’ve had three glasses of wine. I’ve resisted the urgent need to call Chelsea for assistance with my nervous breakdown, but I know this is something I have to handle alone.
Plus, she’ll probably advise me to find a new job ASA-fucking-P, and I don’t want to hear it.
I can’t deal with logic right now. That part of my brain expired with one simple question this afternoon.
“How’s your mother?”
So innocent, yet so not.
The master of mindfuckery strikes again.
I’m in the middle of pouring myself another glass of wine when I hear a floorboard creak. I look over and there he is, standing in my kitchen doorway like some sort of gorgeous, murderous ghost who appeared from thin air.
My heart starts to thud. My mouth goes dry. I slowly set the glass back down on the countertop and turn to him, trembling.
“It’s after midnight.”
“Yes. I apologize for the hour. I was delayed by work.”
I glance at his knuckles, but they’re not covered in blood. Licking my lips, I look into his eyes again.
“How did you get in? The front door is locked.”
“Was locked. And I’m going to install a deadbolt. That lock isn’t safe.”
My laugh is small and only slightly hysterical. “You picked it. Are you a professional burglar too?”
“Amateur.” From his back pocket, he pulls out a credit card and holds it up between two fingers. “Not very sophisticated, but it does the trick.”
“Evidently.”
He doesn’t move closer, he only watches me with smoldering intensity as he slips the credit card back into his pocket, and I try to calm down by gulping air.
“You’re hyperventilating.”
“Seems reasonable under the circumstances, don’t you think? I’m surprised I’m not bleeding from my eyes.”
“How much wine have you had?”
“Not nearly enough to help me cope with the fact that you made Bob disappear. I think I’ll need a few cases of wine before I can handle that.”
“You’re fine. It’s just fresh.”
“I’m going to sit at the kitchen table now. Don’t make any quick moves, or I might pass out from nerves.”
“No, stay where you are. I’ll come to you.”