My computer’s off, which is a little strange—but I boot it up as Penelope sits on the edge of my desk, watching what she can over the cubicle walls.
The computer whirs to life, its gentle hum a stark contrast to the thoughts whirling in my mind. My fingers hover over the keyboard, hesitating for a split second before I punch in my login credentials. The familiar company program interface greets .
I type in the first client na from Fernsby’s list, my heart rate quickening as the results populate the screen.
Everything matches.
Every. Single. Detail.
The knot in my stomach tightens as I dive deeper, clicking through to the service tabs.
Dates, tis, consultants—it’s all there, laid out in neat little rows. But sothing’s off. My eyes narrow as I spot Scott’s na. Once. Twice. Three tis.
"What the hell?" I mutter under my breath.
Scott’s the boss. He doesn’t do consultations. Yet here he is, listed as the consultant for each of these ill-fated accounts. The wrongness of it all prickles at the back of my neck.
I hit print, the machine’s soft whirring a counterpoint to the rapid-fire thoughts racing through my brain. Services rendered, technician nas, paynt histories—I print it all, for every single account. The growing stack of paper feels like a ticking ti bomb in my hands.
Addresses next. I punch them in, one by one, waiting to see if other accounts were serviced for the sa address.
Nothing.
Still, sothing’s off, poking and prodding yet unclear in my mory.
Exiting the program feels like coming up for air after being underwater too long. I dive back in, this ti into my company email. Nas and addresses fly from my fingertips into the search bar.
Nas hit, but the addresses co up empty.
I click through the inquiries, my frown deepening with each one. The clients declined services. All of them. From as recently as one month to as long as three months ago.
The printer whirs to life again as I send each email thread to it. Cross-checking dates of the accounts to my e-mails feels like putting together a jigsaw puzzle where none of the pieces fit.
Services rendered a month or two before their initial inquiries? In one case, they’d upgraded their security systems one day before declining services.
It makes no sense.
Sothing’s hinky.
I catch Penelope’s eye, jerking my head towards the door. Ti to go. We need to talk, away from prying eyes and ears.
A familiar voice cuts through the air.
"Nicole! You’re back?"
Scott. His sudden appearance sends a jolt through , my muscles tensing as if preparing for a fight. Or flight.
"Hello, sir." Keep it professional. Distant. He acted so pathetic when I told him it was over, but didn’t call once while I was in the hospital.
"Where have you been?" His question is a whisper, his face too close to mine. He slls like pasta and a strange perfu I don’t recognize. Feminine. Must be his girlfriend.
Startled by his question, I glance at Penelope. Her face is already reddening, hands tightening into fists as she glowers in Scott’s direction.
Keeping my voice low out of courtesy, I respond with as short of an answer as I can manage. "I texted you. I was in the hospital. Just discharged today."
He frowns, not even glancing at my best friend. "Co to my office."
Penelope shakes her head at , but I just hand her the stack of papers I printed. "Wait for , I’ll be right back."
"Five minutes, Nicole."
The or else I’m coming in there and beating his ass is not spoken, but I hear it plain as day. "Got it."
It isn’t like I want to be in a room alone with Scott either, but if he doesn’t know where I’ve been—again, that hinky radar goes off.
Hell, you don’t need any kind of radar to know that sothing stinks here.
It’s like there’s a blazing neon sign declaring it.
I follow Scott into his office, grimly amused when people’s heads lift to watch.
Oh, sure. They’re interested in now. Disappear for three days and they don’t give a shit when I’m back.
Why am I even working at a place like this? The paycheck, I guess.
He perches against the desk, arms crossed, his face a mask of concern—probably thinking he looks like so sexy CEO, when he just looks like an asshole pretending to care.
"Nicole, you don’t need to use the hospital as an excuse to make sure I’m concerned about you."
His delusions are out of this world. My jaw clenches.
"I went to your apartnt several tis to check on you," he continues, earnestness plastered all over his face. "But you wouldn’t answer the door."
I take a deep breath, forcing myself to remain calm. "I was in the hospital, Scott. After an accident when I went to the Fernsby estate."
He sighs, reaching for my hand. Evading his grasp, I take another step back. The thought of his touch makes my skin crawl.
"Please, let’s keep things professional," I say, my voice tight. "Are you sure you didn’t get my text?"
I pull out my phone, scrolling to the ssage I sent two days ago when I regained consciousness, and face it out so he can see. Scott frowns, leaning in to look at the screen.
"I didn’t get it," he says, shaking his head.
A twinge of guilt hits . I should have double-checked. This is my job, after all. Then again, I was in the hospital. Things were kind of crazy.
"I’m sorry for not following up," I say, the words tasting bitter in my mouth. "What do I need to do for HR?"
Scott waves his hand dismissively. "Don’t worry about that. I’ve already taken care of it for you."
Of course he has. Always the knight in shining armor, isn’t he?
"I just want to make sure you understand that you’re my first priority," he says, his voice soft.
The scent hits again. Feminine. Floral. Definitely not mine. My nose wrinkles involuntarily.
"Yeah, that sounds real sincere," I spit out, sarcasm dripping from every word, "with your whore’s perfu all over you."
Without waiting for his response, I turn on my heel and flounce out of the room, ignoring him as he calls my na. The entire office falls silent, all eyes on .
I don’t care.
Let them stare. Let them gossip.
I have much bigger problems than this in-office drama.
I grab Penelope’s arm as I pass her desk, practically dragging her towards the exit.
"That cheating bastard’s lucky he was too far for to kick in the nuts," Penelope snarls as we burst out of the office.
I can’t help but laugh, a sharp, bitter sound that echoes in the empty hallway. "Yeah, well, maybe next ti."
We make it to the elevator before I let out a shaky breath, leaning against the wall. Adrenaline fades, leaving feeling hollow and drained.
"You okay?" Penelope asks, her voice soft with concern.
I nod, not trusting my voice. The elevator dings, doors sliding open, and we step inside. As soon as they close again, I let out a groan.
"God, Pippa, what am I doing? This is such a ss."
Penelope wraps an arm around my shoulders, giving a squeeze. "You’re just in a shitty situation. You haven’t done anything wrong. Just kick him next ti he tries to get you in a room alone."
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