Still buzzing from a magazine interview earlier that day, Dimple and Atlas walked side by side to the meeting room. It had become something almost like her office, given how much time she spent there. The hallway leading up to it wasn’t a very long one, revealing four more offices whose occupants she’d determined, thanks to her constant presence. All except for the one at the end of the hall left their door open. That one could belong to no one but Saffi.
Atlas, realizing Dimple had fallen behind, turned to her in confusion. “Something wrong?” he asked. “Do you need a break? Water?”
Dimple laughed. “I’ve only just arrived.”
Atlas’s ears reddened. It was that easy.
“Actually, I was hoping for a change of scenery,” she suggested.
Atlas contemplated it. “We could go to the break room?”
Dimple shook her head apologetically. “The lights in there give me a migraine. Sorry, I don’t mean to be difficult. Let’s go to the meeting room as usual.” She took one step in that direction before Atlas cut her off.
“We could go to my office?” he suggested. “I get plenty of natural light in there.”
Almost too easy.
Dimple let her eyes grow wide. “Really? Are you sure that’s all right?” When he nodded in confirmation, she beamed. “That would be lovely, thank you.”
He was already walking away and Dimple hurried after his long strides. As she passed Eli’s office, he gave her a small wave, which Dimple returned. It was a good thing Saffi couldn’t see, though, because she’d certainly clock that Dimple was up to something.
Long after Dimple stepped into Atlas’s office, he lingeredawkwardly in the corner, as though afraid she would bite. She took the opportunity to look around, hands clasped innocently behind her back. It was the same layout as the others Dimple had caught brief glimpses of. Desk at the center, armchairs for guests, plastic potted plants in the empty corners. She wondered if Saffi’s looked the same. Somehow, she doubtedit.
She scanned bookshelves of textbooks, walls of diplomas and certifications, and countless photographs, senses alert for anything of relevance. Atlas seemed to thrive on organized chaos, with files and books scattered all over the place and memos stuck to the wall at random.
“Where is this from?” Dimple asked, fingertip tracing a picture of Atlas and Eli with a mountain range in the background.
“Colorado,” he said, clearing his throat.
The question seemed to cut through the tension and Atlas took a step closer. He launched into a story about how he’d sprained a ligament while skiing not long after the picture was taken. Dimple nodded like she was listening and tried not to think of the phantom twinge in her own wrist. Sometimes when she moved too quickly, she still froze in anticipation of pain that would never come.
With her back to him, Dimple ensured Atlas had no idea she couldn’t care less for his photographs. Her eyes were glued to the notes he’d scribbled on his whiteboard. In between doodles of cacti and palm trees, she could make outInsomnia’s production schedule and names of people who’d worked on the film. Producers, writers, even extras. Several were crossed out.
So shewasn’tthe only suspect. Dimple made a mental note of every person on the list, vowing to look into them all when she went home later that day.
Her unofficial reconnaissance mission came to a staggering halt when Dimple spotted a familiar paper pinned to the corner of the board. Jagged edges, written on by a pen nearly out of ink. She plucked it from its place and held it up to the sunlight, her fingers tracing the familiar loops of the first and only autograph she’d ever been commissioned.
“You kept it,” she said.
“Of course,” Atlas replied, as though it were that simple. That was how everything seemed to be with him—simple.
“This was the first autograph I’ve ever given.”
When she turned to look at him, Atlas seemed taken aback. “Really?”
“Is it so surprising?”
“Well, yeah. You’re an amazing actress.”
Dimple twisted the words in her mind, attempting to make sense of them. “What’s your favorite movie of mine?” she asked eventually.
“Horrorville 3,” he said without missing a beat. “You deserve an Oscar for that performance, and I’m not just saying that.”
Dimple found herself at a loss for words. He couldn’t be serious. Not even she could watch that movie without breaking into hives. It was a disgrace to cinema. Dimple didn’t even like to say the title out loud for fear of inviting demons into her home.
But Atlas’s expression was open and earnest. There were no signs of jest or malintent. Dimple felt incredibly powerful, as though being viewed through a camera lens.
“You truly believe that?”
