Taylor didn’t seem all that interested in the way she began reorganizing her bag. Instead, he picked up a folded piece of card stock that had fallen out in the chaos. Saffi felt herself flush when she realized what it was.
“This is from three years ago,” Taylor muttered, staring down at the birthday card. “You kept this?”
Saffi placed her newly folded clothes back into the bag and snatched the card from him. She slipped it back where it belonged, unable to look at Taylor. The sound of the zipper was excruciatingly loud in the otherwise still office.
“I wasn’t sure you were getting them with how often you move around,” Taylor said sheepishly. “I was worried I was pouring my heart out to some confused stranger.”
“Well, I did. And I read them too, asshole.Happy birthday, have a great dayhardly counts as pouring your heart out. Neither do the stupid little pictures you drew on the back,” Saffi said. “You really should consider taking an art class.”
Taylor blinked in surprise. “I didn’t draw those.”
Saffi frowned. “Then who did?”
“Atlas,” Taylor said as though it were obvious.
And, in retrospect, maybe it was. Saffi had never seen Taylor doodle anything. He’d always been better with words. Andino, on the other hand, was prone to spacing out, drawing lopsided clouds at the corners of his papers. However, Saffi had been under the impression that Andino knew nothing about the cards Taylor sent her every year, written entirely in his handwriting. She felt a little guilty now for not realizing it sooner.
“Well, here’s another one for the collection,” Taylor said, holding out a card. “Happy birthday, Saffi.”
Saffi accepted it automatically, uncomprehending until she realized what day it was. Twelve fifteen in the morning on August 25. On the back of this card was another messy doodle, this time of a palm tree. Or, from some angles, a toilet cleaner brush.
“It’s not a collection,” Saffi muttered. “Is this what you came here for?”
“That and to let you know Atlas and I found a bottle of whiskey for the occasion, just like old times,” Taylor said. “Okay—maybe not exactly like old times. We splurged. I’m a little too old for bottom-shelf hangovers.”
—
The next morningSaffi woke up in the break room with a pounding headache. Her back ached from sleeping on the floor and the sunlight peeking in through the blinds felt like laser beams. She couldn’t remember it being this bad when she was twenty-one. Somewhere in the distance, Andino made the sound of a dying animal.
Feeling generous, Saffi dragged herself to her feet and poured three cups of water, handing one each to Andino and Taylor, which they accepted gratefully. Only when she drank the entire thing did she feel semi-coherent. She checked the time on her laptop, recoiling at the brightness, but was quickly distracted by the title of a trending news article.
“Shit.”
Her tone must’ve given something away because both Andino and Taylor slowly rose to their feet, coming to read over her shoulder.
Hector Olsen, “Ladies Killer”: Literal or Figurative?
More than an article, this was clickbait, its success hinging on its ability to agitate the masses. They were publicly accusing the man of not only assaulting Shyla Patel, but of killing Irene Singh and attempting to kill Dimple Kapoor as well. No reputable publication would ever get away with that. Leaked by an “anonymous Hollywood insider.” Including intimate details about Olsen being dragged into the police precinct that sounded oddly like this “insider” had been in the room with them. It didn’t feel like a coincidence that the moment Dimple Kapoor found out about Olsen’s trial being pushed back, so did the rest of the world. And no one was happy aboutit.
“I told you the public would find out,” Andino murmured, as though it weren’t his beloved idol who had leaked it in the first place.
“Shut the fuck up,” Saffi seethed, trying to remind herself that he didn’t know. Because of her, neither of them did.
Taylor, who’d been squinting down at his phone and rubbing his temples, added, “Social media is a battlefield right now. There are talks of protests. Nobody thinks it’s fair that his trial is being pushed back. Maybe this is a good thing if it means he’ll get prosecuted sooner?”
Saffi wondered if this many people banded together against Olsen when he beat his ex-wives. Why was it that when Dimple Kapoor spoke, suddenly the whole world listened? Again, Saffi had been nothing but a pawn in her grand scheme.
“Oh great,” Andino said. His work phone was pressed to his ear. “The Singhs left a voicemail.”
“Let me guess, they’re demanding we push for the trial to happen as soon as possible?” Saffi asked.
“It might work now,” Andino said.
“I know,” Saffi replied, no matter how much she wished she could argue.
“Olsen won’t be able to call in any more favors,” Taylor added. “Not with so much media coverage focused on him.”
“This is great,” Andino said. “The case is practically closed, we’ll all get paid, and you’ll be free to run off to wherever you want.”
