Candace’s stillness exudes a sense of constrained potential energy that makes me want to fidget. Like at any moment she could fly across the room and flatten me.
“Bit sore. I laid into the machines yesterday,” I say.
“All right. Is this something you’re concerned about?” Candace strides into my office.
“No. I’m sorry. I thought you saw me, and I wanted you to know.”
“Saw you where?” she asks.
“Never mind.” Like a round ofwho’s on first. I shake my head and push up from my chair.
“All right.” She neither smiles nor scowls. “Do you have a minute?”
We awkwardly stand looking at each other, my desk separating us. I haven’t asked her to take a seat, but I just stood. It’s as if I’m suddenly new at my job.
“Certainly. Please take a seat.” I indicate one of the chairs in front of my desk, and I sit back down. Suddenly, I become very aware of what’s on my computer screen. The data I let her assume I didn’t have. I quickly put my computer to sleep.
We both sit in silence for what feels like minutes but is likely only a few seconds.
“I mentioned I wanted to hear from you if Betsey got in touch.” She keeps her gaze leveled at me.
“Yes,” I say.
“So, has she?”
“Actually, sorry, yes.” I reach into my bag to retrieve the note. Betsey called Candace’s team goons. That’s on her.
Candace flips open the folded paper, her face placid. “How did you get this?”
“Less than an hour ago, found it behind the mirror.” I don’t indicate who found it. Alyssa doesn’t need this kind of attention.
“This mirror?” Candace gingerly removes it from the wall and examines the back side before flicking her eyes to me. “Perhaps this explains why there was no note with the data. She had planned to give it to you in person.”
I take a page from her playbook and keep my mouth shut.
“Nothing else?” She glances around my office, maybe wondering as I did if other notes are shoved away in hiding.
“No. I think she’s waiting for me to look into the data.”
Candace just nods.
“Which of course doesn’t make any sense, since the data is fraudulent,” I stumble. “So maybe she’ll be in touch soon.” I need to either continue to not offer conjecture or get better at improvisation, and fast.
She’s quiet again.
Finally, I break. “Is there anything else?”
“Yes. I was just meeting with Hardwin. He mentioned some additional stress you’ve been under with home and getting ready for the board meeting on Monday.”
“He did?” I try to keep my voice neutral, but this is so annoying. People telling me I’m under stress or not sleeping well or having some anxiety. It crosses the line in an intimate way. I’ll choose when to share about my mental health or my sleep patterns. In this case and in most cases, I’m open to feedback on my work product and conduct, not my personal life.
“He wanted me to give you something.” She pulls out an envelope from an inner suit pocket and hands it to me.
I draw back, my body protecting me from one more message.
“Take it, Meredith.”
I trap the wordnobehind my teeth as I force my hand to grip the creamy linen envelope, the weight of a formal invitation. Am I being invited to a party? By Candace and Hardwin? It wouldn’t be Candace and her husband. My fingers twitch.
