Bzzzt.
Probably Daniel:
You should have left me a key to your new apartment.
My stomach doesn’t drop… No. My temper fucking rises, twisting in my gut until rage claws at my throat.
He’s not supposed to be here.
Not this close.
Not while I’m working.
I stand too fast, knocking my chair over as I grab my phone, and walk out of the second floor like I’ve got an emergency. I move past the kitchenette, past a group of quiet coworkers who don’t even look up, and take the stairs two at a time until I hit the ground floor.
There are less people down here, and it’s easier to hide what I’m about to do.
I duck into the print room, and my pulse kicks against the side of my throat, but it’s not fear.
It’s fury.
He’s just blown my cover.
The hairs on the back of my neck lift a moment before there’s a knock on the trim around the open doorway.
“Hey, baby,” Daniel purrs, leaning in against the threshold, blocking the exit.
He looks exactly the same as he did the day I left him in his apartment, except today, he wears a practiced smile. It’s the kind narcissists learn in Manipulation 101 or some shit. He’s turnedthe fake charm to max, but it still rots away at the edges of his cold eyes like necrotic tissue.
“You weren’t answering my texts,” he says, like we’re mid-conversation.
“Because I don’t want to.” I circle the room until there’s a counter between us, disgust turning my lips down as I glare at him. “I dumped you. This isn’t aweanymore. You need to leave.”
He tilts his head. “That’s rude, Anna. You used to be sweeter.”
“Sweeter?” I give a snort-laugh-combo, my body malfunctioning at the absolute absurdity of his impression of me. “You’ve been stalking me for weeks. If you wanted me to keep being sweet, maybe you should’ve thought about that before you started stalking. Me.”
I raise my voice on the last two words, and he takes a step forward. I move one foot to the left, toward the other side of the table where there are things that can be used as weapons.
“I’ve been thinking about you,” he says. “About us.”
I unlock my phone, keeping it just out of sight, under the counter. My thumbs fly across the keyboard without looking, trusting my memory until I can glance down.
Eris:
Send Roo. He’s here.
The reply hits almost instantly. I take another step to the left, purposefully bumping my knee so I can look at my screen.
Locke:
Where?
I want to roll my eyes and screech, but I remain calm on the outside. It shouldn’t matter where; they already know the where and the who.
Eris:
First floor. Print room. Call Roo.
