“Right.” She straightens. Adjusts the container so it’s perfectly centered on my desk. “Well. I made extra. In case you need some too.” She gestures at the treats. “Sugar helps. Whatever’s going on.”
“Nothing’s going on.”
“Sure.” That tone. The one that saysI’ve worked here twenty years, I know when something’s going wrong, I know when people are lying.
I just blink at her.
Sharon taps the Tupperware once. Twice. “Tell her to come get these herself next time. I want to look at her face when she lies to me too.”
She’s gone before I can respond.
I shove the container into my desk drawer. Out of sight.
Around me, the third floor hums with normal Monday energy. Janet’s on her phone. Someone laughs in the break room. The copier jams. Regular chaos.
The expensive scent hits my nostrils first, that cologne that costs more than my groceries. The one that lingered in the stacks Friday night.
Tom Ford. Black Orchid.
That feeling—the new one I’m becoming far too familiar with—uncoils at the base of my spine.
Cold shoots up my vertebrae, wraps around the back of my neck.
It’s screaming now.
“Dylan.” His shadow falls across my keyboard.
I take a breath through my nose. Count to three. Turn my chair with the same speed I always do. Not too eager. Not reluctant. Not anything but professional.
Pass the lie detector test.
“Sir.” I look up. Meet his eyes.
They’re the same brown they were Friday. Same crow’s feet.
He’s holding a cream envelope. The expensive paper stock he uses for formal communications.
“Excellent work this weekend.” He sets it on my desk. Precise. Centered. Like everything Dom does. “The Patterson discovery was exemplary.”
“Thank you, sir.” I keep my hands in my lap. Don’t reach for the envelope yet. Wait for permission.
“Open it.”
I do. Carefully. The paper is heavy, expensive. Official letterhead.
Five-thousand-dollar performance bonus for exemplary work on Patterson discovery. HR will process payment within three to five business days.
Five thousand dollars I need. That could help with loans. That could buy time.
Five thousand dollars that might have someone’s blood on it.
My hands start shaking. Just slightly. Enough that the paper trembles.
“That’s very generous, sir.” I set it down flat on my desk before Dom notices. Before he sees what his kindness does to me now—how every bonus feels like thirty pieces of silver, everyexcellent worksounds likegood girl, here’s your treat for not noticing the bodies.
“You’ve earned it.” He glances at my screen. At the nothing I was typing. “How was your weekend? Quiet, I hope?”
My throat closes. I swallow. Taste copper. Bite the inside of my cheek to ground myself in something that isn’t Friday night, isn’t Dom’s voice saying “prices are going up” like he was discussing dry cleaning rates.
