Gerald glanced our way.
Eddison groaned and ran his hand nervously along his short brown hair. “Shh.”
Gerald frowned before he sat down and started tapping away on his laptop keyboard. The early afternoon sunshine streaming in the windows made the bald spot on the top of his head gleam. He’d valiantly resisted the comb-over, so I had to give him kudos for that. But like staring at clouds, I couldn’t stop from comparing the oddly shaped blob of visible scalp—lovingly embraced on all sides by his silvering red hair—to various things. Today it either resembled a llama’s head or Peru.
Hewas the one who forgot to fill out the damned paperwork, so I wasn’t sure why the rest of us got to hear a sermon on the topic. Shit always did roll downhill.
Eddison reached toward the middle of the table for a copy of a local map of existing wind turbines, and I could see the disaster in progress but didn’t have time to avert it. His sleeve caught my mug. The coffee splashed out toward the paperwork, deluged it, and headed in a wave directly for Gerald’s laptop. I could already hear Eddison starting to hyperventilate.
Without thinking, I grabbed my suit jacket from where I had it tossed on the table at my side and lobbed it on top of the mess to stop its progression toward everyone’s computers, which got me a small round of applause and laughter.
Eddison slumped in his seat and put his hand over his eyes. “I’ll pay for the dry cleaning.”
“That’s why we hired you, Zayn. Quick thinking.” Gerald shot me an awkward finger gun, then glowered at Eddison, who refused to make eye contact.
With a flourish of my hands, I stood and took a bow as Heather, Jennifer, and Gallant used my suit jacket to mop up the coffee and salvage what they could of the reports. Gerald’s curvy blond assistant, Melina, looked ready to have a breakdown because her white dress suit had come perilously close to being doused, but she still took the moment to ask the boss if he wanted a refill. They were always kissing Gerald’s ass, but I wasn’t really any better and tried not to judge too hard.
I sat down and checked my phone discreetly, worry pinging around in my chest and tightening my grip.
No messages.
It had been almost two weeks without a word from Moose. I’d tried not to come on too strong. Texted a couple of times. Called a few times. Avoided a dick pic—barely. I was desperate but didn’t want to bethatguy. I was a serial killer, and on my better days I called myself a vigilante—not vulgar.
But nothing.
No response.
There wasn’t even a “read” receipt on my texts. Of course, I wasn’t sure if that meant he hadn’t seen them or simply had the feature turned off on his end. The uncertainty twisted my gut into a knot and gave me an oddly pleasant ache at the same time. While the rest of the executive team babbled to each other and danced around our boss, Eddison apologized yet again.
Ignoring the chaos, I drummed my fingers on the table and stared at my laptop screen. I’d never been ditched. In fact, usually men were callingmethe next day. But perhaps I’d bitten off more than I could chew?
Fuck. I need this to work out.
“Zayn, what do you think?” Gerald glanced up over his glasses at me expectantly.
What had he been saying? Double fuck. “Sir?”
“Can you have your report done today?”
I winked at him. “It was in your inbox an hour ago, Boss.”
He grinned and his face flushed as he went back to his laptop. Flattery got you everywhere with him, and poor Eddison hadn’t figured that out. Our boss was pretty easy to please, really, which was good. I needed him to like me. If the cops ever came sniffing around—not that it would happen—everyone at the office had to be completely shocked and offended that they would think to ask questions about me. I worked hard to be not only good butlikable. Anyone could be excellent at their job. It was a hell of a lot harder to be top dog and man of the year at the same time.
Which did a strange number on my self-esteem. Without all this subtle manipulation, would they appreciate me? If I didn’t work twice as hard as everyone else, would I still be indispensable? I shrugged off the thoughts.
All the shit with work? It wasn’t a challenge.
Not like Moose.
Ineededthis. I could do this. Plus, there was the bonus of making the world a better place. I could’ve been a cop. I could’ve done a lot of different things with my life. But in those jobs the bad guys often got away. They got expensive lawyers. They went off skipping the whole way while the good guys blew each other for a job well done and generally whistled Dixie.
Then, nice people like my mom, people who needed help but got drugs instead, ended up dead. Decent guys like my dad went into a spiral of depression and became a ghost before his time.
Shaking off the morose thoughts, I glanced around wistfully at the artwork on the walls. I’d brought Truett, victim number seven, here. He’d taken me three months to crack. It was weird.I’d learned to skateboard so I could hang out with him, and occasionally, I missed him, but that didn’t matter.
The game was all that mattered.
If I let myself get too hung up on the people I played the game with, I’d never be able to have my satisfaction at the end.
