No “good morning.” No “when you have a moment.” Just “office” and a dial tone.
“Of course, sir.” I say to the dead line anyway, performing for Sharon who’s still standing there watching me like a hawk. I hang up slowly. Deliberately. Then turn to face her with my best apologetic smile. “Alexandria’s birthday is coming up. I’m sure it’s just that.”
The lie comes easy. Smooth. I’m getting too good at lying.
“I know when her birthday is.” Sharon snaps, then narrows her eyes. “Something’s wrong. Fix it.” She turns on her heel and marches back to reception.
I jab the elevator button. Once. Twice. Three times.
My phone is already in my hand. Typing before I can stop myself.
Me: Sharon thinks I did something to you
Me: She’s appointed herself your emotional bodyguard
Me: I’m sorry about last night
Me: Please talk to me
I stare at the screen. Watch the messages go from delivered to read.
Nothing.
No typing bubbles. No response. Not even an angry emoji.
Just read. And silence.
That somehow hurts worse than if she hadn’t read them at all.
Me: I’m trying. I promise I’m trying.
Read.
Still nothing.
“Great.” I shove my phone back in my pocket. “Perfect day. Absolutely perfect.”
The elevator display shows it climbing. Third floor. Fourth floor.
Then it stops.
The lights flicker.
And I swear to god the whole thing shudders—I can hear it through the walls—before dying completely.
The display goes dark.
“No.” I press the button again. “No no no no.”
Nothing.
“It’s out.” Janet from two cubicles over walks past me, flipping through papers. “Just went down twenty minutes ago. Maintenance is on the way.”
“Great.” I stare at the stairwell door. “Perfect timing.”
“You okay?” She pauses. Actually looks at me. “You look?—”
“Fine.” Too sharp. I force a smile. “Just running late for a meeting with Dom.”
