“I’ll just need to gather my things,” I direct this at Dom because Marcus is already at the elevator, jamming the button with his finger over and over again.
Do I tell him it’s out?
Hell no.
“Of course.” Dom shrugs on his suit jacket. “You’ll be working at his office all month, so take what you need.”
“Now hurry up.” Dom practically shoos me away. Dismissive. Done with this conversation.
I walk away. Marcus is still at the elevator, still pressing the button like that will make it magically work.
I slam through the stairwell doors and stomp down to my floor.
“Oh hey, is the elevator out?” I hear him call after me. That amused chuckle like this is all very funny.
“Yep.” I don’t wait for him. Not at all. Just keep going.
Fuck this guy.
I slam through the door to my floor, secretly hoping it smacks him in the face.
Sharon is at my desk. Again.
“Listen, I was thinking about a surprise for Alexandria’s—” She pauses. Sees my face. Then sees Marcus coming down the stairs behind me. “Oh. You’re leaving.”
“Yes.” I grab my messenger bag. Start shoving things in.
“With him?” She’s staring at Marcus. That look on her face. The one she gets when she disapproves of something but is too professional to say it directly.
“Working off-site. City Hall. All month.” The words come out clipped. Mechanical.
“All month?” Her voice goes up. “Dylan, that’s not?—”
“Sharon, I have to go. Whatever you’re planning for Alex, just—” I zip the bag. “—count me in. Okay? Whatever it is. I’m in.”
“But—”
“I have to go.” I’m already moving. Past her. Toward the stairs.
I feel her watching. Feel her disapproval. Feel her worry.
But I can’t stop. Can’t explain. Can’t do anything but keep moving before I completely fall apart.
Marcus is right behind me. Too close. I can feel him in my space even though he’s not touching me.
“Damn, you must do cardio,” he says as I take the stairs down two at a time.
I do. On these fucking steps. Every week for five years until one month ago when I heard him confess to murder in this very stairwell.
I continue ignoring him until I burst through the doors to the outside.
The February air hits my face like a slap. Cold. Sharp. Clean.
I take a deep breath. Then another.
I might be having a hot flash. That’s okay. That is perfectly fucking okay. I’m twenty-seven and having a hot flash in the middle of winter because I have to spend a month working alone with a serial killer.
One month.
