Pauline Wells, who had been nobody a month ago, was suddenly somebody—and not because of anything she’d actually done.
Because Jack Specter brought her coffee.
I did my work and pretended not to notice Alice’s hatred sharpening into something personal.
“I need the progress report by five,” she said Thursday morning, dropping a folder on my desk without slowing down.“Formatted correctly this time. I don’t have time to fix your mistakes.”
“There weren’t any mistakes in the last one.”
“There were formatting errors.”
“The margins were off by a quarter inch.”
“That’s an error.” She smiled, all teeth and no warmth. “Five o’clock, Wells. Don’t be late.”
She walked away before I could respond, heels clicking against the floor like a countdown to something I couldn’t see.
I stared at the folder and counted to ten. Then twenty. Then fifty, because apparently ten wasn’t enough to stop me from wanting to throw my stapler at the back of her perfectly coiffed head.
At least Gerald had calmed down. Now that the CEO was actually present, monitoring things, breathing down everyone’s necks with his expensive suits and his unsettling habit of appearing in doorways without warning, Gerald had stopped barking orders like a dog who’d gotten into the espresso. Small mercies. He actually did his own work now, which was a development none of us had expected to see in our lifetimes.
The gang investigation had become my lifeline. What Alice had handed me as grunt work, meant to keep me occupied and out of her way, had turned into something real. Something explosive. The thread Ethan had found led to more threads, which led to connections, which led to a story that was going to blow up the moment I published it.
Alice knew. She could see it developing, and she was furious. Not because I was doing good work—because I was doing good work without her.
I gritted my teeth and opened the folder.
Ethan appeared at my desk around eleven, two cups of coffee in hand, that easy smile on his face that I was starting to recognize as his default setting.
“Peace offering,” he said, setting one in front of me. “You looked like you were about to commit a felony.”
“I was considering it.” I took the coffee gratefully. “Alice wants everything formatted in a font that doesn’t exist.”
“She’s threatened by you.”
“She’s threatened by everyone.”
“Not like this.” He leaned against the edge of my desk, “She sees what you’re building with the gang story. She knows it’s going to be big.”
I didn’t respond to that. Just sipped my coffee but I could feel Ethan’s gaze. He looked as if he was contemplating.
“Can I ask you something?” He asked finally.
“What?”
“Do you know Specter? From before, I mean.” He was watching my face with an attention that felt suddenly heavy.
I took another sip of coffee to buy myself time.
“We attended the same college,” I said finally.
“And?”
“And nothing.” I met his eyes, kept my voice steady. “We’re not close. We were never close.”
The lie tasted bitter on my tongue, but Ethan seemed to accept it. He nodded, straightened up, gave me that easy smile again.
“Just curious,” he said. “Let me know if you need help with the formatting. I’ve cracked Alice’s code—it’s all about the tab stops.”
