I’ve learned enough about these people to know that arguing gets me nowhere. And honestly? Following their rules has kept me alive so far. Which is more than I could say about my previous life strategy of winging it and hoping for the best.
I open a blank message. No name in the recipient field yet, just the blinking cursor and the knot in my stomach that hasn’t untied since yesterday.
I’m sorry I didn’t plug in the USB. He was already there. I panicked.
Delete.
I’ll try again tomorrow. I promise.
Delete.
I hover for a second, fingers on the keys, trying to come up with some version of that sentence that doesn’t sound like an excuse. Or an admission. Or both.
The back of my neck prickles.
“Everything alright, Mary?”
I jump so hard my knee bangs into the underside of my desk. My hands slam the laptop shut on instinct, like I’m thirteen and hiding a chat window from my dad.
It’s Caleb.
Standing behind me like some kind of corporate ghost, perfectly silent, perfectly groomed. Sharp suit, cedar-and-citrus cologne, that smile he wears like it’s been filed into place. His tie is still perfectly knotted. My blood pressure is not.
“I- Yes,” I say too quickly. My voice comes out higher than I meant it to, too light. “Just, um… end-of-day catchup stuff.”
His eyes flick to my screen. The closed laptop. Back to me.
“Hardworking,” he says. It’s either a compliment or a warning. I can’t tell which. “Do you have plans after work?”
It’s a normal question. People ask each other that all the time. But coming from him, it sounds like a test. Like the right answer might not be the honest one.
I swallow. “Groceries.”
That’s it. One word. Perfectly safe.
Except I don’t stop there.
“My fridge died a few days ago, and I’ve been meaning to go but I kept putting it off, and… Well, I figured tonight’s a good time to stock up, finally. Maybe get some yogurt. Not that you needed to know that. Sorry.”
Jesus Christ, Mary.
Caleb doesn’t say anything for a beat. Just watches me with that unreadable expression. Then, slowly, he smiles.
“Yogurt is important.”
I nod as if that’s a normal response. As if I’m not sweating through my bra right now.
Before he can say anything else, Janice swoops in from the side like she’s been lurking for the right moment.
“Mr. Whitfield,” she says brightly, stepping into view. I get the sense she’s been hovering five feet away this whole time. “I was just telling Stephanie how sharp your email was. That new regional rollout plan? So smart.”
Her voice is all sparkle and polish. She does this thing with her head—this little tilt—that’s supposed to look curious, but mostly just makes her look like she’s straining for relevance.
Caleb turns toward her, and just like that, I’m invisible again.
Thank God!
I watch Janice tilt her head more, laugh at nothing, and pretend like she wasn’tsleeping with Dave for at least six months. Like he wasn’t found dead two days ago, and we’re all just pretending the regional manager vanished into thin air without leaving blood on the floor.
