"It's not a problem, and you're not the first to do this. Just promise me this wasn't for someone who works here."
"I promise."
"Good, because that just leads to trouble." She nods to the bag. "You should shred those, but I will leave the how and when up to you. With a bunch of other documents, or shred and take home and recycle."
My eyes suddenly sting with hot tears. "Why are you being so nice to me?"
Ruby frowns. "Because I like you? You're nice, you're a little mysterious, and I like to think we're friends. You started here, what, six months ago? But since then, we have become friends, haven't we? You know about me, and I know the important things about you—that you're honest, fun, hardworking, and loyal. Like, remember that time I was hungover and late and couldn't do my job? You lied for me and did the work. I don't forget things like that. Why areyounice tome?"
"You're a sweetheart, and you also have my back. You're fun and loyal, too. And..."
Ruby sighs. "I know you don't talk about your private life?—"
"There isn't much to tell." Which is true.
I have WN, which is just fantasy, but otherwise...nothing. Which is the best way it can be.
"You don't need to. But I'm here."
"Thanks, Ruby." I want to hug her, but I'm not sure how. It has never been part of my life, that easy affection so many people have. "I know. And we are friends."
"So, you know why I'm helping with these photocopies. Of course, now you will just have to pretend you have 'women's troubles.'" She air quotes the words.
"It could be you," I point out.
She laughs. "Could be both of us."
I join in the laugh. "And we could terrorize the floor."
She looks at her watch and unlocks the door. "I have to go, but we need to get that drink. Let me know when."
Something in me weakens.
I want this friendship, I want to tell her why I was in here, so I take a leap. "I will, and I will tell you everything I was doing."
Ruby punches the air. "Yes! I'm holding you to it."
She rushes out, and I carefully make sure all evidence is safe in my bag, then grab some fresh paper and carry it out.
I quietly leave it on a table and duck into the bathroom, swinging my bag to my back. I take a few moments of deep breathing while I pee, then flush, rush to the sink, and wash my hands. I decide to follow up the last photo I sent with a photo of the panties in my bag with the photocopies and a text.
Because right now, adrenaline is pumping hard through me.
I rush for the elevator and type,You will need to try a lot harder to get me out of my comfort zone...
And the lie feels good.
Chapter Four
ENZO
Screwthe whole ego-stroking of having the bigwig's office on the top fucking floor. Sure, it looks good, probably feels good for a shallow soul—not that I think my buddy is shallow.
Okay, he might have shallow tendencies that come with growing up with money. But I also grew up with money, and I like the basement.
The top floor is for posturing, being admired, studied, watched, however you might want to put it, but I'm more than aware that the important and interesting things happen in the dark, in the shadows. In secret.
You can't do shit on the top floor. Especially something that isn't above board or the kind of white-collar crime that is accepted when you reach a certain number of zeros in your bank account.
