It was murder.
I walked past the water cooler and found myself wondering, with genuine clinical focus, what clear liquid poisons existed and whether any of them were water soluble.
Finish him off.
Who?
Gallagher.
What?
I set my bag down and began unpacking my laptop. The conference table was long and polished, the kind of table designed to make everyone sitting at it feel the weight of whoever sat at the head. Beneath it, a tangle of cables and wires ran along the skirting.
Use a thick one. Cut his air supply off. No mess.
I doubted that was practical. I didn’t have the upper body strength and his neck was far too thick—I’d noticed that in the photo. Even if I swung off it, I probably couldn’t inflict much damage.
Open wires then. Electrocute him.
I don’t even know the man. Why would I want to kill him?
Beware. The voice dropped low and urgent.He is evil. EVIL.
I pressed my fingers to my temple as it escalated.
Fuck. I did not need an episode right now. Not here. Not in a conference room that probably had cameras.
Kill him, she whispered.Do it before it’s too late.
My fifty-two pound return flights weren’t looking like much of a bargain anymore. A white padded room was starting to feel like a genuine trajectory.
I cannot kill my boss.
You can, she purred, warm and encouraging in the way that made it worse.What about a knife through his heart? Pretty red blood seeping out of the hole in his chest. Efficient.
I paused. Not because my brain’s words were alarming, but because there was something lingering in the air.
I sniffed.
Cologne. Recent. Clean and fresh and—actually that was distractingly good. Nothing like the cloud of competing aftershaves that usually haunted the office. This was something else entirely. Something that made the back of my throat feel strange in a way I didn’t have words for yet.
That was odd.
“Oh my god.”
My head snapped up.
Francis stood in the doorway in a black wrap dress with a deep V-neckline, red curls loose around her shoulders instead of scraped back the way she usually wore them at her desk. The dress clung. She looked, objectively, extremely good.
She was staring at me the same way.
“Damn,” she said, eyes running up and down.“You look amazing. Give us a twirl.”
“It’s only a dress suit,” I mumbled, turning my laptop on.
“Give us a twirl, Nika.”
I did a small, reluctant twirl.
