7:00.
It is nearly 7:00 in the evening.
The panino Lorenzo brought me was hours ago. Before that, I had half a protein bar and enough coffee to turn my blood into espresso, and the toast I grabbed on the way out the door this morning is a long-ago memory.
No wonder my hands are shaky.
I gather my briefcase, my coat, and the last scraps of my dignity, then step out into the hallway.
The floor feels deserted. Lights still glow behind glass doors, but most of the offices are empty. The building is almost eerily quiet. Somewhere farther down the corridor, a cleaning cart rolls, then stops.
I pass Lorenzo’s office.
Empty.
Diego’s door is closed.
Ricardo’s office is dark.
I can’t quite see Mario’s office from my door, and I won’t be passing it on the way to the elevator.
I suppose I could detour…
No. Get it together.
I have to stop thinking about him somehow and get some damn sleep, or I won’t make it to next week.
That is growth.
Or exhaustion.
At this point, either works as well as the other.
The elevator ride down feels like an eternity. I want to lean back on the wall and close my eyes, but I’m afraid to fall asleep. The last thing I need is to fall asleep standing up in a Conti elevator and be found by security, and of course, the information will quickly be relayed to the Contis.
The doors open into the lobby.
The night security staff nods as I cross toward the parking garage entrance. The lobby is colder now, less filled with movement, the dark stone floors reflecting the overhead lights.
“Good night, Ms. Murray,” one of the guards says.
“Good night.”
My voice sounds normal. I guess that could be considered an accomplishment.
The parking garage is colder than I expect.
The kind of damp, concrete cold that slips beneath a coat and scampers along the skin. My heels click against the floor, too loud in the open space. Fluorescent lights buzz overhead. Most of the spaces are empty, but there are still a few cars lingering.
Or maybe they’re company cars, and the place really is deserted.
I walk toward my car with my briefcase strap digging into my shoulder and my keys in hand.
My head pulses harder.
I stop beside the driver’s door and take one breath, then another.
Maybe driving right now is not my best idea.
