Page 11 of Prey

I blink. Focus on his face.

"Sorry, sir I didn’t sleep well."

He tilts his head, studying me.

"Neither did I."

The words hang in the air between us.

Why didn’t you sleep? Because I spent half the night replaying what I did in his office and the other half imagining him shutting me out. Walking away. Leaving like people do when they see too much.

"Lets go over the revisions," he says. "Page three. The equity clause."

I open the file, and the words come automatically. Legal terms and financial projections. All the things I’ve memorized so I can sound like I belong here.

But I’m not paying attention to the words. I’m paying attention to him. The way his eyes follow my mouth when I speak. The way his fingers tap against his desk, a rhythm I’ve never heard before. The way he leans back in his chair and looks at me like he’s seeing something he didn’t see before.

Stop.

He’s looking at me, eyes focused. "You’ve been here five months?" he says.

"Yes, sir."

"And in that time, you’ve never once made a mistake." It’s not a question, but I don’t know if it’s a compliment either.

"I try to be thorough, sir."

"Almost too thorough." He pauses. His fingers stop tapping. The words land like a stone.

What does that mean? That I’ve been digging too deep? Watching too closely? That I’ve crossed lines and he’s noticed? Good. A voice in the back of my mind whispers. Mistakes are how people decide you’re expendable. If he thinks I’m perfect, maybe he won’t leave.

"I like to know everything about the people I work with," he continues. "Their habits, their schedules and the way they think."

He’s describing me perfectly.

"I’ve noticed the same thing about you, Grey." His voice drops just enough to make my pulse spike.

"You pay attention. You notice things. You remember."

Does he know?

"I pay attention to the people I work for," I say carefully. "It’s my job."

"Is it?"

I don’t answer. I can’t. My throat has closed up. He holds my gaze for a long moment. Then he looks down at the file.

"Page four," he says. "The non-compete clause."

The moment passes but I still feel it. The weight of it. The knowing.

He doesn't know. He can’t know. If he does, he can end this. Fire me. Replace me. Walk past my desk one day and never look back. I know exactly how that feels. I didn’t survive it well last time.

But what if he does?

The meeting ends twenty minutes later. I stand up, walk to the door.

"Grey."