Chapter 7
Grey
Cain: My office, now.
Not an email, not an intercom request. A text to my personal phone. I never gave him the number. He must have gotten it from HR. That’s normal. Should be normal. My heart doesn’t think it’s normal.
"Come in."
He’s standing by the window. Back to me, hands in his pockets.
"Close the door." He doesn’t turn around. "I’ve been thinking about what you said yesterday. About William. About his pattern of poor judgment."
"Yes, sir."
"You were right." He turns and faces me. "He’s lying. I confronted him again. He folded in ten minutes."
You confronted him? Without me? Without the file I prepared?
"I’m glad it worked out, sir."
"It worked out because of you." He walks toward me. Slowly. Each step deliberate. "You saw something I didn’t see. You found something I didn’t find."
Because I’m obsessed with you. Because I spend my nights digging through the lives of everyone who gets close to you. Because I can’t stand the idea of anyone else having you. But I just say, "Thank you, sir."
"You’re valuable, Grey." He’s close now.
I can smell his cologne. The word lands heavier than it should.
Valuable means useful. Useful means kept.
I can live with that. Loved is dangerous.
Loved is temporary. Loved is how you get abandoned.
After all, my mother said she loved me and she left anyway.
"I appreciate that, sir."
He tilts his head.
"You’re blushing."
"The office is warm," I say.
"The office is sixty-eight degrees," he says. He knows the temperature. Of course he does.
"You’re an interesting man, Grey." His voice is softer now. "I’ve been watching you for a while, trying to figure you out. You’re good at your job, better than anyone I’ve had. But you’re also...something else."
Something dangerous, something people leave when they finally see it.
"What do you mean, sir?
He smiles. A smile that says I know something you don’t.
"I mean," he says, "that you’re not just efficient. You’re invested. There’s a difference."
He absolutely knows.
"I should get back to my desk," I say. "The Thomas file needs..."
"The Thomas file can wait."
What?
"Sit down, Grey. We’re not done talking. Now tell me something," he says. "Something true."
Something true. I’ve been in your apartment. I’ve touched your things. I have a box full of evidence that shows I’m not stable. I built an entire new life because the last one burned down around me when someone decided I was too much.
"I don’t understand the question, sir."
"Yes, you do."
His eyes don’t let me look away.
"I’m not very interesting."
"I don't believe that."
The words scrape against everything I’m hiding. "I collect things, I hear myself say."
What are you doing? Shut up. Shut up.
"What kind of things?"
"Small things. Things people leave behind."
His eyebrows lift.
"Like what?"
"Paperclips. Pens. Things like that."
You idiot. You absolute idiot.
He stares at me for a long moment. "Interesting," he says. "I do the same thing. I have a drawer at home full of things people have left in my office. A watch. A cufflink. A tie someone forgot."
"I should get back to work," I insist.
"This conversation isn’t over," he replies.
It has to be. If I stay here any longer, I’ll tell him everything. I’ll hand him the reasons he’s looking for to leave.
"It’s over for now," he smirks. "But we’ll continue it later."
There’s going to be a later? People usually end it here.
"Go, get some work done. You look like you need to focus on something else for a while."
My legs feel wrong as I stand up and walk to the door. Loose, like they might give out at any moment.
"Grey."
I turn.
"You’re doing a good job," he says. "Keep it up."
Keep what up? The stalking? The collecting? The box of his things in my apartment?