Chapter 3 #2
Because I haven’t used them.
It’s been here for an entire month.
Sitting on this step. Evidence. Proof I was here that night. Proof I was in this stairwell at 2 a.m. when Marcus was confessing to Dom four floors up.
Did anyone notice?
Did Dom?
No—Dom never takes the stairs. He’s elevator-only. Too important for stairs.
But someone could have. Someone could have seen it. Picked it up. Wondered whose it was. Turned it in to lost and found. Shown it to Dom.
Someone could have connected it to me.
My hands are shaking. The earbud feels like it weighs a thousand pounds.
I give myself a second. Just one. One second to panic and process and calculate risk.
Because that’s all I have before Dom sends someone to find me. Before I’m late enough that it looks suspicious.
I can’t leave it here. Can’t put it back. That would be insane.
Can’t throw it away—what if someone sees me? What if there are cameras in this stairwell that I never noticed before?
I need to take it with me. Hide it. Deal with it later.
But where?
My pockets are too obvious. My bag is back at my desk. I don’t have anywhere to—
Fuck it.
I shove the earbud down my bra. Right next to the ring. Evidence meets evidence. A dead woman’s ring and the proof I heard her killer confess.
I’m wearing a crime scene under my clothes.
Breathing through my teeth, I climb the last section of stairs. Push through the door onto Dom’s floor.
My heart still races. The earbud burns against my skin. Or maybe that’s the ring. Or maybe it’s just my entire nervous system on fire.
I paste on a smile as I approach Kathleen’s desk.
Kathleen. Dom’s receptionist since the dawn of time. Way past retirement age, takes frequent naps at her desk, occasionally forgets what decade she’s in. But she’s been with Dom since he opened this firm thirty years ago and she’ll probably die here. Literally. At her desk. Mid-nap.
Just as I’m walking past, she looks up from her crossword puzzle—same one she’s been working on for three years. Doesn’t even make eye contact. Just waves me through with one gnarled hand while filling in 7-across with the other.
I shake my head and keep walking. Knock on Dom’s door.
It opens before my knuckles finish the second knock.
And I come face to face with Marcus fucking Ashford.
“Dylan Wells.” He says my name like he’s tasting it. Leans against the doorframe all casual confidence and entitlement.
And he’s chewing something.
Not gum. I can hear him swallowing. Food. He’s eating food and chewing with his mouth open like he was raised by wolves.
I can see it. The masticated food. The movement of his jaw. The way his tongue works.
I give him a minute. A full minute to finish chewing and swallow like a normal human being.
He doesn’t.
Instead, he sucks on a tooth—sucks on a tooth—and eyes me up and down. Slowly. Deliberately. Like he’s mentally undressing me and wants me to know it.
Which he definitely is.
Then he raises one arm and rests his forearm on the doorframe above my head.
Oh. That move.
Sigh.
It’s like he can’t help himself. Can’t resist being the most cliche, predictable version of masculinity ever performed. The doorframe lean. The eye fuck. The open-mouth chewing.
I’m going to have to work with this man.
For who know how long.
Alex is going to murder me before Marcus gets the chance. If she ever speaks to me again, her first words will be “I told you this was insane” and she’ll be right.
She’s always right.
Which is probably why I’m so bad at listening to her.
“Mr. Ashford.” I pull out my very best presentation voice. The one that’s smooth and professional and completely devoid of the screaming happening inside my brain. “What a lovely surprise.”
Oh that’s thick. That’s thick as fuck.
I have questions for myself. Concerns, even. About how easily the performance comes. About how good I’m getting at this.
Maybe I need therapy.
But it works. I watch his pupils dilate. Watch him straighten slightly. Preening under the attention.
“Ready?” He asks, raising his eyebrows. That gross flirty thing men do when they think they’re being charming.
“For?” I draw the word out, even though I already know I’m going to regret asking.
The door swings wider. Dom appears behind Marcus, suit jacket off, sleeves rolled up, looking far too casual for a Monday morning. Like they’ve been here for hours already. Like they’ve been planning something.
“Your assignment,” Dom says. Matter-of-fact. Like he’s telling me to file paperwork. “Controller Ashford needs you to start today.”
“How long?” I can’t help asking.
“For weeks? Maybe longer.”
“Four weeks?” The words come out higher than intended.
“His entire transition period,” Dom continues. “Setting up the new office, implementing systems, organizing his files from the campaign. You’ll be working from his office at City Hall Monday through Thursday, here on Fridays for our weekly review.”
Four weeks. He’s saying it out loud now. Making it official.
I knew this was coming—Dom told me to clear my schedule last week—but hearing it confirmed, hearing the timeline, hearing that I’ll be at City Hall, in Marcus’s office, away from this building and any witnesses...
“City Hall?” I manage to keep my voice steady. “Will I have access to the firm’s systems remotely?”
“Everything you need will be provisioned on-site,” Dom says. His tone hardens. “Controller Ashford has requested no remote access. Sensitive government materials.”
Trapped. He’s trapping me there.
“Of course.” My throat constricts. “That makes sense.”
“We start now.” Marcus is still watching me. Waiting to see if I’ll object. If I’ll try to get out of this. “We have to get all your paperwork and clearances.”
“Right now is perfect.” The words come out smooth. Professional. Completely disconnected from the screaming in my skull.
Marcus grins. That predatory smile makes my skin crawl.
“Excellent,” he says, still blocking the doorway. Still leaning. Still in my space. “We have a lot to accomplish, Dylan. I think you and I are going to work very well together.”
The ring pulses warm.
The earbud burns.
Alex isn’t speaking to me.
Dandelions grow through cracks in the pavement. But I’m not sure what happens when the pavement fights back.
Or when your dandelion won’t even look at you.