Chapter 2
Grey
I don't sleep. Every time I close my eyes, I see his office at midnight blue full of him. At dawn, I shower twice, the second cold, and pull on a white shirt, gray slacks, neutral cologne.
Rule one: don't look up. Let him see only the top of your head, the curve of your shoulders, the unremarkable shape of a man doing unremarkable work.
His footsteps approach. Shoes dragging, and phone in hand.
"Grey."
I lift my head. "Good morning, sir."
His gray eyes meet mine. Sharp like the color of a winter sky before a storm. He's wearing a black suit today with no tie and the top button undone. I can see the hollow of his throat.
"The William file," he says. "Have you reviewed it?"
"Yes, sir. Thoroughly." I don't mention the extra digging I did on William’s wife and his DUIs. That would be too much. "I have notes ready whenever you want to go over them."
"Seven o'clock. My office." He turns and walks away.
The morning passes in a blur. Emails, calls, and by noon, I've finished three days of work. By one, next week. Boredom makes me watch.
His door is still closed. But I can hear his voice through the wall. Low and measured. He's on a conference call. Something about acquisitions, and board approvals. Words I've heard him say a hundred times.
But then he laughs. It's warm and sudden, nothing like the polite chuckle he uses in meetings. Someone on that phone made him laugh. Someone who isn't me.
The hum inside me turns sharp, as he opens his office door and leaves.
I pull out my phone, opening the tracking app I installed on his work device three months ago. His location pings: on the 23rd floor, conference room B.
Is he alone or is he with the person that made him laugh.
I stand up and walk to the break room first, plausible deniability, a man getting coffee he won’t drink. Then I walk toward the conference room, taking the long way, the route that lets me pass the glass wall without seeming to look.
Cain and the woman from his desk photo. Her dress looks like it’s worth more than my rent.
She laughs; he smiles. I keep walking. My face doesn't change.
My grip on the coffee cup doesn't tighten.
Back at my desk, I open the William file again.
I don't need to. I just need something to look at while I think.
Who is she?
I check his calendar. 1:00 PM – Lunch – R. Sophie. It wasn’t there yesterday; he must have added it this morning. R. Sophie. Rose Sophie. Head of Acquisitions and somehow, she’s always single.
I read the email she sent him last week, something about catching up and dinner sometime. He hadn’t replied. So why the fuck is he talking to her in the conference room? door closed, glass walls, the whole office watching. Why the fuck did he schedule lunch with her and never tell me?
He's not hiding her.