What the actual motherfucking fuck is going on?
While the ambulance crew packed Rachel away in a body bag, we watched. We said nothing. The alarm has been off for the best part of two hours and yet I can still hear it screeching in my ears. My own reporters are all up in my face asking questions, and outside, the place is heaving with press. It's carnage. In the next forty eight hours, the world will get their teeth into Rachel Fordham. I may not like what they find.
There are so many ways to commit suicide. She had to go and do it in my very public lobby.
As soon as we're free, Leo tears off to a separate elevator with Rachel's bag, leaving my hands full of shadows and honeyed smoke. I want to call after her but the words won't come. Ever the faithful assistant, however, Tuija is there to escort me back to my office with a coffee. I've never been so glad to slip back into my beige abyss.
"So I guess Princess Priss comes with more baggage than OCD," Tuija mutters.
I glare at her from my spot on the office couch.
"Okay. Sorry." Air hisses through her clenched teeth. "Just wanted to start a nice gentle dialogue. Because you know...despite the shitty hours, it's not every day some girl blows her brains out at Lore Corp HQ."
The silence in here is too much. I can't get used to it.
"Boss." She stalks over and perches beside me. "You okay?"
No! I'm petrified that someone's going to find out who Rachel really is. Oh, and apparently Leo was screwing her. When did I fall into the shitting Twilight Zone? "I've been better."
"Is there anything I need to know?" There's a jagged edge to her voice, as if she already has the answer.
"No."
"You want a drink? Whiskey? I've got like, three different kinds in my mini bar."
I should scold her for that. Slather on the concern. Trouble is, I got nothing. There's just an empty space where my fucks ought to be.
"Okay. So no whiskey." She drums her fingers on the leather couch.
For a moment, we both watch my muted screens play out: Kasha stands in the Lore Corp lobby, all shaken and concerned and no doubt parroting the statement I gave just thirty minutes ago.
Shit. Shit. I don't need this. I've had enough negative press in my life and this isn't fucking fair. I'm meant to control the news, not make it.
"I already called a therapy consultancy," Tuija babbles. "We'll get our poor, traumatized colleagues plenty of support. So that's that covered. The cleaning company have been notified—they'll wait until forensics have finished, obviously. Wow...forensics." She sits back. "This is some serious shit."
"I lied," I say quietly. "There's stuff you should know."
Tuija cocks her head. Tries to hide her curiosity, badly.
My first Big Reveal, and I can't even bring myself to be excited about it. I want to laugh but nausea gets in the way. "The girl...Rachel. I was involved with her a long time ago."
Tuija blinks. Her mouth forms a thin, drawn little line. "The girl who's been boning Leo? If girls could bone. You know what I mean."
"Small world," I manage before nearly choking.
"You don't say." She leans in, her brows knitted together. "How the hell did your old girl get mixed up with your new one?"
"Do not give me your karma lecture."
"I wasn't even thinking about it." She crosses her legs and sighs. "Of course, now, I am."
I side-eye her. "Point is...things didn't end well with me and Rach. If the wrong person starts digging around—if Montgomery gets a hold of it—the shit will hit the fan. I'll drown in it."
"I don't get how this didn't come up in her background check," Tuija goes on, incredulous. "I mean, I went over that girl with a fine-tooth comb. Miniscule. She had boyfriends, Aeron. No girlfriends. No Rachel pissing Fordham."
"So I gathered."
"You know I take care of business. I do my job."
"I know, firecracker." I put my face in my hands and rub my cheeks vigorously, trying to feel something, anything. "I've got to deflect before things get ridiculous."
"With what?"
"What else? Montgomery and his twinkie."
"You are not going to fling crap at GNS just because you're panicking," Tuija says sharply. "I mean it. You know what'll happen—he'll just retaliate, and it'll be even worse than before. I won't let you. Nuh-uh."
"I'm not asking your fucking permission, am I?"
"No. But you're getting my fucking opinion, regardless." She jumps up, heading toward my refrigerator. "And I'm getting a drink."
"Tuija!"
"Just a Coke." She thrusts up the bottle, rolling her eyes. "Don't waste your drama on me, Marilyn. I'm just telling it like it is."
"I meant what I said about Montgomery. When the time is right, I'm gonna give you the word, and you're gonna walk into the editor's suite with that file and make them very, very happy."
"Aeron." She lowers her voice, puts force behind it. "That guy is dangerous. His second wife, you remember? A golf caddy accident, my silicon ass."
Despite the gravity of the situation, I can't help but snort. She thinks he's dangerous. She has no idea. "I need to see Leo. She's in her office, right?"
"Last I heard." She shrugs and does a spectacularly bad job of hiding her displeasure. It pulls at her upper lip like a hooked finger.
"Go on then, spit it out. Might as well say what you think," I goad. It's not a good move, but then my fucks bank is still empty and the world has gone to shit.
She lets off a dry, incredulous laugh. "I can't believe you're going to trust her. All the holes in her story...Jeez. She's Spongebob fucking Prisspants."
"I never said I trusted her."
"Oh, but you do, Aeron. It's all over you. You were right about one thing—pussy makes you stupid."
"I've had enough." I jerk my head toward the door. "Out."
She takes a long swig of Coke. "The truth hurts, Hitler."
"I said, OUT!" I yell.
When she doesn't move, I shove past her and out of the office, slamming the door hard. She wants to make her point? Fine. She can do it on her own.
I miss my Leo.
Leontine might be in her office, but most of her has left the building. I find her folded into her big leather desk chair, her legs pulled up and her arms around her knees. The bag sits in her lap and she fiddles with it listlessly as she swings left and right. Her blind is pulled closed, and she's framed by the sliver of square outline that filters in around it. The place still reeks of lilies.
She barely even looks up when I enter.
"I never finished taking care of you," I manage to say.
Nothing. She just sniffs.
"You should let me take you home, sweetheart. Today's been pretty damn rough." I walk closer, just slowly, as if she's a small animal I might frighten away. Normally I wouldn't give a shit, but my base instincts took over the same time Rachel's gun went off and now I can't switch the bastards off. "I'll clean you up there. We'll take the rest of the day if you want, just crash out. What do you say?"
She presses her lips together, like she wants to smile. But no smile comes. "Don't you have questions for me?"
I eye the brown canvas bag still tucked between her legs. "Oh yeah. I got a couple."
"But you aren't asking them."
"I'm worried about you." I creep around to her and drop to my knees, so she's just a couple inches taller. I put my hands on the arms of the chair. "What just happened...it's kind of a mindfuck."
"Mmm." She sniffs again. Her black eyes are rimmed with rosy wet pink, and their liquid sheen seems to tremble. "I'm sorry."
"What the hell are you sorry for? You think she did that because of you?"
"I—I think you gave her the gun and I pulled the trigger. And I wish...I wish I hadn't..." She zeroes in on me, suddenly panting. "But you're not sorry, are you?"
"I'm sorry you're hurting."
"Jesus Christ." She tries to swing the chair from my grip, but I hold it firm.
"Tell me about you and Rachel," I murmur. "Make me sorry, baby."
The rough strap of the bag forms an undulating knot in her palms. "I should probably explain all that, huh?"