He wouldn’t miss fifty thousand dollars.
The argument ping-pongs back and forth in my head. Every heartbeat has a different answer.
I sit, my knees weak.
Mr. Leblanc takes his own seat and studies me. I have a powerful instinct to look down, to look away. To hide from him, however I can.
Except there’s no hiding now, is there? I’m guilty whether I look at my hands or his eyes.
He lets the silence go on so long that I start to feel deafened by my own heartbeat. It’s the guiltiest thing about me, pounding away at my ribs. My own body is trying to give me away.
Not guilty. I’m not guilty. I do my best to believe it. To project the illusion that I believe in my innocence.
My heart ignores this completely. It knows that my innocence is bullshit.
Finally, his eyes narrow. “Do you know why you’re here, Ms. Anderson?”
For as long as I can remember, I’ve been a nervous smiler. It served me well as a kid, except when it didn’t. I wish I could get the smile off my face. I wish I could stop.
I can’t.
“A quick meeting before we start the day?”
The corner of Mr. Leblanc’s mouth lifts. It’s not a kind gesture. It’s cruel. As if he’s only waiting for the perfect moment to attack.
“Better than that. It’s time for a performance review.”
“A performance review?” I rack my brain for any mention of this in the temp agency paperwork. It’s supposed to be my manager at the agency who reviews my performance based on email feedback from whoever oversees me at Summit.
This isn’t right.
What am I going to do, argue with him?
Mr. Leblanc leans back in his seat, considering me. “You’ve been here, what? Two days? That’s enough time for me to get a sense of you. Get a sense of what you’re capable of.”
“Like what?”
It might be best if I fainted. My pulse feels dangerously fast, and my blood feels dangerously thin. Like I don’t have enough in my veins for my body to work.
Then what? I’d wake up on the floor of his office. Before that, I’d be unconscious. Vulnerable.
My vision narrows, but I concentrate hard on keeping it together.
I think of the beach. Hot sand and cool water. Waves lapping at the shore. A breeze through palm leaves. Me in a brand-new bathing suit. Me dipping my toes into the shallows, not in jail.
“Like your strengths. And your weaknesses.”
The way he saysweaknessesmakes my stomach clench.
“I thought I got your coffee right.” I offer weakly. One cream. No sugar.Notfrom Starbucks.
He doesn’t laugh at my joke.
He smiles, slow and deadly, the blue in his eyes shaded in green. I have a flash of clarity, as if I’m seeing through an illusion. As if I’ve been looking through murky water at him, and now I see what he is.
Dangerous.
The hand-tailored jacket slung over the back of his chair doesn’t dispel the illusion. It doesn’t make him seem less deadly. And it doesn’t make me any less afraid.