“So that’s Ernesto next to him,” she says. “Fundraiser and auction for a children’s hospital, according to the caption.” She clicks back and loads the following link. “I do see some stuff about Hunter’s wife. Apparently, he got arrested for the murder, but they dropped the charges due to a lack of evidence. This Detective Brody was making an appeal for anyone who saw anything to get in touch.”
“Let me see.”
She turns the phone around again, and I look at the newspaper article. It was seven years ago. There’s a picture of Sofia holding what must be Hunter’s daughter back when she was a baby. Sofia looks very thin. Hunter is nowhere to be seen. Another photo is next to it, this one showing the crime scene. A blanket half off a colossal bed, stained dark with blood, the body removed. I skim the article before pushing the phone away. I stand up and turn off the heat. “Is it done?” Ursula asks.
“I’m not hungry anymore. You have it if you want it.”
I think of Hunter’s wife, of the way he blocked me from leaving the office. I picture him doing that to her. Is that why she looked so unhappy in the photo? Used to being controlled by him? Did she fall for his charms like I almost did? Find out the truth too late like Oswald and me? Like mom with dad?
There’s a buzz that makes me jump. “You expecting someone?” Ursula asks.
“Nope. You?”
She leaves the kitchen. “It’s Hunter,” she shouts back to me a moment later. “Do you want me to let him in or not?”
“Oh God,” I say, groaning out loud. “You better do. He’ll probably fire me if you don’t.”
“Be strong,” she says. “You want me to talk to him?”
“No, I’ll be all right. You do you.”
“I’ll put the shopping away. I hear one little hint of trouble, and I’ll be here with a peeler in one hand and the salt in the other, make him wince when I sprinkle his wounds with condiment-based pain.”
“That’s worryingly specific.”
“I got lemons too. Could squeeze them into his eyes for you.”
“I think I’ll be able to cope with speaking to him, but what do I do about his offer? We still haven’t talked about that.”
“Look. Just agree to go see the kid. Make him agree that he won’t fire anyone if you do. Best of both worlds. If you think she’s adorable, take the two-month post. If she’s a nightmare, walk away.”
“You think?”
“I’m thinking out loud, Bex. What if he’s a murderer? A serial killer? Fuck, you should definitely turn him down. Not let him in here, that’s for sure. Send him away nicely, so he doesn’t chop us both up.”
“Bit late for that, don’t you think? You let him in the front door of the building, remember?”
There’s a knock on the door interrupting our conversation. I head over to it and take a deep breath. “I can do this,” I tell myself before pulling open the door.
He’s got his hands behind his back. He nods at me, saying nothing as he walks toward me. I feel he’s about to kiss me, so I fall back before he has the chance.
He has to duck to fit inside. The guy is stupidly tall. I step back from him as he walks in, not wanting to stand too close. That scent of his cologne does things to me, and I don’t want to let that sway my decision-making.
“Your security needs improving,” he says, and I have to bite my lip to stop myself from apologizing. “There were six different points of entry that bypassed the front door. I will have my people improve things while you are working for me.”
“Hold up there, bud. I seem to recall turning down your offer.”
He brings his hands out from behind his back. “Before I forget.”
In his hands is a shoebox wrapped in a white ribbon. “What’s this?” I ask, taking it from him.
“A birthday gift. Happy nineteenth.”
“How did you know it was my birthday?”
“I have the employee files now. I know a lot about you.”
“Not enough.” I try to put the box back in his hands. “I don’t celebrate my birthday.”