I wait in the dimly lit archive room behind the same boxes where I listened to Cliff and Greg’s recorded convo. My knees are about to buckle, but I can’t move. I stare at the door like a caged animal, waiting for my captor to appear. Sweat gathers in my palms and I wipe it onto a box, marking it with my handprint. Soon all remaining traces of Jolene Smith could be filed in a box in this room to be legally shredded after seven years.
The door beeps, and my heart jumps. Armin steps through, unsmiling as he takes stock of me.
“Hey.” He holds out his hand, proffering a bottle of doogh. “An offering I grabbed from the lunchroom.”
I take it hesitantly in case it’s some sort of rigged trick. Is it normal to present a delicious treat before selling someone out?
“Thank you,” I say quietly. The bottle is cool against my skin, and I resist the urge to press it to my forehead. “I better not open it here.”
He nods. “Consider it repayment for the scone.”
The air goes stale in my lungs. “How’d you figure me out?” I murmur, staring at the coffee marks on my flats.
He leans against a box that reads April 2016 in messy Sharpie. “Well, I had my suspicions something was up, but they were only mild. Then when you called me ‘the executive,’ it scared the shit out of me. I was certain you must have seen one of my emails.” I can’t stop wincing as he speaks. He continues. “Then came the day of the scones. Normally Gregory would be super braggy, but he just looked confused when Caitlin thanked him. I was wiped enough to actually get a coffee from that place later that day, so I asked the barista if anyone had just bought a few plain scones today.” He shrugs, one side of his mouth curling up. “Let’s just say she described exactly you.”
I pull my chin toward my chest. “Is there no barista-client privilege anymore?”
Armin chuckles, the sound soothing the knot in my core. We exchange a tentative grin.
“Crap. How amateur was I?” I shake my head. “Please don’t say anything. I didn’t mean to let things get that far. At the time my job was hanging by a thread, and now . . . I’m getting decent at it.” I lock eyes with him, expression wide and pleading. “If I lose it, I’ll have to move in with my mom, and she’s not just a little controlling, she’s not the normal amount—it’s a whole other level. And your job is in danger too, so maybe I can help—”
“I’m not going to rat you out,” Armin interrupts, his brows knitting together. “I don’t think I agree with what you’re doing, but we’re still good on me not being a rat.”
Relief lifts my chest. I could swim in the surrounding file boxes, paper cuts be damned. Thank my lucky charms it was Armin and not someone else who cracked the code.
I grin. “By the way, I’m no rat either. I’ve kept your Joey abuse quiet for over a year.”
His mouth opens, then closes, then opens again. “You’ve seen me mess with Joey before?”
“Um, you basically do it right in front of me.” I laugh. “I know it’s easy to forget I’m there . . .”
His gaze softens with guilt. “Jolene, I’m . . .” His eyes drift toward the blinds that are coated in dust, never opened for the lonely boxes. He shakes his head just a touch. “I asked you here because I’m hoping you can go to that dinner with me after all—pretend to be my fiancée again for my parents . . .”
I raise an eyebrow. “Otherwise you’ll tell on me?” I finish for him.
His lips thin into an even line. “This is the favor for keeping a really big secret. That’s all.”
It’s the same thing, but of course I have to do it now. I have to lie to a sick aunty.
“Fine.” I nod.
His forehead wrinkles. “And what did you mean when you said my job is in danger before?”
I sigh and explain the list Rhonda’s compiling of time he spends away from his desk. The total shock that crosses Armin’s expression can’t be real. How could he have caught on to my email ruse but missed this?
“Gregory’s such a tool!” he grits out darkly. “But Rhonda’s . . . I didn’t know it was that bad between us.”
“Seriously, Armin, I think you may be in danger for real. You need to stop leaving work without an excuse.”
He combs his hair back with his fingers. “Yeah, you’re right. I just need to keep my head down for a bit more . . . find a way to just focus in there—but that place, it’s mind-numbing.”
I roll the can of doogh between my palms. “Have you considered doing something else with your life?”
“Have you?”
“Point taken.” I exhale, looking around at all the cardboard. “Speaking of, we should get back.”
He nods and reaches for the door, but before pulling it open, he pauses. “Also . . .” He turns to look at me, eyes wide and sincere. “I’m sorry I called you weird and stuff, in the chat. I knew there was a chance you were reading at that point, and the way your eyes went . . .” He pauses, cringing. “Well, that sealed it. But I didn’t really mean it.”
I smile a little. “Thanks.” But a niggling in the back of my mind pulls through. No matter what, there are some people who wouldn’t talk about me like that—not ever. I swallow through my thick throat. At least there used to be.
We start our walk back down the hallway. Just before we turn into the communal area, I pause and I flash him a sly grin. “If I’m to be your official fake fiancée, promise me you won’t fall in love with me.”
He rubs his forehead. “Oh god, Jolene.”
Caitlin looks toward us with a huff as we walk back to our pod together. A moment later, there’s an email from Rhonda to herself.
From: Rhonda Staples
To: Rhonda Staples
Subject: New Occurrence
9:15 am: Spent fifteen minutes socializing somewhere with a friend
That shouldn’t make me smile.