I wrench myself sideways on the sofa, digging for the phone. In the process my still-open laptop clatters to the floor. What time is it? I blink at the name on the phone. The name does not compute.

“Hello?” My mouth feels sticky. How long has it been since I passed out on the couch? A long time. “Hello.”

“Are you on your way back to New York City?” Connor. Something fills his voice with a glee I don’t understand.

I push my hair off my forehead. “No, why?” I swallow again, trying to get myself together.

He laughs so loud and long I have to pull the phone away from my ear. “Oh, you are so cute when you act all innocent. It’s my favorite look on you.”

“Connor, what are you talking about?” My heart pounds harder, and cold builds at the pit of my gut.

“You are a ruthless bitch,” he crows. “Come on. Don’t act like you didn’t do that all for me. You have more than proven yourself.” He clicks his tongue. “I see what this was all about. You were angling for a way back into your old office at Global, and this was the master stroke to end all master strokes. Ha—strokes.” Connor chortles evilly again, and I swallow down an acid fear. “That photo was a complete success. You’ve got your old office back. I’ll clean it out and have it ready by the time you get here, and then we can discuss compensation. I’ll make sure you get a hefty signing bonus.”

My brain shorts out after the word photo so I only catch every other word. Connor’s voice is tinny coming out of the phone’s smaller speaker. I fumble my way out of the phone app and bring up Instagram. What the hell is he talking about? Is this a fucked-up prank? The only photo I posted last night was of a waterfall, nothing else.

The feed loads.

I click over to the Bliss Resort account.

My heart stops dead.

The moment I see it, I can’t unsee it. It’s like one of those cruel internet jokes with something scary in the corner of a picture, only this isn’t scary.

This is much, much worse than that.

The phone falls out of my hand, crashing against the laptop, but I don’t stop to get it. I’m too busy running.

22

Roman

Something’s up.

I knew it when I walked into the lobby this morning. I’ve done my best to make this a place that people like to work, so I’ve spent the last two years remembering names and birthdays and families.

Nobody would look me in the eye.