“Sophie’s dead,” I say. Though my answer is obvious, it is meant as a gut punch. I consider Carrie the reason my career has stalled at SkyAero. She throttled my way up the ladder by telling the Ethics Department that she was “uncomfortable with my behavior.” Word had gotten out that we were fucking like mad, and that was her corrective move: tossing me under the bus. Her meeting with Ethics was a black mark that has followed me like a dark shadow. The Ethics team is a one-way funnel of accusations and reprisals.

This was long before Aubrey.

We still fucked after that, God knows why. Well, I guess I do. Carrie was such an eager participant. We fucked all over the SkyAero plant. Mostly in areas where no one could see or hear us, though one time we did it midshift when a massive auger was running and rumbling. She writhed with great enthusiasm. I mean, really enthusiastically. It wasn’t against the rules per se. Nowhere in the company’s massive canon of employee behavior literature is there any mention of the plant being a sex-free zone.

“I know she’s dead,” she says, oblivious to my jab. Carrie is oblivious to everything. That’s what I think made her a decent boss. Sandbagging me aside. “I can’t imagine what you’re going through. Are you okay?”

She gives me her practiced look of phony empathy. And immediately the hand is on me like a hermit crab that’s found its shell.

“I don’t know,” I say. “Still trying to wrap my brain around it. It doesn’t seem real.”

“How could it? It’s a shock. I couldn’t believe it, either. None of us could. Are you sure you want to be here already? We wanted to reach out and let you know that you should take some time off. You need to talk to HR about EAP.”

I’ve always felt the employee assistance plan is for losers. I’ve referred many of my team members over the years and never seen anything tangible come from it. They told one guy who was having a hard time with his wife’s cancer diagnosis to take it one day at a time. She had less than thirty.

“I think work is the best thing for me,” I say for a couple of reasons. One, it is easy work. Two, I don’t know what I’d do sitting around the house with Aubrey and the nanny all day.

“I don’t know,” she says, moving her hand up my leg about an inch.

I can’t tell if it is opportunistic or predatory behavior. Or if she’s just trying to demonstrate some sympathy. I decide to test her.

“Maybe we could grab a drink after work?” I ask.

“Oh, Adam, of course,” she says. “I’m here for you. We’re all here for you.”