The Singles

“You keep working for Margaret. You go into that office tomorrow and the next day and the day after that, and we keep digging until we figure out everything that happened. There has to be a paper trail somewhere, Gemma. There always is. We just have to find it.”

“And once we have that paper trail?”

“Then we go to Linc.” From the unease in her voice, I could tell she’d never pla

“We can figure out another way,” I said, but she snorted.

“I can handle my brother.” She touched my knee, and I examined her chipped metallic nail polish. “We’ve got this bitch, Gem. Now we just need to drag her and Michael Scott down. You’re already in, so use whatever information you can. The woman from marketing. Finley-Bitchface-Scott. O—” Before she said his name, she froze and cleared her throat.

“Oliver.”

“Yes. Oliver.” She slid closer to me and dropped her voice to a warning whisper. “You can’t fall for him, Gem. Because the end of this will tear you two apart.”

Wrapping my arms around my body, my fingers pressed into places his hands had touched last night. I held back the shiver and tried like hell to suppress the emotion, but it didn’t work. I wanted him just as much as before.

At last, I nodded. “I know that, Pen.”

*

Margaret was out the office the next day taking care of last minute details for her Friday flight to Paris, so I didn’t see her again until our nine-thirty ritual on Thursday morning.

She was at her desk when I walked through the French doors, and rage pounded my ears as I approached her with her customary ski

“Good morning, Margaret,” I forced through a cheerful smile. “All set for France?”

Resting her elbows on the glass surface, she pinched her nose and sucked in a breath through it. “Do I look like I’m ready, Ms. Co

I handed her the coffee, which she practically jerked out of my hand, and for the briefest moment, I pictured the lid flying off and the liquid covering her cream-colored cashmere and mink Caroline Herrera sweater.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” I offered.

Is there anything else I can do to help you live in that house that’s supposed to be mine? To help you blow money my father left for me?

It wasn’t even about the money, but damn, this was an awful situation.

Biting my tongue, I sat across from her and folded my hands in my lap. “If you need anything taken care of for your trip today, I’m happy to run out and do it.”

Tightening her blue eyes into slits, she twitched her head to either side. “Just do your job while I’m gone. Can you handle that?”

“Of course. Did you receive the transcriptions I emailed you?”

“I did, and I have another set for you to work on in my absence.” Dropping her hand from her nose, her nostrils flared. “I was surprised to see you did such an exceptional job, I need you to fix the mess the little cunt who worked here before you made.”

The little cunt.

Her words brought bile to the back of my throat, and I wondered if she’d used them to describe me before. In spite of the anger that continued to throb in my skull, I could almost vividly hear the words falling from her pinched mouth.

That little cunt Gemma.

Somehow, I made a small sound of agreement and bobbed my head. “I’ll get to work immediately on them. Where can I find the—”

“I’ve emailed you the mp3 files already.” Her desk phone rang, but she ignored it. As soon as the shrill sound stopped, she continued, “The moment you’re finished, email me all the transcriptions and make sure you CC Philip and Cate. You failed to send the last transcriptions to them, and they both need them as well. ”

I made a note on my LCD tablet to email the documents to the company’s VP and CFO. “I’m right on that,” I promised through a smile that felt like it was poisoning me. “I’ll have them to you ASAP.”

“Then, I need you to—” Her phone rang again. Letting out a sharp curse, she lifted the receiver and slammed it to her ear, knocking one of her giant pearl earrings to her desk. “This is Margaret,” she a

I watched her face transform, from a

“It is a goddamn birthday party, Finley. Not the end of the world. If you can’t handle it, please contact my assistant who will refer you to one of the event pla

Apparently, there was trouble in paradise, and my curiosity was absolutely piqued.

Making a teepee with her fingers, Margaret breathed against her hands before addressing me. “I’ll email you anything else I need, Ms. Co

I opened the door and looked back at her. “I’d love to help.”

Even though I already knew Finley would rather saw off her own arm than ask me for anything dealing with Oliver. “Have a safe flight to Paris, Margaret.”

The second I returned to my office, I sent Pen a text.

What can we find out about Finley Scott?

*

“I didn’t realize you were here. Figured you’d be working from home today with Mrs. Emerson being gone,” Carl told me the following day as I breezed past his security station a few minutes after noon. Although I was ru

“Lunch with Stella.” Switching my purse to my other arm, I pointed to him. “Do you want me to bring you something back?”

Stu

God, I wished she were here.

It would make this all so much easier, so much more bearable.

Leaning his forearm on his desk, Carl lifted his eyebrow. “Where are you two going?”

“That little Italian place a few blocks away,” I replied, and he closed his eyes together in anticipation. When he dug around in his back pocket for his wallet, I touched his wrist and shook my head.

“Don’t worry about it. Just tell me what you want, and I’ll bring it back with me.” I still remembered what Stella had told me about helpfulness being dead around here, and after the week I’d had, I wanted to at least make someone else’s day a little better—especially Carl, who’d been at this company forever.

He gave me his order, which I texted to myself. As I walked toward the main entrance, allowing myself one more peek at Mom’s picture, Carl’s words warmed my chest. “You’re a good one, Lizzie.”

When I reached the restaurant ten minutes later, I spotted Stella in a booth near the back. She waved at me, and her Tiffany charm bracelet jingled prettily against her caramel skin.

“Sorry I’m late,” I breathed, sliding into the booth, slightly exerted from the walk here.

“Don’t worry. I ordered us garlic knots.” She gestured to the basket of bread between our seats, her elegant ponytail swishing around the Peter Pan collar of her beaded black blouse as she moved closer. “I’ve been doing carb-cycling to tighten up a bit before I head to Trinidad for Christmas, and it’s my cheat day.”