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“Do you want me to see if I can do a split screen on the TV? That way you can watch your show and I can watch mine?”
With a groan of annoyance born from deep within her soul, she pushes her phone out of the rolls of the comforter so she can unlock it. “Hey, Siri, can you tell Cole that I’m not talking to him right now?”
In her doltish robotic voice, Siri answers, “I’m sorry, I can’t help with that.”
Paige lowers her face right near the microphone and, in an angry, catty tone, says, “Okay, well, what good are you, anyway?”
Siri replies, nonplussed. Cheery, even. “I didn’t get that. Could you try again?”
“You know, it makes no sense for us to be in this room together andnottalk about what you overheard the other day,” I chime in. “Notice how I said ‘what you heard’ and not ‘what youthinkyou heard.’ You got it right. I told Todd that I was going to fire you, but I’m not going to.”
Paige looks up at me, and her expression is murderous. She’s thinking of subjecting me to medieval torture tactics. Disembowelment, perhaps? What’s the one with the horses? Oh yes, being drawn and quartered.
“Do you think I’m the absolute dumbest person on the planet? Like, there’s ol’ Paige, the most gullible idiot to ever pass through the lobby doors here at Siesta Playa. Here, take this commemorative plaque.”
“You’d understand the truth better if you actually let me finish saying it.”
“Sosay it. I’m all ears. I can’t wait to see how you spin this into something that you think makes sense.”
She wraps herself more tightly in her huge comforter and prods me to continue with an impatient glare. Never mind that she looks like she’s cosplaying as the Michelin Man. I’m meant to take her seriously, so I do.
“We agree Todd sucks.”
Her reply is icy. “That’s the verdict the world has come to, yes.”
“Great. Well, he’s also my direct superior, and if I want to keep my job here at Siesta Playa, I have to play the game.”
“You mean sell your soul to the devil.”
“No, I mean placate Todd long enough to figure out how the hell I’m going to get him out of here once and for all.”
Her expression hardens. “Impossible.”
“No, actually. It’s not. No one knows him better than I do. His comings and goings. His likes, dislikes. Hisvices.”
She’s intrigued, but she doesn’t want to admit it. “What’s that supposed to mean? What does any of this have to do with me?”
“He’s not squeaky clean, and I know how to prove it.”
“Oh,okay.” Her eyes roll back in her head like she’s heard this snake oil pitch one too many times. “You’re a detective now too. Cool.”
“I’m not a detective. I’m an auditor by nature. By blood, actually. It’s what I do. I look at official financial accounts and I search for discrepancies. It’s like a hobby.”
“Okay, so you’re a truffle-hunting pig, only you wear a suit and enjoy calculators. Still, I don’t understand how—after working here for five years—you onlynowfigured out that Todd is up to no good. Are you not a very good pig, or what? I mean, what are the odds that you figured it out atthisprecise moment?Why now?”
We’re veering into dangerous depths, inch by inch, lowering ourselves so that, here in a second, we won’t be able to easily swim our way back to shore again. Not back to where we’ve been, not to the safety of all our unspoken words and misread feelings, the cloaked banter and the disguised love. We’re going to unmask the truth, and then what?
It doesn’t matter. The unknown is our only path forward now that Paige thinks I’m going to fire her. She won’t believe me until I tell her all of it. Every. Last. Detail.
“The correct question iswho.”
She furrows her brows.
“Whodid Todd threaten recently that forced me to finally dig deep enough, careenoughto figure shit out? I’d been somewhat lazy, I admit. The first few years on the job, I was learning. I knew Todd was horrible, but I didn’t think he wasillegallyhorrible. Then he started in with theselayoffs. Some were warranted, fine. The clown, Annabelle ... it’s why I went through with them. But not you.”
There’s a hard set to my jaw, a determined edge.
This is more information than she bargained for. She doesn’t look like she’s slowly recognizing and reconciling the truth. It’s like she’s rejecting it. A shake of her head, then another. She’s up off the windowsill now, moving back and forth, not quite pacing but shifting her weight with agitated steps like she’s a computer that’s been forced to do too many commands at once. She needs a reboot.
