A bitter little laugh shakes out of me. “It’s possible you went overboard.”
“I see that now.” He scoffs, and his thumb strokes my cheek. “I was wrong. I’m sorry I didn’t fight for us back then.”
We’re standing so close in this tiny, dark room. It would be so easy to lean in and press my lips to his.
Suddenly the Xerox machine behind me springs to life, making a horrible metallic shriek. I pitch forward, hands on Greg’s chest, and we tumble to the ground so I’m on top of him, blue light from inside the machine shining on the walls, the top moving back and forth frenetically, its buttons glowing in random patterns. The machine spews out a stream of paper, and it flies against the wall, landing in a pile in the corner.
“Jesus!”I scramble to my feet.
“Maybe you leaned on a button?” Greg picks himself up and studies the display screen, hitting the side of the machine—but it keeps making thatka-klack-ka-klacksound and spits out more paper, as if to spite him.
I glance at my phone, conscious of how long I’ve been away from my desk, and there are about a million and one notifications.
sampaguita72:
WHAT ARE YOU DOING
Oh God oh God oh God.How does she know?What else can she see?
sampaguita72:
WHAT ARE YOU DOING WITH GREG IN THE XEROX ROOM?
In the corner of my eye, something moves—a security camera in the far corner, turning jerkily in our direction.
I look back at the spitting copy machine and realize with creeping horror—is thather? In the cameras, in the copy machine? Is the haunting spreading outside of Slack?
Erica opens the door. “God, what is happening in here! Such a racket! What did you do to the machine?”
Al comes in behind her, and he and Greg take turns inspecting the display and hitting the sides of the copier.
The machine is still spitting out paper, flying upward toward the ceiling, white sheets floating down in lazy spirals.
“Ruby, don’t just stand there—call maintenance!” Erica shouts, fingers plugged in her ears to drown out the whining copy machine noise.
I nod and speed down the hallway, barely watching where I’m going, heart in my throat.
Chapter
40
“Oh, Ruby!” Erica calls after me. “Don’t you have your offsite now?”
I pivot on my heel. “My…offsite?”
“Yes, did you forget? Mark told me about it.” She points at me. “Good opportunity for you, a VP taking you to a meeting! Get down to the lobby, don’t mess it up!”
I have no idea what she’s talking about, but I grab my bag and rush downstairs, head still reeling. And through the big glass doors I can see Mark Winterson, leaning against his black Mercedes S-Class.
The doors part between us, and his grin gains in wattage as I step toward him.
“You asked for me?”
“The wedding is this weekend.” He goes around to open the passenger-side door. “When did you think we were going to get your dress?”
I can’t quite process what he’s saying. All I can think about, as he starts to drive, is (1) I need to calm Mom down, and (2)Holy shit, she can access way more than Slack!
ruby.ocampo:
