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Michaela is standing there, some papers in her hand. Illustrious Leader/CEO Topher Fletcher is talking to her, frowning, looking … concerned? Angry? Whatever it is, it makes my stomach clench and my palms sweat. There’s Nadja, too, busy scowling at something on her phone, teeth bared.
I falter, dread creeping over me.
They know. Tasha’s told them I lied about my age on my application. They’ve found out and they’regoing to make me pay back the salary and they’ll kick me out before I can finish the summer here and they’ll send me home in disgrace and next year when I apply for summer jobs this will follow me around and –
I wonder if I can run away before they spot me.
I barely take half a step back when I hear someone behind me – ‘Anna! There you are! Shit, did you see? Are you okay?’
There’s a hand on my shoulder, pulling me around. Monty.
His face is creased in a worried frown and he’s grimacing, and – why is he worried? I’ve never seen Monty look worried aboutanything, much less about someone else. Does he know I lied on my application, too? But why would he care?
There’s a stack of crumpled papers in his hand. Some of them are a little torn.
‘We tried calling you earlier, me and Verity and Dylan – we got in early and found them – but you weren’t answering. We’re trying to gather them all up before … well, I mean, everyone’s going to see anyway, but …’
My mouth has gone dry. My heart beats a furious tattoo.
‘See what?’ I whisper, but I’m already figuring it out in the few seconds Monty hesitates before answering.I look down at the papers in his hands more closely. They’re print-outs of emails. As if in slow motion, I turn to look at some stuck on the wall nearest me, finally focusing on the text.
Dear Lloyd,
they say.
And they end:
Sincerely Yours,
Anna Sherwood
Oh, fuck.
And the poster, the dark, grainy image – it’s a photo, blown up to A4 size.
Of me, my orange hair in messy French braids, barefoot in my pyjamas in the hallway, with Lloyd’s hand up my shirt and our faces attached at the mouth.
Fuck.
‘They got sent out to everyone this morning. I guess they were scheduled, or something? It came from your email, butobviouslyyou didn’t send it out yourself. How bloody embarrassing would that be, putting this stuff out for everyone to – well, not that it’sembarrassing, you see, just … And obviously, you didn’t print out a bunch of copies and tape them up around the office,or take that photo. Dylan’s got the tenth floor, and Ver is doing upstairs. I came down to get the ones here. We only just got in, like, fifteen minutes ago …’
Oh my God.
Sent out to everyone.
All my emails to Lloyd, the letters I penned him and saved as a draft, just trying to muddle out my own thoughts and feelings about him … Talking about the kiss before the internship started, how irritating and awful I found him, the way he broke my heart. All those deep, dark secrets. Sent to everyone. Taped up, for all to see.
I feel exposed in a way that has nothing to do with my legs on display in that awful photograph.
Monty’s still talking. His hand is on my arm, warm and heavy, in a way I think is meant to be comforting and reassuring. It makes me feel trapped, rooted to the spot. The group at my desk have noticed me by now and are coming over, too.
Nadja steps forward first, and the sympathy on her stern face is strange to see. ‘Anna, are you alright? We’re trying to get IT to see if they can recall the emails, but it probably won’t make much difference for anybody who’s already read them.’
Like it’ll matter. The internet is forever, isn’t it? And the people who don’t get chance to read them will hearabout them from someone else anyway. Who wouldn’t gossip about this?
‘And we’re obviously going to be checking who could have hacked into your email, or printed them out. It shouldn’t be too hard to find out who’s behind all this. Unless you’ve got any ideas?’
Any ideas?
