The doors opened and I checked the time. 11am on the dot. I walked up the mahogany doors and pushed them open to find Mr. Stone sitting behind his desk in a pitch black suit. I strolled in, feeling sexy and hot. Tie me up, tie me down, I was ready for anything.
Except one thing.
In front of Mr. Stone on his desk he had three papers spread out. The first was the picture of me at sixteen holding the Molotov cocktail. The second was the article about the fire. And the third was the log of me swiping in and out of various areas. Yesterday’s trip to the archives was highlighted in red.
I felt the bottom of the world plummet away.
I looked up into Mr. Stone’s eyes. They were flat and emotionless.
"You said I could trust you," he said.
I felt a thousand explanations rising up inside me but my mouth wouldn’t work. I had no voice and there was nothing I could say. I turned and ran out of his office, heading for the elevator.
I pounded on the call button, tears running down my face. I should go back. I need to leave. I need to tell him what he means to me. I need to leave forever.
Some part of me wanted him to come running out of his office and grab me in his arms. Pull me close to him. I would tell him everything and then he would tell me it would be okay. That he still wanted me.
The elevator doors opened and I stepped inside but no call came. Jackson Stone didn’t come striding out of his office.
The doors closed and I pressed the button to go down.
I felt like I was descending straight to hell.