Page 11 of Dirty Damage

I turn off my phone completely and stash it into a drawer where I won’t have to look at it.

Drew will keep texting, keep calling. That’s his pattern.

Eventually, though, he’ll get bored.

That’s his pattern, too.

My bed beckons—a modest queen with sheets that smell like lavender fabric softener. I fall into it, exhaustion crashing over me like a wave.

Tomorrow, I’ll deal with Oleg Pavlov. Tomorrow, I’ll call Sydney about Paul and her phone. Tomorrow, I’ll figure out how Drew got my new number.

But tonight?

Tonight, I’ll sleep and dream of absolutely nothing.

My phone greets me before my alarm does, pinging with the persistence of a demented woodpecker that stole someone’s Adderall prescription.

Sunlight filters through my bargain bin curtains, painting urine-yellow streaks across my bedspread. I wince and try to lie still.

Maybe if I ignore it hard enough, the day will decide not to happen.

No such luck.

Tuesday has arrived with all the gentleness of a freight train.

I crack one eye open to find ten new messages waiting. Great. Fantastic. Exactly what I need after yesterday’s dual debacles.

First, the usual from Drew:

Answer me bitch

I said i fuckin know ur reading these

Don’t make me come find you

Delete. Block this number, too. Reset the clock on how long it’ll take him to find another way to contact me.

Next, Sydney has texted a string of messages:

OMG those pics are SEXXXXXAY!!! Paul literally gasped

He said the photographer deserves a raise

But it’s the third cluster of notifications that most concerns me.

The Pavlov Industries employee group chat has exploded overnight. Thirty-seven new messages.

That can’t be good.

My thumb hovers over the red bubble, a sense of dread creeping up my spine like kudzu. The employee chat is usually dead except for birthday announcements and lost-and-found posts about abandoned lunch containers.

I tap it open.

The screen fills with messages, most sent between 2 and 4 A.M. I scroll up to find the catalyst, the message that started?—

Oh.

No.

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