Page 64 of Serial Killer Games

“We could take temp jobs.”

“I need to keepthisjob!”

“You don’t—”

I round on him.“I have to think about my daughter!”

It’s the first time I’ve brought her out into the open. She’s the most precious thing in my life, a treasure I keep safelyconcealed, and it feels messy and exposing to talk about her here, like pages of a secret diary being scattered to the wind. Jake is equally thrown. He stares at me, face blank, mouth a flat line, still as a statue, like he’s internally regretting every decision that led to this moment where he has to have an actual conversation with me about my real life. He’s never wanted anything to do with it. He’s always made that clear.

My voice is a croak when I speak again. “When you came along, everything started going sideways. People started noticing me.” I think of Doug, suddenly taking an interest in me again in the elevator with Jake to help break the ice; Cynthia, drawn to my annex like a harassment-seeking missile; all the random S&S minions peering at me with a frown after the awkward new temp points me out across the break room or down the hall. My voice shakes slightly with my anger. “All of this has been a game to you, but I have workedso hardto rebuild my life. Forhersake.”

Jake moves his eyes to a point beyond my shoulder and breaks into a jarring smile. I turn to look, and jump out of my skin when I spot Cynthia stalking down the aisle between deserted cubicles.

“Whatever happens…” Jake mutters through his smile, and I turn to look at him. His grin is wide and contagious, but his eyes are serious. “Whatever happens, just throw me under the bus.”

Cynthia arrives and raps perfunctorily on my doorjamb. “Both of you, come with me.”

She frog-marches us to the elevators and up to the floor that houses the HR department, leading us through the warren-like aisles, this way and that, to a private office at the back that saysMarie Simonon the door, and below it, on a piece of paper,Temporary Office of Cynthia Cutts, Consultant.Inside we find Doug cowering in a chair, looking nervous and sick. Nothing good ever happened in an HR office, as far as Doug’s concerned. Sitting against one wall is a small, beaky woman with a sheaf of papers in her lap. She jumps to her feet and hovers awkwardly while Cynthia directs us to take the seats across from the desk.

My stomach flutters and my heart races. I examine my surroundings. A mounted inspirational poster—PERSISTENCE is the art of turning a “no” into a “yes!”—Robert Spencer, Co-Founder of Spencer & Sterns—rests on the floor, replaced above by a framed puzzle of a duckling in a watering can. A bag of lumpy, hairy gray yarn spills out on a shelf to one side, knitting needles sticking out at angles, and a row of origami critters made from Post-its lines the edge of her desk.

“Marie?” Cynthia intones.

Marie clears her throat. “Employees on a work trip paid for with company money are ambassadors of the company. Optics are everything. Sharing a room is unprofessional and completely against employee fraternization policies.”

For an entire second I let myself think this might be nothing more than a quick HR scolding. Cynthia isn’t even watching me. Her eyes are trained on Jake, who is wearing an infuriating smile.

“Of course, the real issue here is even more serious,” Cynthia says, and my heart sinks. “Company money was spent on a work trip for a temp who does print room jobs and basic data entry, and”—she gestures at me—“another employee, whose role within the company is obscure to me. What was the purpose of this trip?”

Doug stares at her like a scared little bunny whose instincts tell him that if he doesn’t move, he’ll be left alone.

Jake answers for him. “To take a lightweight, custom-tailored, and solution-driven course to equip us with the practical strategies and problem-solving mindset to confidently implement transformational change in our organization within a holistic framework.”

Cynthia stares at him. We all do. She turns to Doug.

“Doug, what is Dolores dela Cruz’s role—”

Jake raises his voice and talks over her. “By the way, why wouldn’t we share a room? We’re in a relationship,” he says, placing a hand on my knee. I stiffen and reflexively swipe it off. I could smack him.

Cynthia watches this with grim interest. She plucks a piece of paper out of her print tray and writes Jake’s name on it. A couple clicks of her mouse, and she reads off the name of Jake’s temp agency. “That yours?”

“Yes,” Jake says, smiling charmingly, and she writes that down too.

“And your address is 556—”

I realize what Jake is doing. She can’t penalize us for workplace fraternization if we’remarried. Jake’s nodding along, but I interrupt with my address, and she writes it down. If she checks my contact information later, our lie will add up.

But next to me Jake clears his throat, and when I look at his profile, he gives a tiny shake of his head.

I stop. I’ve become a passenger, and Jake has taken the wheel.

He slouches rakishly in his chair and squeezes my knee again. Relationship or no, he doesn’t get to paw me in a work meeting. I shove his hand off my knee again. Now Marie is eyeing us uncomfortably.

“Relationship disclosures,” Marie murmurs to Cynthia.

“Show me where to sign.” Jake laughs an excessively charismatic laugh and crosses his legs, and it’s so not like Jake it’s embarrassing…

And now he’s humming quietly to himself like a jackass. “Flight of the Bumblebee”?

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