I was falling down the rabbit hole again but this time there were sharp spikes at the bottom and the walls were plastered with pictures of 16-year-old me holding a Molotov cocktail.
Someone knew about my past. They had been in my apartment. And they were going to blackmail me.
I kept compulsively checking my phone, waiting for a response to the message I'd sent. Pick it up, put it down. Pick it up, put it down. When it finally did chime, my heart started thudding so hard I thought I was going to die. But it was just my older sister updating me on what my niece and nephew had been doing.
Somehow that was even worse and I found myself crouched on the floor of the kitchen, my stomach tensed up, taking deep underwater breaths and just staring at her message. There was normal happy life going on far away and I was here, caught up in some twisted game where I was falling for my damaged boss and trying to take his company down at the same time. The cold anger that had driven me to get a job at Stone-Black had transformed into confusion. I just couldn't believe Mr. Stone would ever be involved in illegal dumping of chemicals. I felt like my mind was splitting into pieces. One part was rational and cold, telling me that billionaires don't become billionaires without getting blood on their hands. Another part wanted him and was willing to forgive it all for a passionate kiss. Another part was younger me, judging the girl I'd become. The weak stupid girl who thought she'd take down a massive company and just ended up fucking the boss.
I finally got up from the kitchen floor and made it back to the sofa but that was no better with the photo and article now hidden under a pile of junk mail. I kept following my thoughts around and ending up at only two options:
Confess all to Mr. Stone.
Leave him and never come back.
After another few hours of guilt and anger and feeling like I was going mad, I decided to be an irresponsible fool and opened a bottle of white wine from the fridge. Yes, it was only just past lunch but I didn't care. I gulped down the first glass like it was water, feeling the alcohol warm me from within. The second glass followed about as quickly and by the time I was pouring myself the third, I felt the alcohol wash my anxiety away.
*
I arrived at work on Monday with a headache, dark sunglasses and a giant coffee from the slow cafe down the road. They'd burned it but I didn't really care. I just needed liquid, caffeine and sugar. I still hadn't heard from whomever was in my apartment but somehow had stopped caring about it. A hangover will do that. I slumped my way through the lobby like a zombie and took the elevator to the top floor. I was feeling bad but thinking it wouldn't really get any worse. Then the elevator doors opened and I saw Mr. Black leaning against my desk, shuffling through some papers in a manila folder.
"Delilah! So good to see you." He smiled and waved me over like we were old friends. I stepped out of the elevator on auto-pilot and glanced towards Mr. Stone's office. The doors were closed but I didn't know if they were locked.
"He's not in," Mr. Black said and smiled at me again.
"Good morning, Mr. Black," I mumbled as I walked past him and around my desk. I put my bag down and took my sunglasses off, feeling like I was suddenly adrift at sea. Was Mr. Black my boss too? What was he doing here?
He stood up from my desk and pulled the guest chair out on the other side before sitting down and looking up at me.
"Rough night?"
I took a sip of coffee and tried to process what was going on. I had to get back into professional mode! He was the other owner of Stone-Black and probably here to ask me about financial figures or something. But here he was looking like he was genuinely concerned. The wolfish lady-killer I'd met at the party was gone.
I sat down and forced a smile. "White wine," I said and immediately called myself an idiot for admitting I was hung-over. Well done Delilah.
He chuckled and looked down at the papers he was holding. "It's that preservative they use and no matter how expensive the wine is, you can still get smacked with it. J and I had a five-hundred dollar bottle at a resort once and the next day it was like we'd been poisoned. Between us we ate all the bacon and fried food that buffet had. I think I saw the chef crying in the kitchen later."
I laughed and then winced as my headache throbbed. Did I have him all wrong? Mr. Stone didn't like him but did that mean I had to dislike him too? And he called Mr. Stone J?
"Sorry we didn't get to talk much at the party. It's ... ah ..." he trailed off and waved his hand around, "It had nothing to do with you. Years ago one of Jackson's girlfriends decided to tell him she liked me more than him. I'd barely spoken with her and would never anyway but it broke a bit of our friendship. I love the guy like my brother but he gets a little touchy if I'm around a girl he likes."
He looked down at the paper again, almost shyly, and raised his eyebrows before laughing. "Wow, over-sharing much on a Monday morning with a pretty girl who has a hangover. Forget I said anything. I'm embarrassed."
"It's fine," I said and smiled back at him. Pretty girl?
"Okay, to work so I can't say anything else stupid. I was hoping you could help me out. I know you're Jackson's assistant but mine has gone off to have a baby and I haven't got anyone to replace her yet. I just need some contracts and other correspondence and thought that maybe you have time? It's for a meeting tomorrow lunch."
"Mr. Stone has me looking up a lot of contracts right now but I'm sure I can help. Is that what you're looking for?"
Mr. Black handed me the manila folder. It had three sheets of paper in it. I skimmed over them. He wanted contracts between two companies, some correspondence between a certain date range and then contracts between another two companies.
"Should be okay. I'll have something for you later today?"
"You are a life saver. Margueritte usually does this for me but for some reason she just couldn't hold the baby in so she could stay at work. Selfish really."
He grinned at me and I laughed and winced once more.
"Stop telling jokes, my head can't take it," I said, taking another sip of burned coffee.
"Deal. I'll see you later maybe."
With that, Mr. Black went to the elevator which opened when he pressed the button. He smiled once more at me as the doors closed and I sat back in my chair. My head was spinning but this time it wasn't the hangover.
What had just happened?
*
I was halfway through Mr. Black's work when the elevator opened and a young delivery guy who looked like a surfer stepped out. He was holding a white paper bag that the moment I saw it, I knew held something fried and greasy.