“OK,” I chuckle, “you win.”
I figure this is a good pivot. There’s no way I’m going to tell Abby about the creepy pile of bricks sitting in the middle of my driveway or who I think left them and why. Even though I’m shaken, I’m at work now. This place is like a vault, surrounded by fences and gates, filled with key card entries, motion sensors, and cameras. I know people here, and they know me. I’m still in one of the safest places I can think of, regardless of who else is walking the halls.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see the row of seats next to me fill with a wave of black. A group of security guards file through the door on the left side of the room and straight into the seats as Dave and Eric make their way to the table at the front of the room. As Eric greets everyone with his booming voice, I feel a tap on my right arm and look to see Abby mouthing to me, do you have any gum? I nod and bend down, pulling my bag halfway out from under my chair. I retrieve a piece of cinnamon gum from the outside pocket and hand it to her, still bent over, before shoving my bag back under my seat.
When I straighten back up, a jolt of terror shoots through my chest. Colson’s profile is less than two feet from my face. He’s sitting right next to me, staring straight ahead, his head slightly cocked to the side, like always, and the same expression on his face.
Unbothered.
His arms would’ve been crossed, I’m sure, but now he wears the same tactical vast as the rest of them and the front pockets and straps are crammed to the gills with equipment that makes doing so nearly impossible.
This isn’t happening.
I try to move as little as possible, like he won’t notice me if I don’t move. But that’s idiotic, of course he knows I’m sitting right here. I’m trapped in the front row where I can’t escape without drawing attention. And besides, where would I go? I can’t disappear, I have to present a segment on chemical spills.
Fucking hell, I have to present while Colson is staring straight at me from the front row!
And before I know it, 45 minutes passes and I hear Dave say my name from behind the laptop. For a moment, I’m not sure whether the groan of dread I exhale is audible to anyone but me.
From the moment I stand up, I manage not to make eye contact with Colson, or anyone else, for that matter. Somehow, I manage to stand at the podium, give my usual spiel, and drone on about points of contact and security notifications and emergency responses. After what seems like an hour, I make it to the end of my slides. It would be a relief, except I don’t know which is worse—staying up front with all eyes focused on me, or sitting down next to Colson again. Then, someone shouts a question.
Alex Barrera sits in my direct line of sight, right next to Colson, with his finger raised, “Do we know when the new security system will be online?”
Before I can answer, I see Dave raise his hand in my periphery. I gladly give the floor to him. At least I don’t have to talk anymore. I glance back and forth between Alex and Dave, but for a split second, I let my eyes wander, which is a mistake because I suddenly find myself locking eyes with Colson.
My startle reflex sends a shiver through my chest, burning my muscles as it radiates through my arms and legs. For a moment, I can’t look away. I just freeze, trying not to draw attention to myself.
Colson stares back at me, Alex’s steady voice the backdrop for his piercing aquamarine eyes. My heart pounds in my ears, the familiar hum getting louder in my head. He doesn’t blink, just looks back at me. Then, he smiles.
He actually smiles.
I immediately look away, my stomach turning to concrete. I try to focus on Dave and Alex’s conversation, but it’s not working. My eyes glaze and my mind races. The conference room seems like a strange planet. I recognize the grey paint, the blue carpet, logos plastered across the walls, and the plastic maroon chairs lined up in front of the screen, but now everything seems surreal. It’s like there’s a tear in the time-space continuum and Colson and I exist on the same plane when we aren’t supposed to.
The hum in my head slowly morphs into a muted version of the voices around me. It sounds like I’m underwater, until I suddenly hear my name.
“Brett will send out an overview of the new system once we get a go-live date,” Dave finishes and then turns to me expectantly.
“Yeah,” I clear my throat, “I’m expecting to hear about that in the next week or two. I’ll send out notifications about install times, likely after-hours to minimize disruption.”
And, like that, I switch places with Eric and make my way back to my seat between Abby and Colson, staring straight ahead. Sitting just inches from him, he looks bigger, like he takes up more space. It doesn’t help that every few minutes, I catch a whiff of his shampoo, bodywash, or whatever the hell it is. A musky, minty, eucalyptus scent pierces my nasal cavity in a surprise attack. And it smells good. As if I’m not already on the brink of panic, he actually smells good.
The man who tried to murder me smells good.
It’s stifling. My fingers begin to tremble, so I clasp my hands and squeeze them tightly. This is absurd; I want to flee out the door, run, and never look back, and yet I’m enjoying the scent of Colson’s goddamn hair products. I try to zone out, disassociate for the remainder of the training, trying to forget where I am for the next 20 minutes.
Finally, the faint hum turns into a buzz, which turns into a crescendo of voices all around me. People rise from their seats, pick up their belongings, and meander through the room toward the exits. When I glance to my left, Colson is already halfway down the row of chairs, following the rest of the security guards out of the room. For the first time in hours, I feel like I can breathe again.
As I reach under my chair to retrieve my bag, I feel a hand on my arm and hear Abby’s voice murmuring into my ear, “That guy sitting next to you, with security,” Abby cranes her neck as they disappear into the hall, “he is so freaking hot.”
I crumple into my chair slightly, “Mmm,” I nod, trying to engage as little as possible, but Abby doesn’t notice.
“Did you know he’s Dallas Barrera’s brother?” she continues.
I give pause and just look at her. Colson is Dallas Barrera’s brother? Dallas Barrera, in IT, who just so happens to be married to Alex Barrera? And that would make Colson Alex’s…brother-in-law?
This is too wild.
I know Dallas fairly well. She’s the one I call when the timecard page is non-responsive or whenever I’m inexplicably locked out of my computer, hoping she won’t say I’ve been fired but no one bothered to tell me. And, without fail, each time I see her name in an email, I always think of Dallas Winston from The Outsiders, which is my favorite character from my favorite book from middle school. Except bubbly Dallas Barrera is no Dallas Winston, who rumbles with soc’s and gets killed in a shootout with the cops after having a nervous breakdown.
Now that I think about it, it’s amusing that she’s married to Alex, who came to Wolfsson straight out of the Marines and looks like he never left. He’s the most manicured man I’ve ever seen, his jet-black hair perfectly trimmed and styled, always clean-shaven, perfectly clean fingernails, and never a wrinkle in his uniform. He also has the same look on his face, no matter what—serious as a heart attack. Alex is a perfectly nice person, with good manners and, from what I gather, a good sense of humor. But he’s very no-nonsense, at least around coworkers, so I didn’t even know the man had teeth until I’d been here for almost a year. Does Alex joke around with Colson?
Dallas is Colson’s sister?
They don’t even look alike. Dallas has long, straight, black hair and she’s barely five feet tall. She always wears thick-rimmed black glasses, bright red or pink lipstick, and impeccable eyeliner.
“Really?” I scrunch up my nose, “I never would’ve guessed.”
And how does Abby know any of this?
“Yeah,” she looks over her shoulder as I follow her down the row, “I saw them in the break room on his first day and I was like, please introduce me! And have you seen his eyes? Like, are they even real?”
Yes, Abby, I have. Yes, they’re real. And no, I don’t want to talk about it anymore.
Dallas Barrera is Colson Lutz’s sister.
I marinate on this fact all the way back to my office. This information could be useful, I just need to figure out how. Dallas is one of the kindest people I’ve ever met. She’s also very chatty. And this is exactly why I make a mental note that I should take a walk across the building to her office to kill some time.
First, I just have to get up the nerve.
