Page 12 of The Money Shot
I gathered up my laptop and the half-empty water bottle I’d forgotten on my desk, shoving them both into my worn messenger bag. The room felt like it was closing in on me, the sterile scent of recycled air mixed with anxiety making my head swim. I glanced around one last time at the dim office space, now eerily quiet except for the hum of the overhead lights.
I took a deep breath, swiped my ID card, and stepped into the elevator. The doors slid shut with a metallic thud, and I realized I was alone. That never happened. The elevators always filled up quickly, especially at this hour when people were rushing to leave. But tonight, it was just me and the silent, reflective metal walls.
I punched the button for the lobby, my finger lingering for an extra second, as if it could somehow steady my racing heart. The elevator hummed, moving smoothly down eleven floors, the numbers ticking by slowly. When the doors opened to the lobby, I stepped out and was met with an unexpected sight.
Three security guards stood clustered around the front desk, their backs slightly turned as they whispered urgently to one another. My pulse quickened, and I moved toward them almost unconsciously. But before they noticed me, I ducked down behind the desk, pretending to look for something in my bag.
I tilted my head just enough to catch snippets of their conversation.
“... financial irregularities,” one of them said, his voice a low murmur that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
“Yeah, but at least we work for an agency,” another guard replied, his tone laced with relief. “Better than being one of these poor bastards getting laid off.”
The words struck me like a blow to the chest. Laid off? I felt the panic build, cold and relentless, clawing up my throat. My breath came short and fast, and I fought to keep it under control. If I let it slip now, the guards would notice me crouched there, looking desperate and out of place.
I forced myself to straighten up, grabbing my bag and slinging it over my shoulder as casually as I could manage. My legs felt heavy as I walked to the exit, the murmur of their voices trailing behind me like ghostly whispers.
Out on the street, the crisp evening air hit my face, but it did nothing to clear my head. The city moved around me—people bustling by, cars honking—but all I could hear was the echo of those guards’ words.
Was this it? Was my new job, the start of my career, already crumbling beneath me? The neon glow from the streetlights blurred as my vision wavered, and I swallowed hard, trying to keep it together.
I took a shaky step forward; the question circling my mind like a vulture: Would I even have a job tomorrow?
Chapter Seven
Jack
Istirred the pot of creamy garlic pasta, the steam curling up and tickling my nose. The smell was rich, buttery, and warm, filling the kitchen with an inviting aroma that usually meant Liam would be next to me. We’d be shoulder to shoulder, chopping vegetables or tasting the sauce with that look of concentration Liam got when he was trying to decipher flavors. But tonight, the other side of the counter was empty, and the clink of the wooden spoon against the pot felt louder than it should.
The front door opened and closed with a thud, and for a moment, hope fluttered in my chest. But when I turned, it was Bradley walking in, his ever-present smirk plastered across his face. I forced a smile that didn’t quite reach my eyes.
“Hey,” Bradley said, leaning against the counter. “You should’ve seen it, man. Paul and Melanie were on fire today, cracking jokes nonstop.”
My mind flashed to the guy with the powder-dusted upper lip, and unease twisted in my stomach. “Yeah, about Paul—” I turned off the stove and met Bradley’s eyes. “Is he… okay? I could’ve sworn he had something on his face earlier. Like, white powder or something.”
Bradley’s smile faltered, his eyes going wide for a split second before he caught himself. He let out a laugh that sounded forced. “Oh, that? Nah, man. He had a powdered donut on the way over. We were all laughing about it. The guy’s a mess with snacks.” He rubbed the back of his neck, his hand fidgety.
I narrowed my eyes, studying his reaction. Liam always said I was too trusting, but even I could see through Bradley’s act. Before I could press him further, he pivoted, launching into a diatribe about the housewarming party. Something about the playlist and which of our neighbors would show up.
I half-listened, my mind drifting to Liam. Normally, he’d be here now, rolling his eyes at Bradley’s non-stop chatter or making a snarky comment that only I would catch. But tonight, there was nothing, just the hum of the fridge and Bradley’s voice droning on and on.
The front door creaked open again, and my heart gave a little jump. Liam stepped inside, and I immediately noticed the slumped shoulders, the way his eyes didn’t quite meet mine. He walked into the kitchen without a word, grabbed a Tupperware container of last night’s stir-fry from the fridge, and headed straight for his room, the door clicking shut behind him.
I stared at the closed door, my chest tightening. Liam was always the one holding us together, the one who sensed when something was off with me before I even knew it myself. For him to come home and isolate himself like that? It felt wrong.
“Anyway,” Bradley said, snapping me out of my thoughts. “I’m gonna go set up the speaker in the living room for Saturday. This party’s gonna be epic.”
“Yeah, sure,” I muttered, not really hearing him.
Bradley finally left, and I turned back to the stove, the pasta now lukewarm and unappetizing. It didn’t feel right standing here without Liam.
What could’ve happened today to make him shut down so completely?
It was late, and the apartment was finally quiet. I made my way to the bathroom to piss and brush my teeth before bed, running on autopilot. Bradley’s constant chatter drained me, and I was looking forward to nothing more than sinking into my mattress and shutting my brain off for the night.
As I flicked on the bathroom light, I noticed a sliver of brightness under Liam’s door. Without thinking, I knocked—just once—and then nudged the door open. Liam lay on his bed with his arms crossed behind his head, staring up at the ceiling as if he was trying to solve some unsolvable problem in those blank white tiles.
“Hey,” I murmured, stepping into the room. “You wanna talk about something? You look… I don’t know, you just look upset.”