Page 101 of Friend Me

I rolled my eyes. Jackson always offered to help with the annual holiday party on the first weekend in December, but his responsibilities usually fell on me. Picking up the pieces of the company party and ensuring the event went off without a hitch would keep my mind off my first Thanksgiving outside my childhood home. “Of course I’ll help.”

“Great! We have a meeting at lunch with the party-planning committee.”

“But it’s not on your calendar,” I protested. “You have a meeting with—”

“You’ll move it, right? Oh, and we’ll need lunch brought in.”

“I’m on it. But, Jackson, now that I—now that—” I took a deep, calming breath. “Since I don’t have to rush home to Dad anymore, I’d like to take on some programming work. Officially.” His smile froze on his face, and I hurried on. “I want to keep supporting you, but I want to work on some other projects, too.”

His smile relaxed, but not fully, as if he was holding something back. “I may have something for you. Give me a few days to work it out.” His lips pinched together. “I should—”

The ringing phone on my desk—his line—interrupted him. “That’s your nine o’clock call,” I said. “Better get in there.”

“Thanks, Marlee, you’re the best,” Jackson called over his shoulder as he jogged into his office.

For a minute, I believed him.

* * *

My foot jiggled allduring the planning committee meeting. Stupid foot. It wanted to stop wasting time planning a party I didn’t care about and run down to the fourth floor.

Tyler and I hadn’t spoken or texted for over a week, and it was time for us to talk. Okay, it was time for me to grovel. Again. Because my grovel sucked the first time. This time, I’d be sure to do it where Cooper couldn’t find me.

Once the meeting ended and Jackson was safely in his next conference call, I told Ben, “Be right back.” I opened my desk drawer and pocketed the tiny black plastic gun. I didn’t need the ruse to talk to him; we were friends, and it should’ve been perfectly normal to visit him at his desk.

Itshould’vebeen. But he’d always come up to me.

I was a terrible friend and an even worse more-than-a-friend.

With the excuse in my pocket, I trotted downstairs. When I reached the fourth-floor landing, I straightened my white blouse where it tucked into my black pencil skirt and smoothed my hair.

Pushing open the door, I emerged into the sea of cubicles. They had low dividers to encourage collaboration, and the developers had decorated them to reflect their personalities. A giant pair of high-top sneakers hung from a string over the nearest one. A few rows over, a shelf displayed a glittering row of soccer trophies. I looked toward the windows where the senior developers, including Tyler, sat, and headed that direction.

But Tyler’s cube was all wrong. It had been emptied, and it looked like it’d been done in a hurry. While the desk surface was clear, it showed streaks of dust where piles of books or papers might have been moved, and a few pushpins were scattered across it. The docking station was empty, and the big monitors were powered off.

The top shelf was bare except for dust and a Princess Leia figurine, her hand outstretched. Clear spaces in the dust surrounded her.

Had he moved cubicles?

I turned around and spotted Jackson’s sister, Sam, in a small cube nearby. She gazed at her screen, a pair of noise-canceling headphones dwarfing her petite features.

“Sam.” When she didn’t answer, I walked up to her cube and gently touched her shoulder. She jumped.

When she saw it was me, she grinned, the crooked one that reminded me of Jackson’s. She took off her headphones. “Marlee! What’re you doing down here? Are you a programmer now? I bet you can take Tyler’s cube.”

“I came down to look for him. Do you know where he’s gone?”

“Tyler?”

I bit my lip to keep from saying something that betrayed my anxiety. “Yes, Tyler.”

“Home. Somewhere in Texas. Austin, maybe? Or Dallas? He said he wanted to spend some time with his family.”

His family? They were jerks to him, especially Raleigh. I’d encouraged him to go home for the holidays, but he was a week too early.

“He’s been working remotely for the past week. He said he’d probably stay through Thanksgiving. But if he was just going home for a couple of weeks, why’d he take all his stuff? I’ve been wondering if he’s”—she dropped her voice lower—“looking for another job. He had a sport coat with him one day last week. The day he left early. I didn’t want to say anything to Jackson, though. It wasn’t really my business.”

“Oh.”

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