Page 252 of Love Me in the Dark
He motions toward the hallway behind him. “You’ve got…a lot. Need you to sign for it. And probably for you to open the door if you want help carrying it in.”
“A lot?”
He steps aside, and my brain stutters.
There are boxes. Plural. Large. Branded with my company’s logo. Professional, sleek. Like something you’d send a CEO, not a Tier Two grunt trying to keep her rent paid and food in her stomach.
“Are you sure those are for me?” I ask.
He gives me a look like he doesn’t get paid enough for questions. “Says Ivy Callahan. Apartment 3B. Signature?”
He holds the tablet out expectantly.
Quickly, I unlatch the door and open it.
Later, I’ll probably realize that was my first mistake. But I’m too busy making my second mistake to notice. I sign for the delivery.
He rolls a dolly into the entryway, unloads everything, and disappears without another word. Just me and a pile ofwhat the actual hellstacked in my tiny studio apartment.
I shut the door. Lock it. Lock it again.
Then I just… stare until I can’t take it any more and tear into the boxes.
There’s a laptop. New. Beautiful. Probably costs more than six months of my rent. Wireless peripherals. Ergonomic chair already put together. A welcome packet. Custom-engraved nameplate with my name in gold letters.
Ivy.
Data Ethics Specialist.
Everview Systems Internal Division.
“What the fuck is data ethics?” I whisper.
I tear through the papers. There’s no real explanation. No email from HR. No escalation confirmation. Just a half-page note congratulating me on an “internal lateral promotion as part of an initiative to reward high performers in critical backend operations.”
My hands shake.
Not with excitement.
With suspicion.
I work at home. Why the fuck do I need a nameplate? I don’t even have a real desk. Just a table that I repurposed. Not only that, but the paperwork all has my last name on it…but not the nameplate.
What the shit is going on?
This isn’t how corporations work. I’ve seen people promoted before. It’s a mess of meetings and signed NDAs and training modules.
This? This feels like a bribe.
Or a setup.
Or some kind of...trap.
I sit on the edge of my bed and stare at the laptop, imagining that it’s staring back at me until I finally give in and plug everything in, powering it up.
The new laptop hums like it knows something I don’t, still hours later.
I haven’t even logged into it yet. It just sits there, sleek and sinister on the desk, while I pace the room like a caged animal.
