Page 1 of Phishing for Love
CHAPTER ONE
I have the first inkling something is terribly wrong the moment I push through the glass doors and step into the lobby of my office building. My skin prickles with apprehension as I pick up a weird charge to the air, a kind of nervous energy clinging to my colleagues scurrying to the elevator bank.
I head over to Bob, the building’s security guard, and hand him his three-sugar vanilla latte. “Morning, Bob.”
Seated behind the security desk in the lobby, Bob reaches for the cup and clutches it to his chest. “You’re a lifesaver, Tess. Thank you.”
I suspect his pancreas won’t thank me. I probably shouldn’t be doling out sweet treats to a man flirting with diabetes, but I possess a soft spot for old Bob. Everyone in the building does.
He takes a grateful sip. “I’m gonna need my favorite drink with all that’s going on today.”
I tighten my grip on my own coffee cup. “What’s going on?”
“I don’t know,” Bob says in a low voice, “but there’s definitely trouble brewing.”
I immediately lower my voice to match his. “What makes you say that?”
“Calvin came in first thing this morning.Beforeanyone else.”
Shock ripples through me. Calvin, our CEO, doesn’t do first in to work. He likes to make a grand mid-morning entrance, wanting to make sure all his minions are confined to their soulless cubicles, hard at work paying off the extensive renovations to his lakeside house.
“That’s not good,” I say.
“Nope.” Bob shakes his shaggy gray head, his brown eyes concerned. “Good luck today.”
“Thanks.” I take a fortifying sip of my coffee and make my way toward the elevator bank, where Mark from Finance is nervously shifting his long, skinny frame from one foot to the other and jabbing the Up arrow.
“Hey, Mark.”
“Tess.”Jab, jab. “Good morning to you.”
We stand there in silence while Mark continues to punish the button. It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him that pressing it over and over won’t make the elevator come any faster, but I know I’d be wasting my breath.
“How are you?” I ask in an attempt to distract him.
“The doctor diagnosed me with a stomach ulcer.”
“Sorry to hear that.” Judging by the pinched look on his long face, a second ulcer is already in the works.
The elevator doors open, and Mark steps inside, shooting me an agonized look that clearly communicates his aversion to sharing a small, enclosed space with me. Today’s not shaping up to be a good workday anyway, so I decide to spare him. “You go ahead. I need to send a text and I can’t get a signal in there.”
Relief softens his sharp features. “Right. Yes. Thank you.”
A couple of minutes later, I exit the elevator on the third floor, dump my empty cup in the trash, and make a beeline for Mevia, the receptionist at Amell Greetings. Also, a flagrant collector and disseminator of office gossip. “Morning, Mevia!” I muster my widest smile, my eyes scanning her short, pink hair and heavily made-up eyes, looking for something I can comment on. “Um, I love your earrings. Where did you get them?”
She pops her bubblegum and strokes the earrings that look like strips of bacon grazing her neck. They are so hideous I have to repress a shudder.
“Flea market. My cousin has a stall there.”
“They’re so...unique.”
“Yeah. Want me to get you a pair?”
I freeze. So even my harmless lies come back to bite me. “Sure.”
I’ll gift them to my sister Kate.
I lean an elbow on Mevia’s desk. “I heard Calvin came in early this morning,” I say in a conspiratorial whisper.
