Chapter 28

28

I don't really expect much of a response from Lloyd to my apology text or my mention that I found the file he left behind and will give it to him on Monday—and I don't get one. Radio silence is the least I deserve.

I spend the weekend stewing over all the things I wish I hadn't said to him, how things could have gone differently if we'd both just been a little less on edge, how it should have been a friendly heart-to-heart instead of such a fierce argument. I keep wondering about how angry he got when I mentioned his dad and his work at Arrowmile—Lloyd always seems so upbeat, I never stopped to consider he might just be making the best of a bad situation. Even after what Will said about why Lloyd didn't do the degree he really wanted, I don't think the full reality of his situation really sank in.

Is that what the file is all about? His way of making the best of a bad situation, somehow?

All those things he said about living in his dad's shadow, calling it a "poisoned chalice." And I was too busy with my own selfish and self-righteous attitude to listen to him.

—

When Monday finally arrives I'm one of the first in the office—but there's no sign of Lloyd anywhere. Throughout the day, I make so many excuses to leave my desk so that I can scout around for him, that Laurie asks me if I have an upset stomach or a UTI—she has remedies in her desk drawer for both.

I figure he must be around somewhere and that I keep just missing him, so I gather my courage and find him on Teams.

Anna Sherwood

Hi, Lloyd. Just wondered if you were in today?

Lloyd Fletcher is typing…

Lloyd Fletcher switches his status to Do Not Disturb and doesn't reply to my message.

I don't leave until late, hoping that I might run into him—but another circuit of the office around seven o'clock shows it's nearly empty, and he's nowhere to be found. My bag feels heavy with the weight of his lost file as I tote it home once more.

Tuesday, I have better luck. I leave a meeting with Dylan's team downstairs and find Lloyd standing by the lifts, holding a coffee and talking to a couple of people. I hang back until they're done talking, watching his exaggerated gestures and the unfaltering smile on his face, and it makes me regret the way we argued even more.

Finally, the others filter off in different directions, and I seize the opportunity to corner Lloyd before he can storm off. Up close, I see he looks a little frayed around the edges. There are bags under his eyes, a twitchy edge to his stance.

His smile freezes in place, his eyes darting about as if noting who might witness if we fight again. His voice is tight when he says, "Anna. This isn't a good time."

"I've been trying to catch you. It's just—I—I texted you, and I wanted to apologize, but—"

He rolls his eyes, cutting me off. "You said enough on Friday night. I know you think I don't do anything important around here, but I actually have a meeting to get to right now."

"That's what I—"

"I'll see you round, yeah?" he says loudly, a casual dismissal that probably sounds friendly enough to everybody else but feels fake and cutting when he won't even look at me. He strides off, like nothing's wrong, and I wish I had the stupid file with me so I could just give it back and not have to keep chasing after him.

Does he really hate me more than he wants to get his pet project back?

I send him another text, trying to explain, but it, along with my message from Friday night, remains unread.

I spent weeks trying to keep Lloyd at arm's length, pushing him away every time I feared I'd let him get too close—and now that it's finally happened, it's bittersweet.

It makes me wish we'd never met that night, never kissed.

At least then, we might have been friends now.

—

I'm persuaded to take a break from VLOOKUPs (which I've finally got the hang of) to join Verity for her very late lunch on Thursday afternoon. I'm glad for a break after hours of yet more spreadsheet automation for my team, but I regret it when I realize Tasha is joining us.

Verity has a fancy homemade salad packed for her lunch, but queues up with us to get a smoothie from the coffee cart to go with it. The place is unusually busy; it must be a midafternoon rush. She and Tasha are chattering about some internet drama between influencers they both follow and I'm trying to keep up, when Lloyd comes into the canteen.

He looks like hell.

He moves agitatedly, one hand bouncing rapidly against his thigh as he walks. He doesn't seem to notice that the laces of one of his sneakers are undone. His thick, dark curls stick out at all angles. He looks stressed in a way that hollows out the area beneath his eyes and lends a frantic edge to his face.

He's a far cry from the polished guy who normally swaggers about the office, and I cringe at seeing him like this.

Verity and Tasha notice, too.

"He looks terrible," Verity whispers, voice heavy with pity. "He's been all over the place all week. I wonder what's wrong?"

Is this because of our argument, or is it more than that? Has something else happened?

"I should go talk to him," I blurt, then correct myself. "Um, I mean, I have to talk to him about something, so I should…catch him, while he's free."

Tasha makes a small, scathing noise in the back of her throat. "Don't you always have something to talk to each other about? I swear, it's like every time I look over at your desk, there he is."

He's just being a nuisance would be my usual retort.

"It's just work stuff," is what I tell Tasha now.

She gives me a sly smile that lets me know she doesn't buy that for a second.

Verity, however, gives me a little shove. "Go, Anna. We can catch up another time!"

I duck out of the queue and back into it again about ten people back, popping up right in front of Lloyd. He startles when he sees me, then frowns, looking around for an escape route, or maybe just trying to figure out who else is here and whether it's worth it to snap at me to go away.

"I know you don't want to see me or talk to me, and I get it," I say in a quiet rush, hoping that the general hubbub will cover up our conversation from any eavesdroppers. "I don't expect you to forgive me. You've been so kind and patient with me all summer, and I've taken that for granted. You don't owe me anything. But I'm still sorry. And I'm sorry for all that stuff I said about you being the golden boy and about your dad, and…I've been thinking about what Will said, about how you took all this on so he wouldn't have to, and how you're stuck on a college course you don't want, and all that stuff in your file, the research and project plans and things, and—"

Lloyd throws a hand out and grabs my arm tightly, a manic look in his eyes.

"You've seen my file?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I found it after you left on Friday night. It's at my apartment, because I was worried people might ask about it if I kept bringing it into the office, and you seemed really secretive about it, so—"

"Oh my God."

The air whooshes out of Lloyd's lungs, and he almost buckles, the hand on my arm now feeling more like he's holding on for support. A little color returns to his cheeks and a weight seems to lift from his shoulders—and I realize, foolishly, the state he's in isn't about our argument at all. It's about the file.

"Didn't you see my texts?" I ask as he collects himself.

"Your carefully worded apologies? I saw enough."

"Obviously not, or you'd have seen that I picked your file up and told you I'd bring it back in for you on Monday. That's why I tried to talk to you the other day and have been chasing you around all week. It looked important. I figured you'd want it back."

His eyes narrow, and he squares his shoulders, but far from looking annoyed, he looks worried. "You read it?"

"Only a bit. I was trying to figure out who it belonged to. I saw you had…emails from me. Stuff about all the Arrowmile projects."

It's a leading comment. He doesn't take the bait.

He just stares at me, deadly serious. "I need that file back, Annalise."

"I'm not holding it hostage. I'll bring it in tomorrow."

"That's no good—I'm at the labs tomorrow. There's a thing with—uh, with your mom's company. Looking at the facilities and how we'll do testing and stuff."

"Oh."

He seems to be waiting for more of a reaction from me—like maybe the mere mention of my mom will restart our argument from the other night. Or maybe, because it's Lloyd, and he's a better guy than I give him credit for, he's just worried about upsetting me by talking about her.

"Are you around this weekend?" he asks tentatively. "Saturday?"

I consider it—Sunday would work better for me, but I don't really have plans until Saturday evening, and I don't want him to think I'm making excuses or anything. I appreciate that he's making the effort of meeting me halfway.

Polite. Civil.

So I bite my tongue and say, "I could meet you in the morning. Nine o'clock, at Waterloo station? I'll meet you under theclock."

He nods, and doesn't joke, It's a date, like he might have done before.

I politely let him know that his shoelace is untied, and I wonder if these awkward, stilted conversations are all we'll salvage from the wreckage of everything we've said and done this summer.

Probably, it's more than I deserve.