Chapter 30

30

By the time the weekend is over, I feel way better than when it started. My relationship— friendship— with Lloyd is back on track, and I even feel okay about the fact that I'm going to meet Mom for dinner next week. I think it helps that Dad looked so relieved when I mentioned it to him, and he seemed as proud of me for making the effort with Mom as he did when I got into college.

Despite there being only a couple of weeks left in the internship, things show no signs of slowing down. On top of our usual workloads, we all have presentations to prepare for a big talk at the end of the summer. I want to make sure I leave everyone with a good impression, so I can't suddenly start taking things easy now.

On Wednesday, Lloyd and I leave my desk, wrapping up one of our usual chats about an ongoing Arrowmile project. We go to get a fresh hot drink, taking the opportunity to talk more quietly about our plan for Lloyd's secret project. When I head back to my desk, alone, Tasha strides toward me. The snap of her high heels is muffled by the carpet. She holds herself tall, shoulders squared, piercing me with such a sharp look that I stop in my tracks before she can cut me off.

"You're always hanging about with him."

It's clear she means Lloyd. "He's always hanging about. My team asked me to help him out with some stuff."

"What stuff ?" Tasha demands, eyes narrowing. She's my height, but somehow manages to look down her nose at me. I notice her eyes flit to my hair, scrutinizing it, and I tuck some flyaways behind my ear self-consciously.

"Just some stuff about some projects."

She scoffs, crossing her arms. "Right, okay. Just tell me. I know the two of you are like this." She holds up two crossed fingers and then, bearing down on me, hisses, "I know you guys have a thing. I saw you kissing in the hallway outside your apartment, weeks ago."

Oh, shit. Shit!

Weeks ago. She's known all this time, and…hasn't told anybody. Has she just been waiting for the perfect moment to try to undermine me, or…maybe she didn't get a good look and just assumed it was Lloyd? Surely she would've told everyone by now if she was so sure….

I swallow, the taste of bile in the back of my throat. "I don't know what you think you saw, but—"

"He's been helping you out with the internship, hasn't he? I saw your presentation for the end of summer talks on your laptop. Is he helping you with that?"

How nosy has she been, exactly? Isn't she too busy concentrating on her own work to keep such a close eye on what I'm doing all the time?

"I'm sure if you need some help with your presentation, Lloyd wouldn't mind taking a look at it," I say tentatively. "H-how—how is yours going?"

"He is, isn't he? He's been telling you all the right things to do, and now he's telling you how to do your presentation so you can get a job after you graduate, isn't he?"

"No! That's not—"

Tasha smirks, shifting her stance slightly. Somehow, she manages to look more casual and infinitely more intimidating at the same time. Maybe she's been studying Nadja's body language, or maybe this is just a natural talent.

"I really didn't think you were capable of it, you know, Anna?"

"Capable of what?"

"Pretending to be interested in him just to use him to do better at your job. Sleeping your way to the top. Honestly. Good for you. I'm kind of impressed."

My whole face starts to burn, something raw and angry igniting in my chest when she smirks even wider.

"That's not—I'm—You're wrong. That's not what I'm doing."

" Please. We both know you're not qualified for this internship. I mean, you don't even dress right for it. You look like some frumpy mom or something. It's embarrassing. Especially when you're barely even nineteen—a first-year, and technically not even qualified for this internship." She pouts, pulling a mocking baby face. "Did you get Lloyd to pull some strings for you there, too? Or maybe you got your famous mom to do that?"

The blood drains from my face and the breath is snatched from my lungs.

Tasha cocks her head, triumph glinting in her eyes.

"I—I didn't—that's…You've got it wrong, I'm…I've…"

I've lost the ability to form a whole sentence.

"Aw, don't worry, babe. I won't tell." She lays a hand on my arm and squeezes. " Mom's the word, right?"

I wait for the inevitable blackmail, or more cruel comments, but nothing comes, and I realize she's not telling me any of this for any reason other than to one-up me. To stomp on me to make herself look taller. I know we're different people, but I always thought we got on okay enough. Or put up with each other, at least. I didn't think she'd be this vindictive for no reason other than, I guess, pure spite.

Tasha lets go of me, laughing, and strolls away in the direction of the kitchenette, empty water bottle swinging idly between her fingers. I stand for a moment before deciding to chase after her, catching her arm and yanking her around in the empty stretch of corridor.

"Listen, I don't know what your problem is, but I earned this internship all by myself. Not with my mom's help, not with Lloyd's, not with anybody's. And for the record, I don't care if you think my clothes are frumpy and embarrassing, because at least I'm doing a good job. I earned my place here. I'm still earning it. Just because you've been coasting along, don't take it out on me now that you realize it won't get you a job when you graduate."

I say it in a last-ditch attempt at self-defense more than from any real knowledge of how much of a grafter Tasha actually is when she's at her desk, but her face pinches and I can tell I've hit a nerve.

She snatches her arm away from me and is deathly silent as she whirls around and strides off, leaving me to shuffle back to my desk, shaken and not really sure who won.

—

Tasha stays out of my way and none of the other interns say anything, so she obviously hasn't shared her accusations with anyone. She's just done it to be spiteful. One of "those" girls, Gina would say.

But the next morning, I should know something's up.

It's one of those days. My phone is dead—I fell asleep watching TikToks and never plugged it in to charge—so there's no alarm to wake me up, only Elaine knocking on my door to check on me because she hasn't heard me up yet, and she knows I'd normally be out of the apartment by now. I drop jam on my white blouse when I scarf down some toast, but I'm still ready in record time and out the door before Elaine or Louis. And then, to top it off, there's a delay on the Tube line.

People seem to show up at Arrowmile any time between eight and ten in the morning, but it's almost nine by the time I'm hurrying toward my desk, ready to apologize to Michaela for being an hour later than usual.

There are papers taped up around the office. They're taped to blank stretches of wall and the lockers at the ends of desks, to computer screens at the desks of people who haven't shown up yet. They're printouts of text and a couple of badly designed posters so dark and grainy I can't see what they're promoting. I wonder what it's all about—maybe some weird phishing email warning? Maybe a scavenger hunt, some fun team-building activity; I bet the marketing team would come up with something like that.

Whatever it is, I'll take a proper look after I've logged on and sat down.

There's someone waiting at my desk, though. More than one someone. People.

Michaela is standing there, some papers in her hand. Illustrious Leader/CEO Topher Fletcher is talking to her, frowning, looking…concerned? Angry? Whatever it is, it makes my stomach clench and my palms sweat. There's Nadja, too, busy scowling at something on her phone, teeth bared.

I falter, dread creeping over me.

They know. Tasha's told them I lied about my age on my application. They've found out and they're going to make me pay back my salary and kick me out before I can finish the summer here and they'll send me home in disgrace and next year when I apply for summer jobs this will follow me around and—

I wonder if I can run away before they spot me.

I've barely taken half a step back when I hear someone behind me. "Anna! There you are! Shit, did you see? Are you okay?"

There's a hand on my shoulder pulling me around. Monty.

His face is creased with a worried frown and he's grimacing, and—why is he worried? I've never seen Monty look worried about anything, much less about someone else. Does he know I lied on my application, too? But why would he care?

There's a stack of crumpled papers in his hand. Some of them are a little torn.

"We tried calling you earlier, me and Verity and Dylan—we got in early and found them—but you weren't answering. We're trying to gather them all up before…well, I mean, everyone's going to see anyway, but…"

My mouth has gone dry. My heart beats a furious tattoo.

"See what?" I whisper, but I've already figured it out in the few seconds that Monty hesitates before answering. I look at the papers in his hands more closely. They're printouts of emails. As if in slow motion, I turn to look at some that are stuck on the wall nearest me, finally focusing on the text.

Dear Lloyd, they say. And they end: Sincerely yours, Anna Sherwood

Oh, fuck.

And the posters, the dark, grainy image—it's a photo, blown up to A4 size.

Of me, my orange hair in messy french braids, barefoot in my pajamas in the hallway, with Lloyd's hand up my shirt and our faces attached at the mouth.

Fuck.

"They got sent out to everyone this morning. I guess they were scheduled or something? It came from your email, but obviously you didn't send it. How bloody embarrassing would that be, putting this stuff out for everyone to—well, not that it's embarrassing, you see, just…And obviously, you didn't print out a bunch of copies and tape them up around the office, or take the photo. Dylan's got the tenth floor, and Ver is doing upstairs. I came down to get the ones here. We only just got in, like, fifteen minutes ago…"

Oh my God.

Sent out to everyone.

All my emails to Lloyd, the letters I wrote him and saved as a draft, just trying to muddle out my thoughts and feelings about him…Talking about the kiss before the internship started, how irritating and awful I found him, the way he broke my heart. All those deep, dark secrets. Sent to everyone. Taped up, for all to see.

I feel exposed in a way that has nothing to do with my legs on display in that awful photograph.

Monty's still talking. His hand is on my arm, warm and heavy, in a way that I think is meant to be comforting and reassuring. It makes me feel trapped, though, rooted to the spot. The group at my desk have noticed me by now and are coming over, too.

Nadja arrives first, and the sympathy on her stern face is strange to see. "Anna, are you all right? We're trying to get IT to see if they can recall the emails, but it probably won't make much difference for anybody who's already read them."

Like it'll matter. The internet is forever, isn't it? And the people who don't get a chance to read them will hear about them from someone else anyway. Who wouldn't gossip about this?

"And we're obviously going to be checking who could have hacked into your email and printed them out. It shouldn't be too hard to find out who's behind all this. Unless you've got anyideas?"

Any ideas?

Oh God. When I left my laptop unlocked yesterday, after my chat with Lloyd. Being confronted immediately afterward.

Tasha.

I guess now we know who won.

But I can't say anything, can hardly remember to breathe. This is so much worse than them finding out I'm too young for the internship or kicking me out. This is completely humiliating. It'll follow me around, haunt me, overshadow everything I've achieved this summer exactly like I worried it would when I called things off with Lloyd.

And now everyone else will think, just like Tasha does, that because of how close I am with Lloyd, he's the only reason I've done well here.

Nobody would believe I earned this, after reading those emails. I wouldn't.

I hear Topher muttering, "That boy, honestly. Like we didn't go through this already last year…"

I shake my head vehemently— No, it's not like that —and I try to draw a breath to say something, but instead some weird high-pitched squeak comes out of my mouth, and I realize I can taste salt—that my face is wet and I'm crying.

I'm not even the girl who cries in the bathroom, anymore. I'm the girl who cries in public. Like this all wasn't mortifying enough already.

"Let's go upstairs, Anna," Nadja says, her voice ringing with its usual brusque authority, which is oddly comforting. "Just while we sort all this out, okay? Monty, you can carry on gathering all this mess up, can't you?"

"Sure, yeah."

"But—but I've got a meeting at half past nine. I'm supposedto—"

"Don't worry about any of that now, Anna," Michaela tells me. She crouches slightly to look me in the eye, to smile and nod, and it makes me feel like a child who needs taking care of—not the grown-up I've been pretending I am for weeks.

Monty leaves to collect more of my emails of shame and Michaela rubs my arm reassuringly before going back to her desk. Topher Fletcher declares he's off to speak to IT and then HR.

Shit, he's getting HR involved. They're definitely going to fire me. Is Lloyd in trouble, too? Topher didn't exactly seem happy with him either….

Numbly, I let Nadja usher me into a small meeting room, where she draws the blinds for privacy and then fetches me a cup of tea and lets me weep and babble about exactly what happened this summer between me and Lloyd so she doesn't think I really did use him to get ahead. I beg her not to kick me out of the internship because of this or because I kissed Lloyd or because I lied and I'm only in my first year of college or because I left my laptop unlocked and I know we're not supposed to, because I don't know what I'll do if they sack me and send me home.

Although at this point, I'm seriously considering abandoning this internship all on my own.

I alternate between desperate apologies and frantic hyperventilating, even as Nadja assures me that I'm not in trouble and this won't jeopardize my place at Arrowmile.

Dryly, she adds, "Although it will jeopardize someone's, I'm sure."

Two cups of tea and several bouts of crying later, I finally feel a little calmer. They aren't kicking me out, so my summer hasn't been wasted and my whole future isn't in ruins—but I'm still not sure how I'll ever live this down. Whatever Nadja tells me, and whatever the truth is, I know there will be people at Arrowmile who think the credit for my work here should go to Lloyd and that I don't really deserve it.

Not to mention, everyone will have seen all those things I wrote.

Including—

Oh God. Lloyd will have read them. He'll have seen those things I wrote. How he had everyone fooled, that I didn't want to get to know him—that I fell for him, and he made me believe in love after all.

I wish the ground would swallow me whole.

There's a sharp rap on the door, and it swings open.

Mom stands there, looking harried and concerned in a way I've never seen.

Her face crumples when she sees me.

"Oh, Annalise."

And I break down crying all over again.