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“It’s not a given, you know.”
“Do you not care about your siblings? Or do your siblings not care about you?”
I shrug, remembering my phone calls with them this morningafter they didn’t bother answering the phone last night. Lucas picked up half-asleep. Not only didn’t he recognize my voice, he also asked,Elsie who?“I don’t think they are fully aware that I exist in a corporeal form,” I murmur, almost thinking out loud. I regret it instantly, because Jack nods in a way that has me wondering if he’s filing away the information. Future ammo?
“I’m sorry your brothers are assholes.” He sounds surprisingly sincere. “But given your history with lies, you can’t blame me for being concerned about mine.”
“You didn’t know that I was lying when we first met.”
“No, I didn’t.” Jack’s expression sharpens. He straightens and leans forward, elbows on his desk. The entire room shifts and thickens with tension. “I did know, however, that there is something about you. That you tirelessly study people. Figure out who they are, what they want, and then mold yourself into whatever shape you think will fit them. I’ve seen you play half a dozen different roles for half a dozen different situations, switching personalities like you’re channel surfing, and I still have no idea whoyouare. So I think it’s within my right to be concerned for my brother. And I think it’s within my right to be curious about you.”
I freeze.
Did he just—
He didn’t. He doesn’t knowme. I must have misheard. Misinterpreted. Misunderstood. Mis—fuck.
“I—” My hands tremble, and I slide them between my thighs and chair, like a child. I feel bare. Head spinning, I blurt out, “I don’t know what you—”
The phone rings. Jacks lifts one finger to signal me to wait and picks up. “Smith-Turner. Hi, Sasha. Yes. She’s here. She was just about to... Ah. I see. Yeah. No problem. I can take care of it.” I’m tooshaken by what he just said—mold yourself into whatever shape you think will fit—to eavesdrop. Which makes it all the more stupefying when Jack says, “Volkov’s in the middle of something and cannot give you a tour of the department.” The faint, crooked smile reappears. “But don’t worry, Elsie. I’m happy to take over.”
7
ELECTRICAL RESISTANCE
I repeat to him “There’s no need” so many times, the words lose meaning like in a tongue twister. It’s all in vain.
“Jack, I’m sure you have lots of things to do,” I say as he ushers me out of his office, arm brushing against mine.
“Like what?”
“Um.” Make necklaces out of baby teeth? Deadlift an anvil? “Work?”
He slides his key in the back pocket of his jeans and sizes me up from five feet above me. I feel ridiculously overdressed, even though I’m the one wearing proper professional attire. “I can make the time to show around a potential future colleague.”
Don’t snort, Elsie. Don’t snort.“There really is no need—”
He tuts. “If you keep repeating that, I’ll figure that you don’t want to hang out with me.”
I don’t. But I’d love tohangyou.
He pushes me down the hallway with a hand between myshoulder blades, and for a second his many feet and inches and pounds feel tantalizingly, inexplicably inviting. I’m tired. A little weary. I could sink against him and...
Whoa.
I think I’m getting woozy. Maybe I need to eat. I shouldn’t, though. I had vitamin-enriched gummy rabbits between interviews to keep my blood sugar from dropping—unwise, letting yourself get hangry when you’re with someone you daydream of slaughtering at baseline. I take out my phone, meaning to check my glycemic levels. Except Jack is staring at it, eyes on the crack splitting the lock screen. (A selfie of Cece and me laughing as we hold up a block of cranberry goat cheese. It was on New Year’s Eve, before we spent four hours watching a Belgian movie about cannibalism, then one more hour discussing its emotional throughline. I wanted to die. The cheese was good, though.)
My glucose monitor looks fine, but I want to check my pod. I need a minute alone. Maybe I can pretend I forgot something in Jack’s office? I turn around to give the door one longing look, and my eyes fall on his nameplate.
“Where’s theTurnerfrom, anyway?” Jack gives me a curious glance. I suspect that his leisure pace is faster than my full-on sprint, but he slows down to match me. How gracious. “Greg’s last name is just Smith.”
“Turner’s my mom’s last name.”
“And Greg didn’t take it?”
“See, this seems like the exact type of information that someone who’s in a loving relationship with my brother would already have.” Okay. That’s notuntrue. “Where was Volkov supposed to take you?”
I take my itinerary out of my minuscule pocket. I have to unfold it about twenty times, which seems to amuse Jack. Dick. “Wait. Itsays here that Dr. Crowley was going to give me the tour.” I look up, hopeful. “You don’t need to—”
