Read Online Trouble by Ann Christopher - Free Book Online Page B

that? Fifty steps? Thirty feet? And he couldn’t even come to her office to talk to her directly?
    Every day was the same. When she was nearby, he stayed in his office with his head bent low over his paperwork, or on the phone. He communicated with her only through Laura or via e-mails or memos. She couldn’t get him to talk to or even to look at her. He wouldn’t stay in a room with her. She was not imagining it.
    A week passed, then another. She told herself the same thing over and over—
it doesn’t matter
—until it became a mantra. But by Thursday of her fourth week she was sulking, and on Friday she was in a solid funk.
    Why had Mike banished her to Siberia when everyone else could soak up the warmth of his attention? Why did he hate her? Just because of a passing attraction they’d had? She’d never been jealous before, but now she resented the words, smiles and looks he gave everyone else. Every time she heard his laughter, she got more pissed off. The morning she saw him talking to the FedEx man and asking about the man’s children by name, she fantasized about deleting all his client files from the office computer network. Maybe then he’d look her in the face. SOB.
    Her foul mood carried over into the weekend. She didn’t even feel like going to the movies Saturday night with Sean and Monica. She was a little snappish when Sean called to invite her, and when he hung up, her guilty conscience told her to call and apologize, but she didn’t feel like doing that, either. She’d make it up to him on Monday.
    Sunday morning, she woke up with the flu.
    Probably induced by the stress Mike was causing her, which led to a weakened immune system and increased susceptibility to germs. Rotten SOB.
    By that evening she was tired of being in bed, so she shuffled into the living room and parked on the sofa to wallow in her misery. She was just snuggling down under her ultra-soft throw when her phone rang. She stared at it indifferently for several rings—why couldn’t she just die in peace?— then snatched it off the coffee table.
    â€œHello?” she snuffled.
    â€œWhat’s wrong with you?” asked Monica.
    Dara dabbed her clammy forehead with a wet washcloth and shivered. “I have the flu or something.”
    â€œOh, God. Need anything?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œGood. You won’t believe what happened last night. Sean and I went to Club Destiny after the movie. You know, the place where all the athletes hang out. Guess who’s the owner’s wife?”
    â€œYeah, no.”
    â€œOkay, skip the guessing. It was Alicia Carey from high school, only she’s Alicia Johnson now. Her husband is Mark Johnson. Used to play for the Falcons, I think. Anyway, you should see her. She’s dripping with diamonds. Drives a Benz bigger than my apartment. She asked all about you and said to tell you hi.”
    Dara grunted indifferently.
    â€œSo here’s the unbelievable part. I saw in the paper this morning that there was a shooting at the club last night, after we left. Some guy was killed in the back room.”
    â€œUh-oh.”
    There was more, but Dara was too listless to follow the thread of the conversation.
    Eventually Monica let her go and Dara sank into a miserable stupor. Monday morning, she called in sick.
    â€œTake care of yourself,” Mike’s secretary Laura told her. “I’ll tell Mike you won’t be in. And don’t come rushing back tomorrow if you’re not ready.”
    Dara hung up and snorted at the image of Laura informing Mike she wouldn’t be in.
    Dara? Dara who?
he’d say, his brow furrowed with concentration as he tried to recall what she looked like.
Does she still work here? What’s she been up to?
    By Tuesday morning, the fever had broken, but she was still weak and exhausted.
    â€œDon’t worry about a thing,” said Laura when Dara called in again. “We’ll