Jason

“Did you hear that Mr. H is getting a kidney transplant?” Krys is FaceTiming me, and her camera angle gives me an unflattering view of her nostrils.

“You’ve got a bat in the cave, Krys.”

“Forget that, you idiot. Did you hear what I said?”

“Yeah, Halsey’s getting a kidney transplant. Those are relatively safe these days, right?” I don’t know what Krys is so freaked out about. We can manage without Halsey for a week or two.

“I guess so, but four months…that’s a long time to be out.”

“What are you talking about, four months?” I’m constantly amazed by Krys’ gullibility. “Who told you that?”

“Barb.”

I sit up as a little ping of anxiety travels down my spine. Barb is not prone to spreading false information. “Barb said he’d be out for four months?”

“Yep.”

“For four months.”

“Yes.”

“Barb said.”

“Yes, Jason.” She rolls her eyes, but my mind is already swimming with worst-case scenarios.

“I gotta go. Talk later.” I see her mouth open to protest as I disconnect our session.

Shit. Halsey being out for an extended absence really cuts into my “expose Pearson as an incompetent hack” plan. Hell, four months could be enough time for that weasel to settle in and make himself indispensable. I can’t let that happen.

I redial Krys.

“What the hell, Jase?” Her eyebrows are drawn into a scowl. “You hung up on me.”

“Sorry. Did Barb say who’ll be in charge while Mr. H is out?”

“She didn’t know, but Rajiv thinks it’ll be some old lady who used to work here eons ago. Ruth? Ruby?”

“Rose? Rose MacIntire?”

“Yeah, that’s it. Do you know her?”

“Krys, it’s Rose Halsey MacIntire. Mr. H’s sister. She was acting director for most of the ‘90s.”

“Wow, how do you know—"

“Gotta go.”

“Goddamn, Jason—” Her face disappears from my screen mid-rant.

Rose’ll be in charge, huh? This could be good. Rose likes me (well, as much as she likes anyone) and her favorite pastime is second-guessing her big brother. She hasn’t worked here in decades, but she’s always kept up with the company, and has provided consulting services here and there over the years. She’s about as warm and cuddly as a shark, but if I can harness her core of evil and aim it at Knox…

Yes, this could be good.

***

“G’morning, Jason.” I close my eyes and count to ten. Then count to ten again. I peek through one lid, but he’s still here.

“Pearson,” I hiss through clenched teeth. “I’ve asked you not to stop by before nine am.”

“Why before nine?” His little head-tilt might be attractive if he weren’t such a colossal pain in the ass.

“Well, before five pm might be considered excessive.” He snorts, and I begrudgingly admire his good-natured attitude. He leans over to pull something from his messenger bag, and I groan in protest.

“I swear to God, if you pull food out of that bag, I will break into your house and kill you in your sleep.”

He looks up slowly, and his hair falls over one eye. Oh, fuck him and his boyishly handsome face.

“I was getting this,” he says slowly, waving a black iPhone in my face.

“Oh,” I mutter, feeling somehow disappointed. “Well, good.”

“You thought I brought food? Am I really so predictable?” He laughs at my deadpan expression, then pulls a bag of doughnuts out and sets them on the desk between us.

“Jesus,” I say with a dramatic eye roll. “What is it with you and carbs?”

“I remember what a big eater you were back in the day.” The double entendre’s not lost on me, but I choose to ignore it.

“Dude, I was twenty. And I ran cross country. Now I’m pushing thirty and sit behind a desk eight hours a day. I can’t eat like that anymore.”

“You want to, though.” He picks up the bag and swings it in front of me, like a taunt. Or a dare.

“Get your fried dough away from me. And tell me about Halsey’s medical leave.”

“What’s to tell? He needs a kidney transplant, and his daughter’s giving him one. He seems pretty Zen about it.”

“And he’ll really be out for four months?”

“Give or take,” he says through a bite of chocolate glazed. “They told him the recovery time can be hard to predict.”

“Who’s gonna be in charge while he’s out?”

“Dunno.” He shrugs, as if it doesn’t matter. But this is the guy I slept with for two years. The guy who was the center of my universe, before he ripped my heart out and ran it through a cheese grater over a fucking group text.

I’m not bitter. I’m just saying, I know when he’s lying.

“Really? You’re the creative director of this firm, and they haven’t told you who’ll be standing in for Halsey?” A horrific thought occurs to me, and I jolt upright. “Shit, it’s not you, is it?”

“Of course not.” He finishes his doughnut and licks the tips of his fingers. They glisten as they leave his mouth. I clear my throat and shift in my seat. Jesus.

“You know who it is, but you’re not supposed to tell,” I taunt. There’s that head tilt again. “Such a rule follower.”

His eyes narrow, as I knew they would. He’s always had a hard time resisting a challenge.

“Don't try to bait me into telling you what I know."  He sighs and scratches the back of his neck. "Halsey’s sister Rose will be running things while he’s gone. It’s not exactly a secret, but I’d appreciate it if you’d keep a lid on it until he makes the announcement.”

“Whatever.” I’m not impressed by his corner office or his inside knowledge. The higher he climbs, the harder he’ll fall.

“Anyway,” he says, crumpling his napkin and tossing it effortlessly in the wastebasket by the door. “I want to get together with you and Jesse to hash out some timelines for a spring campaign reboot. Do you have an hour or so after lunch?”

“I’ve got 24 hours a day, same as you, boss man.” He ignores my tone.

“Great, swing by my office around two.” He grabs his bag and slings it over his shoulder.

“Pearson,” I call right before he gets to the door. “You forgot your doughnuts.”

“No, I didn’t,” he says without turning around.