Disloyalty

- You pity me -

"Well, you're late, which is a start..."

His words dripped with sarcasm, and though I wasn't trying to be late, I couldn't help but feel a small thrill of satisfaction at the irritation I caused. His face, usually so composed and indifferent, had the faintest trace of annoyance. Good.

"So," he continued, leaning forward, resting his arms on the desk, his voice calm but with an edge, "I'm sure you can guess the basics. Five days a week, 8 to 5. Lunch is an hour from 12 to 1. You'll be notified if I need anything—which, ideally, I won't."

I crossed my arms and rolled my eyes, doing my best to seem unimpressed.

"I bet you're wondering why I've given you this job, aren't you?"

His gaze pierced through me, but I avoided meeting his eyes, choosing instead to stare at the edge of the desk. I felt a strange combination of curiosity and dread swirling around in my stomach.

"Well, yeah," I muttered. "I do have some questions."

"Ask away," he said, settling back in his chair. "Might as well clear the air."

I didn't hesitate. "How did you even get my details?"

He gave me a casual shrug. "Off your phone."

I blinked. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Your phone was unlocked. So, I took your number and your email," he said nonchalantly, as if this were the most normal thing.

I stared at him in disbelief, my mind spinning. "Are you joking? How would you have had any opportunity to access my phone?"

He chuckled under his breath, a sound that sent a shiver down my spine. "Oh, you really don't remember, do you, I thought that might happen judging on the state of you?" His eyes gleamed with amusement, as though he were savoring some inside joke I wasn't aware of.

My heart started racing.  What did I not remember? What was I missing?

I shot up from my seat, the leather squeaking loudly in protest. "What the hell are you talking about? What don't I remember?"

"The club," he said simply, raising an eyebrow as he watched me grow increasingly furious.

And then it hit me—like a tidal wave crashing down all at once. Fragments of that night, still foggy and unclear, suddenly made more sense. He was there. At the club wasn't he.

I froze. My blood ran cold.

A...

Oh god. A was Andrew.

"No. No, no, no," I whispered under my breath, the realization sinking in like a weight. My pulse quickened, and a wave of shock crashed through me again. How had I not seen it? How had I not known? how fucking drunk was I to not remember a single thing.

His smirk deepened, clearly enjoying the fact that I had finally caught up. "Yeah, it's all coming back now, isn't it?"

I swallowed hard, still grappling with the weight of it all. How much did he know? What else had happened that night?

"Fuck," I muttered under my breath, the reality of my situation hitting me like a  train.

"Wait, wait, wait. So let me get this straight—I was at the club... and so were you? Please, just tell me—what were we doing?" I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing myself for whatever bombshell he was about to drop.

He leaned back, clearly enjoying the tension. "Does the name Jack ring a bell at all?"

I shook my head, my voice uncertain. "No..."