She came up with a big smile on her face. What she said almost made me shit my pants.
If you had to pick one person in this company to be a serial killer, who would it be?
I’d been in the middle of a work-related conversation with two other people when she came out of nowhere, and now they were looking at me with these smiles, and I’m wondering–do they know?
Like if this were a movie, she said. Who in this office would you peg to be a serial killer?
Was it a question or a thinly-veiled accusation?
I told her I would pick her because who the fuck asks a question like that, but I’m mostly wondering if the rumors about her are true. Can she see things?
Later when we were all heading out to lunch, I asked if we were carpooling to the restaurant, and she said, “Why, you got a body in the trunk?”
She said it with a flirtatious smirk. Again, that sudden, numbing feeling in my stomach. Is she fucking with me?
I watched her all through lunch, with a table of twelve between us, seeing her in a completely different light. There was something about her. She’d somehow made me feel like she’d seen me naked. And she wasn’t scared. I wasn’t used to women looking me in the eyes like that, so boldly with no fear. I liked it. It pissed me off. She struck fear in me. I’d never felt so fascinated. I couldn’t eat. Why had I never noticed it in her before. I vowed to keep an eye on her. Find out what it was about her that made me feel this way, a man always in control, to feel exposed inside his own skin.