Pheromonal: One Night With the Alpha-Chapter 40: Everything’s Falling Apart

I lean back in my chair, crossing my arms. This sudden generosity feels... off. Like a beautifully wrapped package with a ticking bomb inside. "That’s awfully magnanimous of the company," I say, unable to keep the suspicion out of my voice. "Especially considering the circumstances."

Her smile falters for a moment before she plasters it back on. "We value our employees, Nicole. And we understand that this is a difficult time for you. We want to give you the space to deal with... everything."

Everything. Such a small word for the chaos my life has become. I study Janice’s face, searching for any hint of deception. But all I see is discomfort and a desperate desire to wrap up this conversation.

"Let’s call a spade a spade, Janice," I say, leaning forward. "This is a suspension, isn’t it? Just couched in prettier words to avoid any potential legal issues down the line."

Janice’s smile disappears entirely now. She sighs, her shoulders sagging slightly. "Nicole, I assure you, there will be no negative impact on your record. This is simply a measure to allow things to... settle down."

"Settle down." The words make my mouth want to pucker, like I’ve sucked down an entire bag of sour candy. "And what happens if nothing ’settles’ in two weeks? What if there’s no update on the investigation?"

The anxiety that flashes across Janice’s face is answer enough, but she tries to cover it with another forced smile. "We’ll revisit the decision at that time. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. For now, focus on taking care of yourself."

As if a two-week "vacation" will magically erase the fact that my coworkers look at me like I might snap and kill them at any moment.

But I hold it in. Instead, I nod, my face a mask of calm acceptance. "I see. And when does this... vacation start?"

"Effective immediately," Janice says, relief evident in her voice. She probably thought I’d put up more of a fight. "You can gather your personal belongings from your desk. I’ll have IT temporarily suspend your access to our systems—standard procedure for extended leave, you understand."

A two-week vacation is hardly considered extended leave. People take that in personal vacation all the time. But I don’t bat an eye over the lie.

They’re couching it in pretty words, but they’re washing their hands of me. They want nothing to do with a high-profile murder case. Everyone thinks it’s me; they’re just waiting for the arrest.

I stand up, smoothing down my borrowed clothes. I really need to go shopping. "Is there anything else, Janice?"

She shakes her head. "No, that’s all. We’ll be in touch if anything changes."

* * *

The walk back to my desk feels like a march to the gallows. The whispers intensify.

My head remains high. I’m the ice queen; even rumors of being a murderer isn’t going to crack me, damn it.

Maybe it’s a stupid bit of pride to pretend I’m unaffected by all the vicious gossip, but hell, pride is all I have right now. I’m not even wearing my own underwear.

Actually, that sounds wrong. They’re brand new and unused. As much as I love Penelope, we aren’t share each others’ panties close, you know?

The point is, stupid or not, holding onto my office persona is all that’s keeping me upright instead of balled up in a corner to cry.

All the good vibes of the morning have been crushed beneath the brutal heel of reality.

At my cubicle, I start gathering my few personal items. A framed photo of Penelope and me at her bar’s opening night. A small potted succulent that’s somehow survived my sporadic care. A spare phone charger.

As I’m shoving these into my bag, a shadow falls over me. I look up to see Mike hovering nearby, the morbid curiosity clear in his eyes. Or maybe it’s just me being suspicious of the awkward smile on his face.

"So... uh, vacation time?" he asks, trying and failing to sound casual.

I straighten up, fixing him with a level stare. "Something like that."

He shifts uncomfortably, glancing around as if to make sure no one’s watching us talk. "Listen, Nicole, I just wanted to say... well, this whole thing is pretty messed up, you know?"

How the hell am I supposed to answer that? I go with deadpan. "You don’t say."

"Yeah, I mean..." He lowers his voice. "They found him in your bed, right?"

Sharks always swarm when they smell blood in the water. Turning away from Mike, I yank post-its off my monitor, tossing them into my purse. Anything to keep me busy and not looking at his stupid, gossip-greedy face. "I’m not going to feed your salacious gossip mill, Mike."

"Come on, Nicole. We’re friends, right? I’m just worried about you. The things people are saying are crazy."

Friends? We have a surface-level work relationship, and he’s only been buzzing around me since my life’s become a dramafest. But he’s not worth the energy of refuting. "Thanks for the support."

"So? What’s the real story, Nicole? I’ll help set everyone straight. I’m on your side here, you know?"

Opening and closing various drawers, I grab a few more things and stuff them into my purse. It’s really more of a large tote, but it’s already filling with various things. My coffee mug, some spoons, a pack of tea bags, my hidden stash of Snickers bars, various stationary and some of my favorite pens—I have a mild cute pen obsession. I like to look at them, even though most of them don’t have the right amount of glide on paper to be used.

There are utility pens, and then there are decorative pens, okay?

Mike continues to press me for information, but tuning him out is simple as I dig through my desk.

I grab a stack of my most important files from the drawer. They won’t fit in my already overstuffed purse, so I tuck them under my arm. The weight of the paper is nothing compared to the crushing sense of loss that’s been dogging me all morning.

"Goodbye, Mike," I say, keeping my tone polite, if a bit clipped.

As I turn to leave, he mutters under his breath, "Frigid bitch."

It shouldn’t sting. It really shouldn’t. I’ve dealt with far worse, and bore my wounds with pride. But somehow, hearing that from Mike cuts deeper than I’d expect. Why do I care what these people think? I never gave a damn about their opinions before.

The elevator doors slide open with a soft chime, and I leave the office and their unquenchable thirst for information behind me.

I was always proud of avoiding these pointless office cliques. Never playing along with the game, wearing the crown of the ice queen without faltering. My focus was on the job—doing it well, getting results. I didn’t need to be part of some social circle or ingratiate myself with anyone.

But now, as the elevator descends, it hits me hard that my refusal to participate in those surface-level friendships has left me utterly isolated. Not one person here gives a damn about me.

There’s a place in my heart where I once felt satisfied and complete as my career continued to climb.

It’s empty now, cavernous and incomplete.

It’s not just about Scott’s murder and the rumors surrounding me; it’s about realizing that everything I’ve built here is crumbling. My work used to be my sanctuary, the one place where I felt in control and respected.

Now? Now it’s a battlefield where I’m the enemy.