MR. JEON WAS ON OUR FLOOR.
Our. Freaking. Floor.
My soul nearly left my body.
With the reflexes of a caffeinated meerkat, I jolted upright and started pretending like I was the most hardworking employee in the entire galaxy. Typing like I just finished 499 out of 500 files, when in reality… I was still stuck on file number eight and a half.
Click.
Click.
Click.
My ears twitched.
That sound.
That terrifying, goosebump-inducing sound.
The sound of Louboutin shoes.
The devil's heels.
The apocalypse soundtrack.
My fingers were flying across the keyboard like I had just hacked into NASA's mainframe.
I started typing at the speed of light—no idea what I was typing. Could've been the lyrics of boy with luv for all I knew. It didn't matter. I just needed to look employed.
Because those footsteps weren't just footsteps.
They're the devil's call.
And they stopped…