Meet Me at Midnight

Two nights ago, Beau messaged me on Midnight, and I haven’t stopped thinking about what our babies will look like since.

For the last forty-eight hours, I’ve checked the chat every hour on the hour, hoping for another message from him, and so far, nada.

There’ll be more Midnight chats. I’ll make sure of it, I mock in my head, chastising the pathetic girl who clung to those words like gospel.

“Earth to Juniper,” Denise, Mr. Banks’s assistant, says teasingly, her bright blond head shining in the fluorescent light coming from above my cubicle. I shove back from my computer, where I’ve been pretending to look at emails for the last hour and a half, and smile.

“Sorry, Denise. I’m a little zoned out today.”

She waves her hand. “Forget it. We’re all in the clouds today. It’s Thursday, which is almost Friday, and all the horses can smell the weekend barn.”

I laugh. “What did you need?”

“Neil is going to need twenty copies of these packets for his three o’clock meeting with the Public Relations team. I have to run over to the lawyer’s office and pick up lunch on the way back, so would you mind?”

I blink myself out of my Beau-induced stupor and take the packet from her outstretched hand. “Uh, yeah. Of course. Sure thing.”

“Thanks, honey,” she says and offers a little tap to the top of the cubicle wall before heading back toward her desk.

As she retreats, I stand, smoothing the wrinkles from my black pencil skirt as I do, and force my legs to un-numb. I’ve been sitting here daydreaming so long, I can almost feel myself morphing into Avery.

As I’m on my way to the copy room, my phone vibrates with a message, and my traitorous little bitch of a heart puts her whole savings account into its stock.

The thrill and rush I get from the possibility of chatting more with Beau should send me running straight to a therapist, but all it’s done is make me want more. Every message, every Asana ping, every Teams meeting chime, every email—I’m a woman deranged.

I want all I can get, even if it’s crumbs. After you’ve crushed on a man for most of your life, you find yourself happy with whatever hangs out at the bottom of a ten-year-old toaster.

But it’s not Beau. It’s a text from Avery.

Avery: Want to get sushi for lunch?

Me: I already ate lunch.

Avery: You bitch! You didn’t even offer to bring me anything back!

Me: I ate at my desk.

Avery: Ate at your desk? What the hell did you eat? A stapler?

Me: I told you this morning I was going to pack a lunch.

Avery: I thought you were joking, Juni!

Me: Why would I joke about something like that?

Avery: Because it makes you sound like you live in, like, a third-world country.

Me: Do you even know what a third-world country is?

Avery: Of course I do. Remember when my dad made us go to the ranch in Montana?

Me: Avery, Montana isn’t a country. It’s a state in OUR country.

When she doesn’t answer, fear that I just made her brain explode urges me to send another text.

Me: You okay?

Avery: Yeah. I just get bored when you start talking about geometry.

Me: Geography, sweetie. GEOGRAPHY.

Avery: Whatevs.

Me: Where are you?

Avery: In the supply closet.

The supply closet on our floor is Avery’s go-to place whenever she’s nice enough to grace us with her presence at the office. Two days ago, I caught the sneaky bitch napping in it.

Me: Okay, well, you have fun in there. I’m going to keep working.

Avery: You think I can get DoorDash delivered in here?

I ignore her message completely and swipe my badge to enter the copy room door, my gaze lingering on Seth McKenzie’s slimy smile as he walks down the hall with his fiancée Bethany attached to his arm.

I was so sure she was pregnant when she and Seth got engaged so quickly after she ended things with Beau, but I’ve yet to see her trim waist expand enough to fit a piece of bread, much less a baby.

But she is currently planning a wedding to Beau’s now ex-best friend—whom I now know she was sleeping with behind Beau’s back—and shows up at the office more than Avery does at this point.

If I hadn’t already hated her for being with the man I love for so long, I’d hate her by proxy. Beau got the freaking shaft from those two, and still, he never takes anything but the high road.

I let the copy room door fall closed behind me and imagine it smashing Bethany’s head as it disappears in an optical illusion.

It isn’t nice, but it does make me smile, and by the time I finish all twenty copies, organize them, and slide them into the little folders Mr. Banks prefers, I’m in a pretty good mood.

In my head, Bethany’s corpse lies beyond the copy room door, mangled and bloody, her two fake boobs popped and deflated.

Unfortunately, upon exit, I find her kissing Seth instead of KO’ed, her departure to the elevators following shortly after. Seth heads in the direction of his office but stops at Madeline Till’s door instead, and my hackles rise immediately.

Madeline Till is on Beau’s Midnight team.

Is there more intel to be had? If there is, I’d have a reason to message Beau instead of having to wait for him.

Yes. I know. I’m pathetic.

Pointedly ignoring all the reasons I shouldn’t even consider spying, I discreetly walk toward Madeline’s office—where Seth is currently sitting down and chatting with her—and peek inside as I move by. Through her glass door, I see Seth’s mouth moving as a cocky smile crests his lips and Madeline looking down at her desk, her cheeks aflame and her eyelashes batting like a hummingbird’s wing.

Be cool, June. Act busy, but do it in eavesdropping vicinity.

As luck would have it, the water cooler is directly outside her door, so I stop at it and bend down gently, filling a cup for my very thirty thirstiness. I drink slowly but realistically, which unfortunately means I’m an entire cup in by the time Seth actually says anything of interest. Madeline’s Italian summer getaway plans? Fun but insignificant. Seth’s last trip to Naples? Vapid and unimportant. But this…this is big stuff.

“Maybe some people will find themselves on Italian adventures, thanks to the Midnight app,” Seth segues like the sneaky snake he is. “How’s it coming along for you, by the way? Getting the hang of it?”

I pour a second cup of water and start chugging, despite the bloat in my stomach.

“Oh yeah. It’s pretty straightforward. And Beau’s been doing a great job of debriefing with us every day if we have any questions.”

“You know, I was pissed when you weren’t on my team. I thought we would have worked really well together.”

“You were?” she asks, her voice not even close to hiding her satisfaction over the complete lie of a compliment. It’s the same fucking line he used on Laura, but she doesn’t know that. I wish there were a way to tell her—a smoke signal, a carrier pigeon, freaking something. As it is, even standing here pounding water at this point is at tenuous risk of breaking the fourth wall.

“Madeline,” he says, and I flit my eyes up and into the office like scanning laser beams. “You’re one of the most talented ad execs here. Of course I wanted you on my team.”

The woman actually blushes. It’s a shame he’s so freaking handsome. It gives way too much credibility to his bullshit.

“Did you eat lunch yet?” he asks. “I haven’t had a chance, and I was thinking about heading to that sushi restaurant up the street. You want to go?”

“I don’t know, Seth,” she says, her voice hesitant. “I don’t know if…”

“C’mon, Madeline,” he cajoles. “I’d love to pick your brain over how you came up with that brilliant ad campaign for Carmen Love’s perfume line. I obsessed over it for weeks.”

Damn, he’s good. Slimy, but good.

“Um… You doing okay, Juniper?” someone asks from directly behind me, startling the paper cup of water out of my hand. The damn thing plummets to the floor and sprays liquid all over Mr. Banks’s shoes and pants from the ankle down.

“I’m so sorry. You scared me,” I say in a rush, bending down to pick up the water, but dropping half the packets in my hands to the floor as I do.

Mr. Banks bends down to help me, but I try to shoo him away with shaking hands. “I’ve got it, Mr. Banks.”

He ignores me completely, though, managing to grab five of the packets and hand them to me as we both stand back up.

“Thanks.”

“No problem, June,” he says, concern creasing his normally plump cheeks. “Are you feeling sick today?”

“No.” I shake my head. “Why?”

“You’ve been standing here drinking water for a while. Normally, you’re on the move.”

“Oh!” My laugh is loud and awkward and completely weird. I pretend it isn’t. “I managed a quick workout at lunch.”

His chin jerks. I’ve never, in all the years the man has known me, done an actual workout that wasn’t for the greater purpose of an activity. Paddleboarding? Yes. Swimming? Yes. Gym-ratting on my lunch hour? Not a freaking chance.

“Not an actual workout workout,” I hedge, swallowing hard around the bulge of lies. “But I ran up and down the stairs shuffling files back and forth, and in heels like these, it’s, like, an extra challenge, you know? Really gets those calf muscles burning.”

He eyes me curiously, so I give his shoulder an awkward pat.

“All good in the marketing hood, Mr. Banks,” I say as I adjust the packets in my arms, bulldozing right over his open-jawed preparation to talk by chattering on. “You need me to do anything else for you before your meeting at three?”

He shakes his head, but it’s slow and his eyes are still searching my face like he’s trying to figure out if I’m in the middle of a psychotic break. And I kind of am, so good for him for being so on the nose.

Immediately, I spin on my heel, just as Seth and Madeline are walking out of her office and heading for the elevators, and I offer a little wave to Mr. Banks as I do. “See you later, boss! I’ll leave these in your office.” I gesture with the folders of copies and smile. I know I must look scary, but I don’t acknowledge it.

Instead, I head directly for Mr. Banks’s office, drop off the packets on Denise’s desk, and then make a detour to Beau’s office next door. He’s not inside, thank God, so I snag a Post-it from his drawer and scribble out a note as fast as I can.

My message is simple.

Meet me at Midnight. 9 p.m.

-Mystery Woman

PS: Don’t bring any balloons.