The Tenant

by Freida McFadden

What kind of chump tries to jump out the window when he’s got an office like this? What an idiot. He couldn’t handle the pressure. I can.

My boss’s secretary, Stacie, is standing at the open door to my office, her fist poised to rap on the doorframe to get my attention. And she’s got my attention. In that skirt—yes, holy crap, she has my attention.

As I turn away from the window and follow Stacie out of the office, it doesn’t even occur to me that in the next five minutes, my whole life will come crashing down.

And for the first time, I understand my predecessor. Because I wouldn’t mind if this glass broke and sent me plummeting to my death 350 feet below.

“He’s going to kill you,” the older woman blurts out. “Blake is going to kill you, Krista. You have to get away from here.”

“He’s going to stab you with a kitchen knife.” Quillizabeth points a shaky finger at the rug beneath our feet. “It’s going to happen right here. I saw a vision of him crouching over your body, watching you bleed to death.”

“I’ve never done anything to make you distrust me,” I point out. And that’s true. Well, as far as she knows.

Except… Why does this voice in the back of my head keep telling me to get rid of her right now, while I still can?

“We should have dinner sometime.” Whitney lifts her eyes from the box she’d been ripping open with her bare hands. “Dinner? With you?” “And Krista,” I say, in case it wasn’t obvious. Christ, I don’t want her to think I’m hitting on her five seconds after moving in. “Oh, sure,” she says. “That sounds great!”

“When I want something, I never let anything get in my way.” I bob my head. “Same.”

That’s ridiculous. I love Krista. I would never do anything to hurt her. Never.

Whitney killed our fish. I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life. And I have a bad feeling this is just the beginning.

“If Whitney is applying to work for you, I would highly recommend you pick another candidate.” I grip the phone tighter. “Why?” Her voice drops several notches. “Whitney Cross—she’s extremely dangerous. If I were you, I would stay far away.”

It’s not rotten fruit. I wish it were rotten fruit. That would be so much better. It’s fingers.

I do love him. So much. But I don’t trust him.

Except it won’t be Blake standing over my dead body. It will be me, standing over him.

“Please don’t die, Krista.” Despite everything she did to me, my eyes fill with tears. “I love you.”

So you see, when I stabbed Krista that night, I wasn’t saving Blake’s life. I was saving my own. I bet you five bucks Krista never saw that coming.