Jenna Cole has been out for 8 weeks. Her out-of-office still says "RETURNING MONDAY" - it's said that every Monday for a month.
This morning her husband called my desk begging to know if anyone had actually HEARD his wife's voice.
This afternoon HR told me he personally recommended me for her chair.
We've never met.
My name is Nora. I'm just the temp covering Jenna Cole's desk at Meridian Group. Everyone says, "Everyone calls you Jenna the first week. It's not personal."
But Jenna's inbox is immaculate. Her photos are angled toward her chair like she's still watching. Her "ongoing" file ends mid-sentence. And no one will answer a simple question: When did anyone last actually hear from her?
Then I find the other version of Jenna.
A second credit card with hotel charges 40 minutes from her husband's office. A secret phone. And a locked drive with a folder that already has my initials on it: To N, Whoever You Turn Out To Be.
Inside: bank statements, timestamps, a warning in her own handwriting: "If you're reading this, I'm already gone. Don't trust Ryan. And don't stop documenting."
Ryan Cole is charming. Distraught. And lying about everything. He hid the money, the affairs, and the way he used her worst grief to keep her small. Now he's bringing gift baskets to MY desk.
You weren't hired to cover for her. You were hired to become her.
For fans of Freida McFadden's The Coworker, The Housemaid, and Lisa Jewell - a twisty, unputdownable office thriller about the work wife who vanished and the temp who inherited her danger.
How long before the desk swallows you too?
