If it had been only Grant downstairs, it might have been fine. But no—it seemed like my entire company (crowded frantically behind him) thought whatever rumored spirits haunted this place had finished Marcie and me off.
Marcie was the first to jump back. She snatched up her present and didn't notice when she stepped right over my suede shoes before darting toward the designers. That left me standing there, face-to-face with Grant's cheeky smile as he subtly shook his head, as if I'd been caught doing something behind closed doors.
"You should've sent a text so I would've gotten the memo," Grant muttered under his breath, elbowing me in the side.
My jaw tightened as I shot him a glare.
"It wasn't like that," I whispered back, nudging him with my own elbow while glancing toward the rest of the group as Marcie opened her present.
"Wow, thanks, everyone! This is the best! I don't think I've ever received this many gifts. And this card—who remembered I love sing-along cards?" she exclaimed, laughing and looking toward Cherry.
Another elbow nudge from Grant.
"So . . . you going to tell her or what?"
"Just drop it," I muttered.
I'm the one who remembered that little fact. I'd told the group about it one day while they were planning the gift. But Marcie didn't look my way once. My name wasn't even signed on the card like the others—though I had been the one to buy it, along with half the gift cards in that box.
As we all made our way upstairs in our separate directions, a thought pressed in on me like a weight: I wish she had taken the elevator with me and Grant instead of the one everyone else piled into.