"We Need to Talk."

You or one of your characters receives a note/email/voicemail that
simply states: "We need to talk." Who is the message from and what is it about? Does your character know (or think s/he knows) or is it a mystery?

"We need to talk." Black letters burned the digital white screen.
What could he possibly want to talk about? Did he-no he couldn't.

Could he?

Pushing the chair back from her desk, she looked around the sea of
gray and blue walls dividing the office into a geometric field, until
her eyes settled on the very last cubical dangling between the
precipice of walls and empty space.

She could not see him, but she could easily imagine him typing away on
his keyboard, slightly hunched over-intent.

Should she go there? Stay here? She bit her lip and her eyes once
again fluttered back to the message searing itself into her LCD.
It couldn't be what she thought it was. There was no way. No one
knew about that. She had made sure of it. The best course of action
was to go and find out what it was about. Maybe it was about the
Jamerson account. What an idiot you are.

"Amy?"

A squeak escaped her. Holding her hand to her chest, she turned and
came face to face with the sender of the message.
Offering a weak smile, she said, "You startled me."

He didn't smile back.

Oh no.

Pushing back his iron rim glasses, he lifted his hand and opened it.
Cradled in his palm was a scrap of black fabric that barely qualified
as an article of clothing.

"I think this belongs to you." He thrust his hand pass the boundary
of the cubical entrance. His palm was only a few inches from her
face. She knew what he held. Careless, idiot. She swore at herself.
His body taunt. A vein in his neck beat with a hard pulse.

"Well James, I am not really sure why you would think it was mine, but
I haven't seen it before." Those words caused him to snap. In an
instant, he barricaded her between her chair and her desk.

"I saw you two last night." Everything liquefied within her. Only the
tingles of fear, anger and strangely, attraction ricocheted within
her. In her mind, she replayed last night. What could he have seen?

She tilted her head.

"What are you talking about?" She asked, focusing on the force of his
eyes, the pain bracketing his mouth.

He gripped the arms of her chair harder.

"How long have you been sleeping with my wife?"