Mrs. Patrice gasped, hand flying to her mouth. “Oh my God. I had no idea. I’m so sorry, baby. I would never intentionally frighten anyone like that.”
“I know. It’s okay. Now that I understand, maybe we could have coffee some time? I’d like to hear about Mekie.” Aven reached out to pat Mrs. Patrice’s trembling hand.
I watched this exchange of emotions, relieved that the threat was never real, embarrassed at the resources we’d wasted, but mostly admiration for Aven’s compassion. Where I saw asecurity breach to be managed, she saw a wounded human seeking connection.
“That would be nice. And I promise, no more surprise gifts. I should have talked to you from the beginning,” Mrs. Patrice insisted. A cautious smile broke through her tears.
While Aven continued comforting Mrs. Patrice, I stepped back, rolling my shoulders to release the tension that had been building for weeks. All that shit for nothing. Well, maybe not nothing, because it brought Aven back into my arms, into my life in ways I hadn’t allowed myself to hope for.
I realized the tight knot in my chest wasn’t just relief about the stalker situation. It was something more complicated, something had been growing since the moment Aven walked back into my office three weeks ago. It was something I was not sure I was ready to name but could no longer deny.
After Mrs. Patrice’s confession two days ago, I still felt like the world’s biggest dumbass. What was worse? The time and resources wasted or the fact Aven was still in my office, with no legitimate reason to keep her here anymore? Which meant it was time to have a conversation I wasn’t sure I was ready for.
I watched Aven over the rim of my coffee mug, trying to look casual while I figured out how to broach the subject. She was completely absorbed in whatever she was typing, a little wrinkle appearing between her eyebrows when she concentrated hard.
Fuck it. Just say it, Black. Rip off the band-aid.
“Now that we’ve resolved the… situation… I was thinking maybe you’d want to move back to your original workspace,” I inquired, setting down my mug with more force than necessary.
Aven looked up, one eyebrow raised. “You mean the basement dungeon?”
“It’s not a dungeon. It’s a perfectly functional archive room you yourself upgraded with all those… improvements,” I protested automatically.
“Mmm. I’ve gotten used to being up here. The light’s better for my eyes.” She turned back to her screen, dismissing the idea without even considering it.
That was it. No debate. No discussion. Damn, I guess she told me!
“Right. Better light. Of course,” I muttered, torn between irritation and relief.
Her lips curved into a half-smile that always made something twist in my chest. “Plus, you’d miss me too much,” she added, not looking up from her screen.
The comment hit too close to home, sending heat crawling up my neck. I turned away, pretending to search for something in my desk drawer while I got my face under control. She was not wrong. That was the thing. Having her here had been both torture and the best part of coming to work every day.
When I looked back up, she’d returned to her typing. Apparently uninterested in my reaction.
The rest of the day moved by in a blur of meetings and client calls. By six in the evening, most of the staff had left, excited by their weekend plans. I expected Aven to go as well. It was Friday after all, but when I returned from a meeting with Martinez, she was still at her desk, frowning at something on her screen.
“Thought you’d be gone by now. Don’t you have plans with your sister or something?” I asked, loosening my tie as I crossed to my desk.
“It’s Raina’s prayer group night. Nothing awaits me but a group of suburban women speaking in tongues over casserole,” she replied without looking up.
Despite myself, I chuckled. “Sounds riveting.”
“Mmm. Besides, I’m still bothered by something about the security logs from when we thought Mrs. Patrice was Leo. The timing doesn’t line up with some of the items.” She stretched herarms overhead, the movement pulling her blouse tight across her chest in ways I forced myself not to notice.
I rolled my chair over to her desk, positioning myself beside her to view her screen. We were now sitting close enough that I smelled her coconut lotion, close enough that her knee occasionally brushed mine as she shifted in her seat.
She pointed to a timestamp on the log. “See here? Mrs. Patrice couldn’t have left the crane in my desk drawer. According to the video logs, she never entered the building that day.”
“Do you think she gave it to someone else to deliver? Maybe the logs are incomplete,” I suggested.
Aven didn’t seem convinced. “I was thinking we should review the exterior camera footage from that day to see if someone else was involved.”
It was a reasonable suggestion, one I would have made myself if I weren’t so distracted by her proximity.
“Good idea. Let’s use the security station. Better monitors, easier access to the archives,” I suggested rolling back to put some distance between us.
Ten minutes later, we were seated in the small room off the main office where all the security monitors were housed. With the door closed and the overhead lights dimmed to better see the screens, the space felt intimate, secluded from the rest of the empty building. I pulled up the old footage.
