Sora blinks. “Then what are you interested in?”
Him.
His stupid face.
The way he looks at me like I’m the only real thing in his life.
The way his voice drops when he says my name.
The scars I want to trace with my fingers until he stops flinching.
“I don’t know,” I lie.
Sora sees right through me. She always does.
“He’s a catch, Bree,” she says. “A fucked up,emotionally constipated, scarred in every possible way catch. Just like you. Don’t let him go so easily.”
Just like me.
Sora stays until midnight, then heads home with instructions for me to shower, sleep, and stop doom-scrolling.
I manage two out of three.
Thursday morning,I shower for the first time in three days, put on actual clothes, and take the subway to Hudson Yards.
Three days later, the office is still a disaster zone of barely suppressed panic. At least there are no reporters.
I take the elevator to the 28th floor. Piper’s smirk could power a small city. People scatter when I walk down the hall. Cressida catches my eye with something like sympathy before looking away.
Yeah.
Welcome back.
Nico is visible through his glass office walls. He looks like hell. Unshaven, sleeves rolled up, tie abandoned somewhere. The scars on his face stand out sharper than usual, stark against skin that’s gone pale from what I’m guessing is zero sleep.
He’s on the phone, pacing, one hand pressed to the back of his neck. The muscles in his forearms flex as he gestures at nothing.
Not the time to notice his forearms.
I walk to his office door and knock once before opening it.
He sees me and freezes mid-sentence. Something raw flickers across his face before heshuts it down.
“I’ll call you back.” He hangs up without waiting for a response.
We stare at each other.
“We need to talk,” I say, closing the door behind me.
He nods. Hits the panel that turns his smart glass opaque. The rest of the floor disappears behind frosted white, and suddenly it’s just us.
He swallows. “None of this matters. The governance reviews. The donors. Not until you tell me we’re okay.”
“I don’t know if we’re okay,” I reply.
He flinches like I’ve hit him. “Then tell me what to do.” His voice is desperate in a way I’ve never heard from him. “Tell me how to fix this.”
“You can start by explaining. Not the PR version. Not the summary. Everything.” I take a seat and wait.
