“You must have cast a spell on me,” Bailey says suddenly.
“What?”
“This is the second time I’ve shown you my animation. I’ve never shown anyone else, not even Gretchen.” She runs a hand through her hair in frustration. “You have some kind of magic that makes me do things I normally wouldn’t.”
“It’s not magic. It’s trust.”
“That might be worse.”
“Why?”
“Because trust gets you hurt.”
I understand that fear intimately. I’ve lived with it for fifteen years. “Not always.”
“Often enough.”
We’re quiet for a moment. The office hums around us with the sound of computers, the distant HVAC system, and the occasional creak of the building settling.
“I’ve never known anyone who cared this deeply about something real,” I say quietly.
“What do you mean?”
“Most people I know care about money. You care about creating something beautiful just because it should exist.” I gesture to her screen. “That’s rare.”
“Cassidy wasn’t like that?”
“Cassidy thought art was decoration. Something you bought to fill wall space or impress guests.” The memory tastes bitter in my mouth. “She used to criticize me for keeping my design team fully staffed. She said it was a waste of money when we could outsource for cheaper.”
“She sounds delightful.”
“She was practical. Ruthlessly so.”
We’re staring at each other now. And against my better judgment, I take a step closer to her.
“Bailey—”
“Don’t.” But she doesn’t move away from me. “We agreed to boundaries.”
“I know what we agreed to.”
“Then why do you keep crossing them?”
I take another step. She’s close enough now that I can see her pulse jumping at the base of her throat.
“Because you keep looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you want me to cross them.”
Her breath hitches audibly. “That’s not fair.”
“None of this is fair.” I take another step closer. I’m inches away now. “But it’s real. And I’m tired of pretending it’s not.”
“Daniel, this is a bad idea.”
“I know.”
