“You absolutely did!”
“I said your name was on the approval sheet. Which it is.”
“Along with three other people’s names, including yours!” My voice is rising, echoing off the metal walls. “But somehow, I’m the only one who got dragged into a conference room and interrogated like I’m on trial for crimes against ventilation!”
“I wasn’t interrogating you?—”
“Actually, you’re right. It felt more like a public execution. You wanted everyone to see you put me in my place. Big, bad Bastian being his big, bad self.”
His jaw clenches. “That’s not what I was doing.”
“Then whatwereyou doing, Bastian? Because from where I’m standing, it looks an awful lot like you’re trying to push me away by being as much of an asshole as humanly possible.”
The elevator continues its descent. Fifteenth floor. Fourteenth. Thirteenth. It keeps spazzing every time, which is not doing great things for my confidence in all things mechanical.
Bastian’s hands curl into fists at his sides. “You want honesty? Fine. You’re right. Friday was a mistake. Not because the oysters weren’t good or because I didn’t enjoy your company, but because—” He stops himself, jaw working like he’s physically chewing back the words.
“Because what?”
“Because I can’t do this with you.”
My heart spasms just like the elevator keeps doing. “Pardon me?”
“This, whatever the hell this is…” He gestures between us again, the same way he did upstairs, like that encompasses so much. “This thing where you—where I—like I’m not—” He cuts himselfoff again and runs a hand through his hair. “You work for me. That’s it. That’s all this can be. Because otherwise?—”
The elevator lurches.
Hard.
We both stumble. Bastian’s hand shoots out to steady me, gripping my elbow, and for one suspended moment, we’re pressed together, his chest against my shoulder, his breath warm on my temple.
Then the lights flicker.
Once.
Twice.
The elevator grinds to a halt with a metallic screech that makes my teeth hurt.
And then—pitch blackness.
Complete. Total. Absolute darkness.
23
ELIANA
re-fire: /re'fi(?)r/: verb
1: to reheat a dish that’s gone cold during service.
2: when you get a second shot to nail something you badly screwed up the first time around.
This is it. The moment my vision finally gives out, ninety days be damned.
I should’ve known this would happen. Overpromise and underdeliver—that’s what always happens to me. Honestly, given the track record of my life to date, how did Inotsee this coming?
“Eliana?” Bastian’s voice slices through the darkness. “Are you okay?”
