Alex:
You alive or did Jamie finally murder you with subtext?
I exhale and type back.
Me: Asked Audra to the gala. She said no.
Three dots appear almost immediately.
Alex: And?
Me: That’s it.
The dots disappear. Reappear.
Alex: That’s… not it.
I frown.
Me: She had plans.
Alex: What plans?
I don’t respond.
A few seconds pass.
Then:
Alex: You didn’t ask, did you.
I set the phone face-down on my desk.
The quiet in my office feels heavier now. Less orderly.
I think of the night before—the car, the stillness, the way she’d almost leaned into me before deciding to stay where she was.
Deliberate, she’d been.
So had I.
The problem, I realize slowly, is that deliberateness can look a lot like distance if you don’t explain it.
And for the first time since the elevator ride, uncertainty creeps in.
Not about the gala.
About whether I just gave her a reason to step back.
The uncertainty doesn’t have time to settle.
Footsteps.
Fast. Uneven.
The sound hits me before the door swings open hard enough to thud against the wall.
Alex comes in first, breathing a little off, jacket half shrugged off his shoulders like he didn’t bother slowing down. Mark is rightbehind him, calmer but moving just as fast, eyes already locked on me.
