I have a question for you, LoveLamb.
LoveLamb:
Shoot.
Gargoth:
What’s easier: to love or to be loved?
Oof. That hits.
I stare at the screen. Think. Then glance around—everyone’s still working, totally absorbed. I go deep into my brain and start typing.
LoveLamb:
Why does it matter? Both hurt.
Gargoth:
Why?
LoveLamb:
Because loving someone who doesn’t love you back? That hurts. And being loved when you don’t feel the same? That hurts too.
Gargoth:
What if the love goes both ways?
LoveLamb:
Then, my friend… You won the lottery.
Gargoth:
Sometimes the lottery is cursed.
Whoa. Okay.Dark. I don’t respond.
By noon, I slam my laptop shut and announce to the room, “WHO WANTS SUSHI?”
Cheers erupt like fireworks.God, I love these people.
We head to the company’s staff kitchen, which is basically a Pinterest dream. There’s a huge table for twelve, glossy white cabinets, and a glowing LED Property Group sign surrounded by suspiciously perfect fake plants.
Today, the place is empty—probably a big meeting upstairs—so we take over the long table like a pack of misfits on a lunch break heist. Sam starts handing out sushi boxes while Amanda and Karen play bartender with sparkling water and iced tea.
Amanda’s retelling her yacht trauma, and Sam’s lapping it up. He’s so obviously into her that it’s borderline adorable.
We’re laughing, mid-salmon roll, when?—
“Oh! There’s our hero!” Karen shouts over my shoulder.“Mr. Walker! Join us!”
God help me, Karen. Please stop talking.
Luca—who had been striding down the hall with all the grace and intensity of a corporate general—pauses. He looks like he’d rather be anywhere else but turns and walks in anyway. “Good afternoon,” he says, voice tight enough to snap.
I don’t turn around. If I look at him, I might stab him with my chopsticks.
