We weren’t married. Or anything more than colleagues. Okay,technically, he was my boss but only with regard to the stories. My employment contract was with the network and it had a few caveats in it.
Some I’d probably need to reach out to my agent and my attorney about if this continued. I missed my apartment in a way that surprised me.
Not the space itself, but the ritual of it. Kicking off my shoes at the door. Pouring a glass of water I didn’t need. Standing still long enough for the noise to drain out of me. I’d built my decompression deliberately over the years—small, repeatable actions that reminded my nervous system it was safe to let go.
Noneof that existed here.
Here, the walls were too clean but they were also kind of a grayish-white that made it feel darker. The furniture was too generic, designed for function and not comfort. Nothing belonged to me, which meant nothing absorbed me either. Every sound lingered. Every thought echoed. All of it felt alien.
I retreated to the bedroom I’d claimed for myself and dropped my bag into the chair near the door before rubbing my temples. I’d made it halfway to the bathroom when a door clicked softly behind me. I didn’t have to turn to know who it was.
Brewster never announced himself.
He didn’t hover, either. That might have been worse. Instead, he occupied space the way gravity did—present, inevitable, impossible to ignore once you noticed the pull. Right now,thatirritated me far more than it should have.
“You should eat something,” he said.
I huffed a breath that might have passed for a laugh. “You followed me in here for that?”
“It matters,” he replied evenly.
I turned then, arms crossing automatically. Defensive, though I didn’t feel attacked. While I wanted to pee and take some aspirin, I was also not going to keeprunninginto the bathroom since he decided to corner me in here. “I’m fine.”
He studied me for a beat too long. “You’re wired and depleted. Those aren’t the best states.”
I didn’t argue. Instead, I grabbed the full bottle of water I’d forgotten to take with me earlier. I cracked it open and took a long drink, as if by hydrating, I ended the argument.
The silence stretched. He made no pretense of not watching me. To the point that I ended up draining the damn water bottle. Now I really needed to pee. Ordering myself to not think about it, I raised my chin and met him stare for stare.
“What?” The word landed between us, a challenge and a dare. If he wanted to know something, this would be the best time to ask it.
“You don’t get to go home,” he said without apology. Though, the journalist in me noted that he wasn’t actively being cruel, that really didn’t make it sound any better.
“I’maware.” The snap in my voice surprised me. I hadn’t meant to sound as irked as I felt, but then again, I didn’t need him slapping me with the truth either. “I just went on air, threaded a needle with a man who’s proven he notices just about everything, and has a successful track record with getting away with killing multiple people—since we’re stating facts we know.”
“You were aware of the risks.”
“Are you deliberately trying to provoke me?” Because if he was, I really didn’t think he’d like me throwing something at his head. It would be unprofessional and probably fall somewhere along the lines of assaulting a federal officer, but in my current mood—I could live with that.
“No,” he said slowly, almost too slowly and he raised both of his hands in a placating gesture. “However, you’re second guessing yourself.”
“I’m not,” I denied it immediately.
“You’re still keyed up,” he said.
“So you keep saying.”
“Because you keep deflecting.”
I turned fully toward him now. “And what would you suggest instead?”
He didn’t answer right away. He let the silence sit between us—deliberate, measured. I recognized it instantly. The same held beat I’d used on air. My body responded before my mind could argue with it. Pulse ticking up. Focus narrowing.
Finally, he said, “Nothing.”
I blinked. “Nothing?” How unhelpful.
I paused, giving myself the time to get my thoughts back in order. The three, deep breaths, also helped calm my pulse and ease some of the agitation vibrating in my blood. “I’m back in a box that doesn’t belong to me and it’s proving challenging to my normal routines for decompressing.”
