My jaw tightens.
The elevator slows, and then, with a soft ding, the doors slide open.
The world is waiting.
A clean, well-lit corridor, a stark contrast to the dark, intimate space we just occupied.
She steps out into the hallway, her movements stiff, her shoulders squared. She’s the composed, professional Olivia I know, but I can see the cracks in her facade. The slight tremor in her hands. The way she avoids my eyes.
I follow her out, my body a coiled knot of tension.
We stand there for a moment, two people who don't know what to say to each other.
The silence is a physical thing, a heavy, oppressive weight.
Her chin lifts. "Are you going to fire me?"
The question is so unexpected, so out of left field, that it takes me a second to process it.
Fire her?
Is she insane?
"Fire you?" I repeat, my voice laced with disbelief. "Why the hell would I fire you?"
She looks down at her shoes, her cheeks flushing. "For... this. For what happened. It's... unprofessional. It's a liability."
My anger flares, hot and sharp. Not at her, but at myself.
I've made her feel cheap.
I've made her feel like a liability.
A mistake to be erased.
"No," I say, my voice a low growl. "I'm not going to fire you."
She looks up, her eyes wide and uncertain. "You're not?"
"No," I say, my tone leaving no room for argument. "You're the best damn coordinator I've ever worked with. You're not goinganywhere."
I see the relief wash over her, and I'm hit with a sharp, painful punch to the gut. She was really worried. She thought I would just... erase her. Pretend it never happened. Get rid of the evidence.
But that's not what I want.
I want her.
And that's the problem.
"But we can't..." she starts, her voice trailing off.
"No," I say, my voice flat, final. "We can't."
She nods, her gaze dropping to the floor again. "I understand."
The words hang in the air between us, a final, damning verdict.
I understand.
