“Good,” Marie-Louise says, already moving on. “That’s it for today everyone.”
Chairs scrape. People stand. The room dissolves into movement and low chatter. I remain seated for half a second too long, recalibrating my life.
Ava is at my side almost immediately, quiet but intent. AJ joins her with the enthusiasm of a man who smells chaos.
“Why,” AJ says, “are you being weird?”
“I’m not,” I reply, standing up and gathering my notebook with unnecessary force.
“You said passionate very weird,” he says. “Like there is more.”
Ava tilts her head. “You also didn’t breathe for about three minutes.”
“I was conserving energy,” I say. “For writing.”
AJ grins. “Something happened.”
“Nothing happened,” I say, too quickly.
Ava’s mouth tightens. “Something happened.”
I look around. Marie-Louise is already deep in conversation. The newsroom hums. No one is paying us the slightest attention.
I gesture sharply. “Corner. Now.”
We huddle near the filing cabinets like conspirators in a low-budget thriller.
I inhale. Exhale. Then, apparently deciding chaos is my brand today, I say, “I slept with him.”
AJ’s face lights up like Christmas. “YES.”
Ava freezes. “Chloe.”
“It was a mistake,” I say immediately. “A catastrophic, hormonally influenced lapse in judgement.”
AJ claps a hand over his mouth. “You slept with the angry chef.”
“Lower your voice,” I hiss.
Ava closes her eyes briefly. “You slept with the man you have only ever argued with… fiercely.”
“I am aware of how ridiculous this is,” I snap.
AJ leans in. “Was it good?”
“Not the point.”
“So yes.”
Ava opens her eyes again, all calm and reason. “You said you can’t stand each other.”
“Yeah, well,” I whisper-shout, “apparently mutual irritation paired with competent forearms is my kryptonite.”
“Chloe!” Ava exclaims.
AJ makes a delighted, deeply unhelpful noise.
“I hate both of you,” I mutter.
