Lev glances lazily around the room. “So this is where the magic happens. Beige cubicles. Institutional lighting. Cold-blooded bitchery.”
I cough into my sleeve to cover a laugh.
“You need to leave,” I murmur. “Right now. I’m at work.”
He tilts his head. “You call this work?”
“Lev.”
He holds up his hands in mock surrender. “Fine, fine. But you’re not fooling anyone. You’ve got your angry eyes on today.”
I blink. “What does that even mean?”
“It means I know a woman on the edge of a breakdown when I see one. And yours is going to bespectacular.”
Stephanie walks by. She gives me a once-over, then eyes Lev like she’s debating offering him her number or her womb.
Lev watches her go. Doesn’t say a word. Just tracks her with that lazy, unreadable gaze.
Then, casually—to me—he says, “That one? She’s got dead fish energy. Like the kind that floats to the top before anyone notices the tank’s been off.”
I choke out a laugh.
“You’re insane.”
“And you’re surrounded by amateurs,” he says, low and smooth, just for me. “You sure you want to keep playing nice, Mary?”
He’s smiling. Still joking. But there are teeth underneath it now.
I glance toward the cameras. Toward my coworkers. Toward the fact that I am suddenlyvery awareI am being watched from multiple directions.
And yet…
For the first time all morning, I don’t feel small.
Just… seen.
Which might be worse.
Lev knows it too.
He knows Anton’s listening. That I’m mic’d up like a tragic reality show contestant. And because he’s Lev—and because he has the emotional maturity of a flamethrower—he milks it.
He taps the counter once. Light. Deliberate.
“Tell Anton I was polite,” he says casually, like he’s signing out of a guestbook.
And then he spins on his heel and walks out like he didn’t just flip my whole day upside down.
The door chime rings behind him.
Stephanie watches him go, slack-jawed.
Then—like clockwork—she turns to me. And suddenly her voice is different. Softer. Almost sweet.
“Hey, um… who was that?” she asks, like we’re besties now. “Friend of yours?”
I don’t answer.