“I’m fine.”
“You look like you haven’t slept since Monday.”
“Because I haven’t.”
She laughs softly. “You know you’re allowed to rest, right?”
“Elodie.” I shoot her a look, but there’s no heat behind it.
“Come on. What’s on tomorrow?”
I blink. “What?”
“Your schedule. What’s on it tomorrow?”
“I—” I hesitate as I recall. “I’m off.”
“It’s a miracle.”
“It’s an administrative glitch,” I correct, but she waves me off.
“You should sleep for twelve hours straight. Maybe fifteen.”
“I might.”
“You should also get laid, but judging by the way you were just mooning over your phone, that’s already covered.”
I snort. “Shut up.”
Elodie grins, patting my shoulder. “See you back on Friday.”
By the time I make it back to the Moreno Clinic, it’s late afternoon. Moreno’s car is gone, and the main lights are dimmed. Only a few members of staff are left inside, finishing off paperwork, and cleaners are ambling their way from room to room.
I wave to the janitor as I head inside, a few folders under my arm. There’s still paperwork to finish, and part of me hopes Heidi’s around so I can casually ask about Reid.
But when I push open the door to my office, I stop cold.
There’s a burger on my desk.
Neatly boxed up from the same place we went for lunch months ago, when we were planning the fundraiser. And tucked into the top flap is a sticky note.
Don’t forget to write what you need.
My stomach lets out a low, traitorous growl, and I stare at the note for a long second, then go back to close the door behind me.
The box is still warm when I walk back to my desk and pick it up. A name’s scribbled on the side in marker pen.
Havoc
A surprised laugh escapes before I can stop it, sounding strange in the emptiness of my office.
Of course it’s Reid. Of course he remembered the burger ketchup thing, and of course he remembers I create havoc when I’m tired and clumsy.
My fingers hover over the box for a moment longer, then I open it. Inside is a perfectly done cheeseburger, no pickles. My usual. And tucked into the side are two little packets of ketchup.
I reach for my phone.
My thumb hovers for half a second before I unlock it, weighing something bigger than a text. Which is ridiculous, because it’s just a burger. With a note. And a stupid inside joke that shouldn’t feel this loaded.
