“No.”
Trey: “And lip gloss.”
“…what shade?”
“Yours,” Ava says triumphantly.
I crack the door open like a gremlin peeking out of a cave.
They pounce.
Ava pushes inside. Trey follows. Sienna squeezes in.
There are four of us in a bathroom stall. It smells like dry shampoo and crisis.
Ava grabs my face gently. “Listen to me. Breathe.”
“I CAN’T,” I whisper-shriek. “He is… he is… TOO MUCH.”
Trey fans me with a paper towel. “He is a walking orgasm in a suit. It’s okay to collapse.”
“I am NOT collapsing.”
“You’re crumpling at the edges,” Sienna says kindly. “Like a pastry left out overnight.”
“STOP COMPARING ME TO PASTRIES.”
Ava digs through my bag, pulls out my powder compact, and touches up under my eyes. “You’re shaking.”
“I’m always shaking around him!”
“Babe,” Trey says, crouching like a therapist who charges in compliments instead of dollars, “that’s because you want to climb him like a tree.”
I slap his arm. He inhales sharply. “Violence detected. Cute.”
Sienna takes my hands. “Okay, for real: why are you freaking out THIS much? Besides the obvious ‘horny in the workplace’ situation.”
I stare at them.
Then I say it.
“I think… I think he’s serious.”
They all freeze.
Ava blinks. “Serious like… serious-serious?”
“Yes.”
Trey gasps. “OH MY GOD. We’ve entered the ‘billionaire with emotions’ plotline. MY BODY IS NOT READY.”
I cover my face. “He said he listens when I talk.”
They squeal. All three. In stereo.
“And this morning,” I whisper, “in the elevator…”
I pause, dying inside.
