My whole body saysyes.
My brain saysrun.
My heart saysyou’re already gone.
I close my eyes.
I whisper to myself:
“Oh no.”
But the truth?
It’s notoh no.
It’s:
“Oh god, I want this.”
And that’s the problem.
I don’t sleep.
Not properly.I drift. I jolt awake. I drift again. I rehearse thirty different versions of “Good morning” and all of them sound like either I’m flirting or confessing to a felony.
By 7am I’m spiraling.
By 8 am, I’m sweating.
By 8:30am I’m praying for an earthquake, a power outage, a surprise evacuation drill,
literally any act of God to save me.
None arrives.
At 8:57am, I walk toward the elevator holding my coffee like it’s a weapon.
By 8:58, my stomach is somewhere near my throat.
By 8:59…
I’m standing outside his office, staring at the door like it's the Gates of Sexy Hell.
I knock.
“Come in,” he says.
My stomach flips.
I open the door, and then everything inside me drops.
He’s already standing. Already watching me. And his expression… Oh god. It’s not neutral. It’s not professional. Its intent. He looks at me like he dreamed about me. Like he woke up wanting this. Wanting me.
My pulse stutters.
“Morning,” I whisper.
“Ruby,” he says quietly. “Close the door.”
