He'd pressed B7.
Unfortunately for him, this machine stopped working when it caught him in Brenda.
April glanced at the kale box, then back to Chad.
“Mateo brought lunch. That’s… nice. And you’re always saying you want to eat healthier. The kale is a great start.” Then she turned away. Not dramatically—just… away.
Brenda was already at Chad's side, sliding in like she belonged there. Her hand found his upper arm.
He shrugged her off, not looking at her. “I need—” He stopped, swallowed. “I need April.”
Brenda’s hand hovered, then dropped. Her face did something quick and ugly.
April was already halfway across the room, heading toward a server she recognized, her voice warming into the version of herself that cared. “Oh Simone! You’re on catering now?” She cleared a stack of file folders from the nearest table. “Here, let me get this out of your way.”
Simone smiled, relieved. “Thanks, April. Yeah, I switched from events last month.”
“That’s great.”
Behind her, Chad stood with his kale box, unspeaking and already forgotten.
Mateo watched her help Simone, his mouth tipping at one corner. Then he leaned in, his breath stirring her hair.
"Remember. Eight o'clock."
FOUR
Auto-Correct From Hell
April
April:Hey, your phone can’t reset its own password, right?
Laura:No. That’s not a thing.
Laura:(Unless your phone has become sentient, in which case please do not befriend it.)
Laura:And is Killian still there (…are you engaged?)
April:Killian’s at a board meeting.
April shoved the phone into her pocket and kept moving, jaw tight. The first "Password Reset Requested" notification, she'd written off as a glitch. The second made her pause. By the third—ten minutes, three attempts—it felt like someone jiggling the doorknob to her life.
She angled toward the third floor and its fluorescent-lit kingdom of help desk tickets, where people could make her phone stop screaming.
There was a shadow in her peripheral vision. Had been for the last thirty feet, actually—a dark mass that moved when she moved, stopped when she slowed.
April glanced sideways.
Arthur Vance. The six-foot-seven CFO trailed her like a particularly well-dressed storm cloud.
When did he start following me?
Arthur said nothing. Didn’t even acknowledge that she’d noticed him. He kept walking, half a step back, hands claspedbehind him like he was escorting a visiting dignitary through enemy territory.
Today had already included a public proposal, a breakup, and whatever was happening with her phone. A silent CFO shadow felt almost normal by comparison.
Her pocket buzzed.
