Jax leaned in, "Name it," he said. "Any version of pain you want him to feel—I'll make it happen."
“I want to ruin his Tuesday."
Jax blinked. "His... Tuesday."
"Yes. Tuesday."
Jax stopped typing. Scrutinized her with his nose scrunched. "Tuesday?"
"Yes."
"You're serious."
"Yes."
"Okay. That's—" He pulled up a blank terminal. "Okay. Define Tuesday."
April's hands moved, trying to shape the concept. "Like when it starts raining and you try to pop your umbrella but it's stuck, so you're standing on a crowded sidewalk aggressively wrestling with a cane that's supposed to be shelter. You look like an old man shaking your fist at the sky—trying to start a fight with the weather. But it just won’t open, it won’t. And the rain wins. And it's laundry day, so you're wearing a neon pink bra under a white shirt, and suddenly you're a high-visibility cautionary tale."
Jax blinked. "That definitely happened to you," he said slowly. "And I wish I had a video."
April felt heat crawl up her neck. "The point is—"
"I have no idea what the point is," Jax admitted. "But keep going."
April tried again. "Like crying in a closet so you aren't a Slack notification."
Jax’s eyes narrowed, like he was trying to translate her. "Okay," he said. "Keep going."
"Like... mustard. On a shirt. Before a big meeting. You can't fix it. Everyone sees it. You're embarrassed all day. But by tomorrow it's just laundry."
Jax blinked. "So... public humiliation via poor choices?"
"Kind of?" April felt her brain reaching for the next one. "Like when autocorrect changes your professional email to something inappropriate and you don't notice until after you hit send."
Jax's eyes lit up. "Oh, I can absolutely—"
"No wait, not that specific—" April paused. "Actually that one is okay."
The chair stopped rocking. His hands stilled on the keyboard.
"Visible damage. Zero actual harm. Time-limited embarrassment. Just… aggressively inconvenient," he said slowly.
"Yes."
"God, that's hot," he said under his breath. Then he pulled the terminal closer and started typing. "Okay. Tuesday. I can work with Tuesday."
April found herself standing behind his chair, close enough to see the screen over his shoulder.
TUESDAY—DEFINITION REQUIRED
Jax typed fast, muttering as he went. "Reversible. No financial damage. No job impact. No personal accounts."
He glanced back at her. "When you wake up tomorrow would feel like relief?"
April thought about it. "Knowing he looked like an idiot. But couldn't prove I did it."
"Publicly embarrassing, privately deniable," Jax typed. He added another line:Rollback: 00:00 (midnight).
