“I could never forget to eat,” Misha mumbles with his mouth full.
I let out a half-hearted laugh. “I can’t really cook, and sometimes when I’m swamped with work, I just forget,” I explain, hoping they’d drop the topic.
“Youforgetto eat?” Grey echoes, his voice laced with incredulity. His disbelief makes me feel like I’ve confessed to something far worse.
“It’s not a big deal,” I insist, shifting uncomfortably in my seat. “Idoeat as soon as I remember.”
I hate that this is becoming a thing.
Seeing their unconvinced looks, I quickly add, “I will try tonight, promise.”
“Why doesn’t Grey come over, and you guys do it together?” Misha’s words hang in the air like a challenge. I glance at Grey, whose scowl deepens instantly, his eyes darting briefly to Misha before settling on me. His expression is a mix of annoyance and something unreadable, clearly not thrilled with the idea. “What?” Misha defends, shrugging as if he’s just proposed a casual cup of coffee and not a potentially intimate evening.
This is still work for them, after all.
It’s not like they want to spend their free time with me.
“Grey is an amazing cook, and I bet it’s easier to test out everything with somebody who knows what they’re doing in the kitchen,” Oliver reassures me when he sees the worry that’s probably written all over my face.
Grey can cook?
“Just making sure she doesn’t burn the building down.” Misha grins at Grey.
Gee, thanks.
“Sure, whatever.” Grey’s scowl doesn’t waver, and I can almost feel the weight of his glare.
Tonight could either be enlightening or a complete disaster.
SIXTEEN
The watchon my wrist tells me it’s already 5:30 p.m.
I’m parked at my desk at our office at Elysium, but my attention isn’t on the coding work sprawling across my dual monitors. Instead, I’m glued to the security feed from Amelia’s office hallway, which is far more compelling than any algorithm I’m meant to be tweaking.
My restlessness has spiked in the last few hours, fueled by an unusual nervous excitement about the evening ahead. It’s a feeling foreign enough to have me questioning my own sanity.
What is even happening?
I could have logged off, headed home, and monitored her arrival remotely via Jamie’s interface, but I chose to wait instead. I’ll wait until she leaves to follow up shortly after, ensuring she gets home safely.
Yeah, because crossing a street can be so damned dangerous.
As I ponder my own overprotectiveness, her office door on my security feed finally swings open.Amelia appears, and I instinctively straighten up, ready to time my departure just right. But she stops, not rushing out as expected. Instead, she pauses by the aquarium that adorns the hallway.
My pulse quickens.
No way.
“Oh no, you do not,” I mutter under my breath, eyes locked on the monitor.
This draws Oliver and Misha’s attention. Previously engrossed in their own screens, they now shuffle over to my desk, craning their necks to catch a glimpse of the live feed.
Misha lets out a low, disbelieving chuckle. “She’s not serious, is she?”
But Oliver, leaning closer to the screen, confirms with a grin, “She definitely is.”
We watch, in equal parts amused and baffled as Amelia, poised on her tiptoes, scoops fish from the tank. She inspects her catch with a delighted grin, then performs a quick, little dance, the bag swinging in her hand.
