He moves with that slow, deliberateconfidence that makes everyone else feel like extras in his scene. His eyes land on me, and I can practically hear the hum of expectation: playful, flirtatious, dangerous.
“Little man,” he says, voice low, that teasing lilt that makes my knees weak. “I was hoping…”
Hoping. For the private office bathroom. The stolen kisses. The way his tail flicks when he’s excited. My stomach does a full somersault.
And then his gaze shifts.
Vanessa. Sitting behind me, poised, smug, perfectly aware. And suddenly I’m not alone in the way Magnus expects. I’m just a mailroom clerk-turned-admin parading as a junior strategist. A lackey with no idea how obvious I’ve been.
“Oh,” he says, voice tight, incredulous. “I—what?—”
Vanessa leans forward, grinning like she’s won a battle. “Hello, Magnus. Your little man? I had BR bring him up from the mailroom to be my admin when I knew I was going to be… out sick. Did he tell you otherwise?”
I feel my stomach drop. My voice? Gone. My hands? Frozen over my notebook. My face? Flaming.
“I—” I start, but Magnus doesn’t need my words. His eyes widen as his chin trembles. Because of me. My face burns hot, and once again, I open my mouth and nothing comes out.
“Wait, so you’re not a junior strategist?”
I open my mouth, but Vanessa interrupts me.
“Oh, Magnus-poo.” She claps, oblivious—or perfectly aware—of the tension. “Well, isn’t this dramatic? Looks like someone wasn’t completely honest about his position.Again, mailroom to admin, in case that wasn’t perfectly clear.”
Magnus hasn’t taken his big brown eyes off me.
“I trusted you,” he says, low, controlled, and his tail slaps behind him like some warning flag. “I thought?—”
“I didn’t want to ruin anything,” I manage to choke out. “I… I just wanted?—”
Magnus doesn’t slam the door. He doesn’t have to. His disappointment, his hurt, his feeling of betrayal—it’s enough. And just like that, he’s gone.
And me? I’m left in the middle of Vanessa’s office, notebook in hand, feeling like the world just tilted off its axis.
The campaign pitch, the city, the community project—it all feels meaningless. The only thing that matters, the only thing I can’t stop thinking about… is Magnus.
I shouldn’t have lied.
I shouldn’t have fallen in love.
And I definitely shouldn’t have let the lie linger.
16
EXECUTIVE MELTDOWN
MAGNUS
I stompdown the hallway harder than I mean to, the sound of my hooves reverberating behind me like thunder. Judy looks up from her desk as I pass, her brow creasing.
“Sir?”
“I’m fine,” I snap, too sharp, and immediately regret it. My voice cracks on the last syllable.
“Can I do anything? Get you anything?” She’s up, scurrying around the desk. “Perhaps an oat milk latte?”
“I’m fine,” I repeat once again, too loud.
Her lips press together, but she doesn’t argue. She knows better. Still, her eyes follow me all the way until I shove through the door and shut myself in my office. The air feels too thin, too tight. My chest heaves with each desperate breath.
