I rise, bag in hand. "Lunch. Thought you'd be hungry."
He glances over at Amy. "Hold my calls for fifteen."
"Of course, Dr. Mercer." She doesn't look up from her screen, but her efficiency screams competence, the kind that anticipates needs before they're spoken. It rattles me further.
We step into his office, and he shuts the door. I set the bag on his desk and unwrap the sandwich. I hold it out to him and sharply announce, "Turkey on rye. Your favorite."
He reaches for it, but tension lines his shoulders. "This is unexpected."
"Good unexpected?" I perch on the edge of his desk, crossing my legs toward him.
"Yes."
"That's good since we had an amazing weekend. Figured I'd keep the momentum going."
His gaze drops to my thigh, lingers a second too long, and heat flickers before he pulls it back. "Appreciate you bringing me lunch. But office hours are packed today."
I tilt my head. "Your new assistant seems to be on top of things. Amy, right?"
"She's efficient. Hired her last week." He takes a bite of his sandwich. "Mmm."
"Efficient." I echo the word, letting it hang.
He sets the sandwich down and wipes his hands. "Is there something you want to say?"
Suspension builds as my pulse quickens. I blurt out, "She's pretty. Curvy. That Southern accent probably melts right through boundaries."
He meets my eyes, calm and unyielding. "Blue. Stop."
I laugh, but it comes out sharp. "Just joking. Mostly. But come on, Red. You fire Shirley, who was all rules and judgment, and hire someone who looks like she stepped out of a small-town good-girl movie? What's the real story?"
His jaw tightens. "The real story is she's qualified. Handles the admin so I can focus on patients. End of discussion."
Jealousy surges hotter, twisting into accusation. "Handles you, you mean. She called you Dr. Mercer like she owns the title. How long until she's handling more than your schedule?"
He stands, voice level but edged. "My work decisions stay mine. You don't question them. This office, my professional life, remains off-limits to whatever we're building outside it."
The words land heavily, rejection echoing in every syllable. My throat constricts and tears prick, but I swallow them down. Smallness creeps in, dismissed like an afterthought, replaceable in his sterile space where he controls everything.
I slide off the desk. "Fine. Enjoy your lunch alone."
"Blue, wait."
I don't. The door swings open, and I brush past Amy without a glance.
Her cheerful eyes track me, and she calls out, "See you soon, Blue."
I don't reply, slamming the door and rushing to the elevator, stepping inside. The metal shuts, and my conviction hardens. Amy isn't just an assistant. She's a threat, slipping into spaces I claimed, ready to take what's mine.
I press my forehead against the cool metal wall and close my eyes until the box jolts to a stop in the lobby, and then I hurry outside. The city noise rushes in, horns and footsteps and distant sirens, but none of it reaches past the ringing in my ears. I walk the six blocks home on autopilot, the green maxi dress I made, sticking to my thighs in the afternoon heat.
My apartment door clicks behind me. Silence crashes down, with just the hum of the refrigerator and the faint tick of the wall clock in the hallway.
I wander into the bedroom, kick off my heels, and sit in front of the vanity mirror. My reflection stares back, and my flushed cheeks, glassy eyes, and wild hair make me look wrecked.
My hand trembles when I reach for the red lipstick tube on the tray. The cap pops off with a soft click. I uncap it fully, twist the color up until the bullet gleams wet and bright.
My eyes well. I scribbleLovacross the glass, pressing hard enough that the tip drags, then breaks. I grab another tube, twist it up, and add anEthen the wordHurts. The crimson streaks look too clean against the silver backing. I stare at it, waiting for the phrase to settle something inside me.
