An hour later, Lina comes in with paperwork and mentions, too casually, “Zee asked if you needed anything this morning.”
I don’t look up. “I don’t.”
Lina hesitates. “Should I tell her that?”
“Yes.”
She leaves looking unsettled.
By midmorning, an internal memo needs approval. Normally Zatanna would bring it in herself. Instead, I send it back through Vivian. When she knocks to inform me the revised file is ready, I say, “Leave it with my secretary.”
Her mouth tightens. She nods. And walks away.
Every small rejection tastes like acid.
But I keep going.
At lunch, I see her across the floor laughing faintly at something Owen says, and the sound cuts through me because it’s lighter than the one she gave me this morning. I tell myself that’s a good thing. That means she’s settling back into normal. That means I’m doing the right thing.
Then Owen touches her elbow.
Not inappropriately. Barely at all.
Still, something ugly and possessive rears its head so fast I have to turn away before I do something insane.
Distance.That was the plan.
By late afternoon, I’ve ignored three separate opportunities to speak to her. She knocked once with a folder, and I took it without looking at her. She asked if I wanted coffee, and I said I’d already had some. She hovered near my office after a meeting, clearly waiting to catch me alone, and I took a phone call in the hall just to avoid stopping.
Cruel. Deliberate. Necessary.
By the time the office starts thinning out for the evening, I can feel the damage. Not just in her, but in myself. The whole day has been a grind of resisting every instinct I have.
Then, as I’m signing off on a contract, there’s a quiet knock.
Not Vivian. Not Lina.
Her.
I know it without looking.
“Come in,” I say.
The door opens. Zatanna steps inside and closes it behind her. She’s not holding a file. Not carrying coffee. Not pretending this is work.
Maybe she’s angry enough to help me.
“What did I do?” she asks.
I keep my eyes on the page in front of me a second longer than necessary before setting the pen down. “Nothing.”
“That’s bullshit.”
My gaze lifts.
She’s standing in the middle of my office with her arms folded, her expression somewhere between hurt and furious, and for a brief, treacherous moment all I can think is that she’s beautiful when she’s mad.
I smother that thought.
