Our time in San Fran will be well spent.
My door opens again, and in walks Eliza with a stack of documents, and I quickly lock my phone.
“The Conners’ paperwork needs your signature before noon,” she says, placing it on my desk. “And Tamara Wilcox is already in the conference room waiting for you.”
“Tamara’s earlyearly? That’s a first.” I glance at my watch, surprised to see she arrived twenty minutes ahead of schedule.
“She seems…” Eliza twists her lips, “Agitated.”
I sigh, tucking my phone away. Aaron’s steamy texts will have to wait.
“Tell her I’ll be right there.” I quickly sign the documents. As I gather my files for the Wilcox case, my phone buzzes again. Just a quick glance, I promise myself.
Aaron
Was that too much?
I hesitate for half a heartbeat before typing my reply—more daring than anything I’ve sent him before, yet it feels exhilaratingly liberating. There’s a flush of rebellion running through me as I hit send before doubts creep in, before I revert to the safe professionalism that defines so much of my life.
Me
No. But fun fact
every morning, I wake up dripping wet and desperate for you.
Aaron
Fuck, Honeybee. I’m supposed to do a radio interview in ten minutes, and now all I can think about is you… tasting you on my tongue. Do you have a min to FaceTime?!?
The heat that floods my body is immediate and overwhelming. I press my thighs together, aware of how the door is still open, how anyone could walk by and see the flush creeping up my neck.
Me
An Aaron minute is equivalent to five… maybe ten minutes, which neither of us has.
Aaron
No fun. Send me something to hold me over??
This is insane. I’m at work, getting myself worked up over dirty texts like some kind of sex-starved teenager. But God, the way Aaron affects me, even from a thousand miles away, is intoxicating.
Me
About to meet with Tamara Wilcox. I’ll FaceTime you when I get off. How does that sound?
Aaron
Have security on standby. I don’t like how she exploded last time. And yes, please FaceTime!
I shut the conference room door behind me, exhaling with relief. Tamara actually kept her hands to herself this time. No flying staplers or hurled legal pads. She’d signed the revised settlement terms while delivering a twenty-minute soliloquy about her ex-husband’s ‘psychological warfare tactics.’
Back at my desk, my phone screen glows with a Kakao notification. My stomach drops before I even read it.
Mom
Will you come for Chuseok this year? Your mother misses seeing her daughter’s face in person, not just through a screen.
Something cold settles in my chest. Five years. Five birthdays, five New Year celebrations, five autumn harvest festivals I’ve missed. I’ve become an expert at crafting excuses—pandemic travel restrictions, impossible deadlines, video calls that never quite capture the scent of my mother’s kimchi jjigae or the warmth of her hand on mine.
