Lila’s mouth tightens.
I keep my face blank. My feelings don’t do well in conference rooms. They get rowdy. But so far, I’m keeping them under control.
I glance at Lila again.
She looks like she’s holding herself together with thread and spite.
And the weirdest thing is… she doesn’t look like she wants anything from me.
The room is quiet again.
The kind of quiet where your brain fills the gaps with things you’d rather not replay.
Then—ding.
A phone chimes somewhere out in the hallway.]
The opening notes of one of Lila Hart’s biggest hits float through the door.
Upbeat. Catchy. The kind of song that gets stuck in your head and refuses to leave.
Across the table, Lila stiffens.
Her shoulders draw in like she wishes the floor would open up and swallow the melody whole. Her fingers curl tighter in her lap.
She doesn’t look like someone basking in success.
She looks like someone trapped by it.
I’d expected smug. Or detached. Or at least mildly pleased that her song is apparently unavoidable even in a high-security matchmaking bunker.
Instead, she looks embarrassed.
Like she wants to apologize for the inconvenience of her own existence.
The song cuts off abruptly.
Someone outside mutters into their phone.
Lila exhales. Barely audible.
She doesn’t look at me.
And that’s when something small and inconvenient sparks in my chest. Not attraction. Not interest. Recognition.
I shift in my chair and fold my arms.
Whatever softness that moment tried to grow, I squash it flat.
Evelyn clears her throat, unbothered. “As I was saying—”
She asks a question, but I don’t answer right away.
I’m too busy cataloging everything that feels wrong about this situation, starting with the woman sitting across from me.
Lila Hart doesn’t hide her emotions well. They move across her face in quick, unguarded flashes, like headlines she hasn’t learned how to edit. Fear. Skepticism. Exhaustion.
She doesn’t look at me directly. When she does, it’s quick, like her eyes brush past mine and immediately retreat. Her gaze drops once to my arms, then snaps away, as if noticing anything about me was a mistake she doesn’t want on record.
