Less than twenty-four hours ago, Alex was standing across from me in the kitchen with hazelnut coffee steaming between us, his attention focused fully on me like there was nowhere else he needed to be. Like I was worth being seen.
I exhale slowly and force myself to move.
My cubicle feels more suffocating than it used to. The walls are just a little too close, the screen of my computer a little toobright. I set my bag down at my feet and start to log in to theElite Connectionsclient management system.
My fingers move on autopilot through motions I’ve performed hundreds of times before.
Kara rolls toward my cubicle in her chair until her elbow rests casually on the low divider between us. She watches me intently for a minute before speaking.
“Okay, Sunshine.” She squints. “Whatever it is, spill it.”
I smile despite myself. “Good morning to you too.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” she replies, gesturing with a hand. “Good morning. Now spill it—something’s different, but I can’t put my finger on it.”
I glance down at my screen, pretending to read the login confirmation, ignoring the fact that I could recite it from memory.
“Different how?”
She tilts her head, studying me again. “You look… lighter, somehow. Which is saying a lot, because you’ve always got your head in the clouds anyway. Which Ilove, by the way. But you also seem distracted. Which is a suspicious combination.”
I hesitate, then lower my voice. “Things with Alex have taken a turn. He made me coffee yesterday morning before I left.”
Her eyes widen.
“And?” she presses.
“And…” I trail off, flicking my gaze around the room to make sure nobody is eavesdropping. Which is silly, of course nobody is listening in. Having a camera crew around all the time is creating some strange reflexes.
“We kissed on Sunday.”
One hand clutches her chest, the other snapping loudly before pointing a knowing finger my way. “I knew it.”
“Kara,” I hiss.
“I knew it,” she repeats, quieter this time, grinning. “You don’t look like that unless somethingreally goodhappens.”
Warmth spreads across my cheeks as I replay the kiss in my head—his hands, his mouth, the way everything else seemed to fall away. “It wasn’t planned,” I say softly. “It just… happened.”
“Those are usually the best kinds,” she murmurs.
Before I can dish out more details, the ones I know my best friend is dying to hear, a familiar shadow falls over my shoulders.
“Clock-in time is nine sharp.”
The Trunch’s voice cuts through the air behind me, clipped and cool. I straighten instinctively. “I’m logged in.”
She peers over my shoulder at the screen, lips pursed. “Mmhmm. Just barely.”
Kara swivels back to her desk, her expression carefully neutral. I don’t blame her for retreating. I’d wheel myself away from this conversation, too, if I could.
The Trunch lingers at the threshold of my cubicle longer than necessary, her presence compressing the small space.
“Your call times were up last week.”
“I stayed late on Thursday,” I explain with a sigh. “Some of the accounts needed more attention.”
She hums, unimpressed. “Efficiency matters more than empathy here. You know we don’t do unapproved overtime.”
