A boundary push disguised as care.
“My phone,” I said, my voice flat and cold, “is not up for discussion.”
Her eyes widened slightly. “Amai, I wasn’t trying to?—”
“Yes, you were.” I leaned forward, resting my forearms on the desk. “You came to my office to ask me about a phone call I took. That’s not worry. That’s interrogation.”
“That’s not fair,” she said, her voice softening. “I was just concerned. You seemed upset, and I care about you. Is it wrong to want to make sure you’re okay?”
And there it was. The innocent act. The wide eyes, the soft voice, and the implication that I was being unreasonable for not wanting to explain myself.
I hated when she did this shit.
Hated the way she wrapped manipulation in concern and expected me to fall for it because she looked good doing it.
But I didn’t let any of that show on my face.
“I appreciate your concern,” I said, my tone measured and professional. “But if my phone is going to be a problem for you, then our relationship is a problem.”
She blinked. “Relationship?”
“Yes.”
“Amai.” She moved closer, her voice dropping. “You haven’t given me a reason not to trust you. I’m not accusing you of anything. I just—I didn’t know we were calling this a relationship. We haven’t had that conversation.”
I held her gaze. “Well, it is.”
The shift in her expression was immediate. The concern melted away, replaced by something softer. Warmer. She smiled—genuine this time—and moved around the desk until she was standing in front of me.
“Okay,” she said quietly. “Then it is.”
She leaned down and kissed me. Slow and deliberate, her hands sliding up to cup my face. I kissed her back because that’s what you did when a beautiful woman kissed you in your office. Because the sex was good and she was intelligent and we vibed in a way that made things easy.
But even as I kissed her, even as I felt her body press against mine, my mind was somewhere else.
Somewhere in the Seventh Ward.
In a shotgun house with peeling paint and a screen door that didn’t close all the way.
With a woman who talked too much when she was nervous and cried on bathroom floors and asked questions nobody else had the courage to ask.
Alexis pulled back slightly, her lips still close to mine. “I should let you get back to work.”
“Yeah.”
She straightened, smoothing down her dress. “Dinner tonight?”
“I’ll text you.”
She smiled again and turned to leave. When she reached the door, she glanced back over her shoulder. “I’m glad we’re on the same page now.”
I nodded.
She left.
The door clicked shut behind her, and I sat there in the silence of my office, staring at the construction contracts I’d been reviewing before she arrived.
I picked up my pen.
