Page 69 of Cava with My Colleague

I look at the glass. At her. At the Polaroids behind her on the corkboard—the ones I recognize, kept at the center.

“I should go,” I say.

Something flickers across her face. She covers it quickly, the way she’s gotten very good at covering things. “The rain⁠—”

“I have an umbrella.” I pick it up from where I left it by the door. “Thank you for the offer.”

She walks me to the door. In the narrow entry we’re closer than we’ve been in weeks, close enough that I see the flecks of gold in her eyes.

“Carlos.” Her voice is careful.

“Goodnight, Jade.”

I take the stairs. On the street, the hail has softened back to rain. I open the umbrella and walk to the Metro and tell myself, the whole way home, that I did the right thing.

I almost believe it.

25

Jade

I stand outside Carlos’s office door for a full minute before I knock on Monday afternoon.

I haven’t seen him since the storm. I’ve thought about that moment a lot, though; the feel of Carlos’s sleeve against mine, the feeling like we were in a bubble under the umbrella, our breath mixing and steaming in the wild weather.

We’re not quite friends. I don’t know if we ever will be.

But right now, I have a legitimate work question about our presentation in Marseille in two days, and I can’t avoid him forever.

I knock.

“Pase,” his voice calls, muffled through the door.

I push it open. Carlos is at his desk, staring at his computer screen with an intensity that seems forced. He doesn’t look up when I enter, and his posture is stiffer than usual.

Unhappy to see me? Fine, be an asshole.

“Hi,” I say, marching up to his desk. “Do you have a minute? I had a question about the Marseille venue.”

“Of course.” His voice is clipped. Professional. He still doesn’t look at me, just clicks something on his screen. “What do you need?”

I step closer, pulling up the venue details on my phone. “The email says the presentation room is on the third floor, but the floor plan they sent shows the event spaces on the second and fourth. I just wanted to confirm before⁠—”

I stop mid-sentence.

Now that I’m closer, I can see him properly. His face is pale, a sheen of sweat on his forehead despite the office air conditioning. His hand trembles slightly as he reaches for his mouse.

“Carlos?”

“It’s the third floor,” he says, his voice tight. “The email is correct. The floor plan is outdated.”

“Are you feeling okay?”

“I’m fine.”

He’s not fine. He looks terrible.

“You don’t look fine.”