Page 179 of At First Catch

Miguel gives me a look.

I hate that look.

Everyone in this town has developed a variation of it recently. The “you are emotionally stupid, and we’re all aware” look.

“She know what’s really on the table?” he asks.

I close the proposal folder carefully.

“Nothing is on the table yet.”

“That sounded fake.”

Fantastic.

Now even my employees can tell.

I stand too fast, needing movement before the office walls close in completely. Outside, clouds begin gathering over Back Bay, darkening the far edge of the marina. The air feels heavy in that specific coastal way that means a storm is building somewhere beyond the horizon.

“I told her the finances are complicated,” I say.

Miguel exhales through his nose.

“That’s not the same thing.”

”No,” I gasp out before I can control my voice. “It’s not.”

Silence drops hard between us, and immediate regret follows.

Miguel doesn’t flinch. He watches me, which makes the guilt worse.

I drag both hands down my face and exhale.

“Sorry.”

He nods once. “You’re allowed to be stressed.”

That almost makes me laugh. Allowed. Like stress waits for permission. Like fear hasn’t already moved into my chest and started rearranging furniture.

“I’m fine,” I mutter.

Miguel’s brows lift just as my phone buzzes on the desk.

Miguel folds his arms.

“Your phone’s been buzzing all morning.”

I glance toward the desk.

“Mostly Wrights.”

He raises an eyebrow.

“That’s either really good or really dangerous.”

“I’m honestly not sure yet.”

The corner of my mouth lifts despite myself.