Page 78 of Glitched Play

Instead, I fold the letter carefully, slide it into an envelope, and write the familiar address I've memorized over the last decade.

Then I set the envelope on my nightstand.

Ready to mail.

I lie down without changing out of my dress.

The envelope sits within reach, illuminated by the soft bedside lamp.

All I have to do tomorrow is drop it in the mailbox.

I close my eyes.

For the first time in ten years...

I don't know which man I'm dreaming about.

fifteen

. . .

Witt

Letter 114 Glitch

Every system eventually reaches a point where adding more rules creates more problems than it solves.

By six a.m., I have reviewed the quarterly reports under the Synatrix umbrella, but can’t remember a damn thing I read, mainly because I failed to stop thinking about Maci Hart’s mouth.

This is a productivity issue.

I lean back in my chair, place my hands behind my neck and draw a long heavy breath. I should leave for my meeting.

Statistically, that should reduce the probability of encountering Maci Hart before eight.

It doesn't.

When I walk out, she’s already in her office, eyes glued to her computer screen, sitting cross-legged with a messy silvery knot on top of her head.

This wasn't part of the plan. Kissing her wasn’t either.

She hasn't seen me.

Good.

I turn around and head past my office, down the corridor to my personal elevator. It’s a less efficient way of getting to the Armadillo offices, but it’s necessary.

I’m not sure why I’m going there. To escape a run-in with Maci? Definitely.

Greyson and Sutton are standing there with iced drinks, laughing.

“Hey.”

“It’s a little early to be out of your hole, isn’t it?,” Greyson asks, teasing.

I look at my watch and it’s only a few minutes after seven. When did Maci get to the office? Why didn’t she come say good morning? She had to see me—the walls are glass. My back must have been turned. Maybe she regrets the kiss.

“Shouldn’t you be developing talent?” I joke back.