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Fuck, okay she heard that too.

She heard the giggles and the smirks. The way our whatever-this-is was about to possibly be turned into an office rumor that neither of us would be able to stop.

“It’s not your fault,” she says quickly, catching whatever must be written all over my face. “We got careless at a stupid time.”

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. Because she’s right. Of course she is.

Silence stretches between us and her gaze dips for a second, before she draws in a slow breath through her nose. “Noah,” she says quietly. “We need to get these projections sorted.”

I drag my laptop closer, fingers hovering over the keyboard. “Projections,” I echo. “Yeah. Right.”

Chapter 18

Sable

“Peace offering,” Sam declares, popping up over my partition like a deranged meerkat. A cinnamon twist lands dead center on my keyboard, sugar snowing into the keys.

I pluck it up delicately and set it on the side, brushing the dust off my fingers. “Is this because you turned my couch into a drool swamp?”

“Allegedly.” He slurps his coffee obnoxiously, then rests his chin on the partition, grin spreading. “Sooo… kinda wild you never mentioned Noah lives in your building.”

My brow tips up. “Is it?”

“Uh, yeah. Pretty big detail, Sable. You could’ve told me he was your neighbor. That’s interesting intel.”

“Could have,” I agree, swiveling back to the monitor. “Didn’t. Didn’t feel like giving my hallway a press release. And if we’re talking about interesting—What’s interesting is that you survived that much tequila.”

His hand snakes over the partition to poke me in the temple. “You’re dodging.”

I swat him away. “You’re projecting.”

He lowers his voice conspiratorially. “Because I found a tie and a very not-chocolate wrapper in your bed, and now I know tall-dark-and-boss-man lives down the hall. Which means, if A and B exist, C is basically inevitable. Or…” he waggles his brows. “Maybe it already happened.”

Oh, here we go. Time to buckle up.

I already overheard him and Eleanor talking before I found Noah this morning. I need to lock this shit down right now before it spirals into an inevitable shit-storm of the Sam variety.

I turn slowly, pinning him with a look so flat it could level buildings. “If A and B exist, C is that you were paralytic, and I needed a neighbor to help haul your corpse up two flights of stairs. Beginning, middle, end.”

A triumphant grin spreads across his face. “So he did carry me?”

“He helped me lift you,” I correct sweetly. “Because dead weight is heavy. Congratulations—you’ve got a promising career as ballast.”

He opens his mouth for another victory lap, but there is no way I’m letting him take it.

“Stop,” I say, raising my palm. “No more dot-connecting on my time.”

He blinks. “Sable, I’m just⁠—”

“You’re not ‘just’ anything. You’re building a conspiracy out of two facts and your hangover.” I swivel the chair fully. “If you’re my friend, you don’t turn my address into office trivia.”

He huffs, folding his arms across his chest. “Come on. Tie. Wrapper. Same building. It’s—come on—you can’t blame me for wanting to get all over that.”

I lean forward, lowering my voice. “Watch your volume. You’re not ‘getting all over’ anything—you’re shouting a story that could put me out of a job. That’s not curiosity, that’s carelessness with my life.”

He shakes his head quickly. “That’s not—I wasn’t⁠—”

“Then don’t.” I sit back, rapping a knuckle on my desk. “I’m telling you, Sam. Stop. Now.”