Page 88 of For the Plot

“You seem different,” he says after a beat of silence. “Lighter. Weirdly zen. Did you finally take up meditation or start microdosing mushrooms?”

I look at him flatly. “No.”

He leans back, arms crossing. “You sure? Because the last time we talked, you were basically a human thundercloud. And now… you almost smiled when I walked in.”

I shrug, flipping a page in the report. “I’m getting more sleep.”

“Bullshit.” He laughs. “You’ve got that glowy post-fuck energy.”

I freeze. For a beat, my blood doesn’t move. Doesn’t flow. Doesn’t exist. He’s joking. He has to be. But my silence gives me away.

Archer narrows his eyes. “You seeing someone?”

“Jesus,” I mutter, standing. “Can we focus on the numbers?”

He raises both brows, mock innocence etched across his face. “Hey, I’m just saying it’s a good look on you. You seem… happier.”

I want to tell him it’s not like that. That I’m notseeinganyone. That this thing between me and Skye isn’t casual or simple oranythingI can name. But I don’t. Because I’m lying.

To him. To her. To myself.

We wrap up an hour later. He heads toward the elevators, phone already out, talking about dinner plans. And I’m leftstanding in the quiet, airless space of my office, where her absence feels like a shadow I can’t outrun.

I step into the front office. Her desk is clean. Tidy. Impersonal. But her coffee mug is still here. Pale pink, chipped at the rim, with a little cartoon cat on it. She left it by the monitor.

I pick it up and turn it in my hand. My chest aches. I should have told him she was here. Should have toldherthat Archer was coming. Should have set boundaries before any of this started.

But I didn’t. Because I didn’t want to stop. Didn’t want to let her go. Didn’t want to give up the way she looks at me like I’m worth unraveling for. I set the mug down, then I walk away, guilt clawing through me like a punishment I’ve earned a thousand times over.

I make it until 6:42 p.m. before I cave.

The office was a wasteland without her. I sat in meetings I don’t remember, nodded at conversations I didn’t hear. Everything was noise, static, filler until I could get to her again. Now I’m pacing my living room like a lunatic, fists clenched at my sides, trying to convince myself not to get in the car.

She needs space. You need control.

But neither of those things wins out. I’m at her apartment by seven. I don’t even remember the drive. She opens the door wearing tiny shorts and an oversized t-shirt that’s falling off one shoulder. No makeup. Hair in a messy bun. Glowing. And smiling.

That’s all it takes. My last thread of self-control snaps. I step inside and close the door behind me without a word. She opens her mouth, maybe to say hello, maybe to tease, but I don’t let her. I grab her face in both hands and kiss her hard, backing her up until her spine hits the wall with a soft thud. Her moan isinstant, desperate, like she’s been waiting for this just as long as I have.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” I growl, voice rough against her lips. “I’ve been hard for you all fucking day, baby.” She gasps as I lift her, her legs instinctively wrapping around me.

“No panties?” I reach between us, confirming what I already knew. “You knew I’d come crawling.”

“I hoped,” she pants, nipping at my jaw. “I wanted you all day.”

“Say it again.”

“I wanted you.”

“Louder.”

“I wanted you, Reece. I fucking missed you.”

That’s it. I take her to the kitchen island that’s cold, unyielding marble. I lay her flat, shirt pressed up her body, tits bouncing free. I don’t waste time. I lean down, suck one of her pink nipples into my mouth, and bite until she gasps.

“You’re mine tonight. Understand me?” I reach down and shove two fingers inside her. “You wet for me already?”

She’s moaning, trembling. “Yes. Please.”