Page 91 of For the Plot

“You’re spiraling already,” she cuts in, tossing her napkin on her plate. “So let me ask you one thing and answer honestly. If this ended tomorrow, if he said it was just a fling and walked away… would you be okay?”

My throat tightens. “I don’t know,” I whisper.

She softens. “You gotta ask him, babe. Don’t let your feelings get crushed just because he’s scared to name his.”

I nod. But something dark curls in my gut. Because I think webothwent into this planning for it to be secret and hot. And now it’s not just sex anymore. At least… not for me.

By the time I’m back at the office, my stomach’s knotted tighter than a pretzel. Maya’s words linger in my head like static.You deserve to know where this is going… You’re not built for casual… What happens if he walks away?

I don’t want to admit how right she is. How deep I’ve fallen. How much I’m hoping for something that neither of us ever said aloud. It’s easier to pretend this is just about sex when we’re in the dark, when he’s inside me whispering things likeyou ruin meagainst my mouth like it’s a confession. But here, under the realistic light of day, it all feels so… fragile.

I drop my purse at my desk and glance toward his office. Door closed. Blinds tilted. But I can see his shadow moving across the floor like he’s pacing. Good. Maybe he’s worked up too.

I knock lightly and let myself in. He’s standing by the window, tie loosened, shirt sleeves rolled up. God, he looks good a little unraveled.

He turns when he hears me, but something in his expression is off. Tight. Guarded.

“I brought you back a lemon cookie,” I say, holding out the little white paper bag. “Thought it might sweeten your soul a little.”

He takes it, lips twitching in something that’s not quite a smile. “Thanks.”

That’s it. No flirt, no smirk, nocome here and let me bend you over this deskheat.

Just…thanks.

I force a laugh. “Jesus, don’t sound so excited.”

His jaw clenches. “I’ve just got a lot on my plate.”

“Right.” I shift on my heels, suddenly nervous. “Um… I was thinking. Maybe we could go out sometime?”

His brow furrows. “Out?”

“Yeah. Like… dinner. A real one. Not takeout while we pretend we don’t hear the interns in the hallway.”

He stares at me. And just like that, my stomach drops. “Might be nice,” I add quickly, trying to make it sound casual. “A change of scenery. No pressure or anything.”

He doesn’t answer right away. He just looks down at the cookie in his hand like it’s going to burn him.

“Skye…”

I brace myself. But before he can finish, his phone rings. He glances at it. His jaw tightens further. “It’s Archer. I need to take this.”

“Oh.” I step back, throat dry. “Yeah, of course.”

He gives me a nod that’s way too professional for a man who had me begging for more on my knees less than twenty-four hours ago. I walk out, cheeks burning, heart pounding. And I don’t go back in the rest of the day.

Not because he told me to. But because I can’t stand to be near him when he’s acting like this—like I’m a mistake he’s trying to undo.

I bury myself in data entry and vendor invoices, ignoring the ache behind my ribs. Ignoring the way my body still feels stretched and sore from the way he took me. Ignoring the voice in my head that keeps whispering,You knew this would happen. You knew this was never going to be real.

By the time I get home, I’ve convinced myself it’s fine. I light a candle. Open a bottle of wine. I text Maya a picture of me making grilled cheese with a smiley face even though I’ve barely taken a bite.

But the second I sit down, my composure cracks. The wine hits my bloodstream and the silence gets loud.

You deserve to know where this is going…

I pick up my phone and scroll through old texts. There’s one from him a few days ago that still makes my chest ache.