Page 62 of New Nebraska Heat

My breath caught, stomach coming alive with a rush of fluttering wings.

“So, uh, anyway, moving on,” Seb blurted out and cleared his throat turning his laptop to face me. He tapped a couple of buttons. “I’ve been working on a few mockups, but right now, I’m really feeling this one.” He zoomed in on one of four quickly color-blocked mockups on the screen. “I thought we could play into the whole Midas Greek myth angle.”

I bit the inside of my cheek. He’d just started leaning toward that option, huh? Did that mean hehadheard my Adonis talk?

Not that I was complaining about the topic. I had a limited education, thanks to my foster parents, but Greek mythology—the watered-down versions anyway—had been sixth grade material and something I’d gotten interested in because of art. This I could work with.

“I’ve been…” He let out a bashful laugh and adjusted his glasses. “Well, I’ve been playing this new fantasy game,Hades, andI’ve been geeking out over the character design, and it’s gotten me back into all the mythology. I guess I just can’t get it out of my head.”

I smiled so big it hurt, trying to restrain a laugh in case he took it the wrong way. “You’re a gamer?”

He flushed. “Yeah. The extra nerdy kind. I don’t go for first-person shooters.”

“No, of course. I mean, there’s no good lore to research in those games,” I teased. “They’re boring.”

He laughed. “Exactly.”

To break the magnetic pull of his grin, I leaned toward the screen.

I loved his design’s simplicity. Midas was written in gleaming gold font at the top, with a map of New Nebraska below the same shade.

I looked up at him, to give him the praise he deserved. “Wow, I love it. Great start. But it needs a slogan, and maybe you could lean more into the Greek thing and spruce up the border with some olive leaves or a laurel motif?”

His eyes sparked and he nodded. “Yeah, yeah, I like it.” He turned the screen back toward him and started working the mouse. “Any brainstorms for the slogan?”

I tapped my chin. “Hmm. I think we should pull a total one-eighty from the Temple, and go with something that implies equality. The news is supposed to be objective, which means treating everyone with equal integrity.”

We spit-balled for the next half hour. But it wasn’t until we settled on laurels instead of olive branches that the idea came to me.

“Hey! What if it’s a play on both motifs—Midas and crowning winners?” I spread my palms out like a ticker-tap banner and said, “Midas News: You’re Golden.”

His mouth dropped open. “Holy shit, it’s perfect.” A loud tut came from the doorway. Then a slow, mocking knock on the door. “Knock, knock. Hello, you two. And Serenity, so nice to see you again. Is this what you get up to when you’re not causing mayhem?”

I turned to find Monique’s towering figure in the doorway, her slender arms folded, flawless teeth peeking between pristine red lipstick. She wore a marigold pantsuit that fitted her catwalk figure perfectly. Brushing her shimmering locks behind her shoulders, she leaned into the door frame, crossing her long legs at the ankles. She clasped a chunky hardback book in one hand, its cover blood red and font like a horror novel. I could just make out the title:The Rancor of Humanity. The author’s name was Clyde Brunton, or maybe Blanton, I couldn’t see properly around her dainty, bejeweled hand.

I’d—kind of—fought off two of New Nebraska’s most dangerous gangster-vampires just two nights before. She was nothing I should have worried about, in comparison. Yet I still felt intimidated. I wanted to flip her off as casually as Dagger would have, but I couldn’t. My fingers refused.

The best I could manage was subtle sarcasm. “Hello, Monique. Nice to see you too.”

She sauntered to Seb’s desk in two strides and sneered down at our logo. “Please tell me you’ve come up with better than that. And what’s wrong with the old ones, anyway? Nobody’s complained about them, that I know of.”

Leaning over, her platinum tresses tickling Seb’s hand, she pinched his cheek like he was a helpless boy to be toyed with. “Careful not to make too many waves.” Her tone turned cold, and I swore her mint-scented breath lowered the office temperature by ten degrees. “That’s when you can get out of your depth.”

Seb took hold of her hand and pushed it away slowly but firmly, then he scooted his chair back, clear of the hair dancing across his shirt sleeves. His voice was polite but formal. “I’m sorry, Ms. Glenmore, but I don’t appreciate you touching me. Or talking to me like that. I respect your boundaries and I expect the same in return.If you can’t act professionally, I’ll have to lodge a formal complaint with Mr. Harding. Now, if you don’t mind, we’re working.”

I raised a brow and leaned back, admiring him. He’d totally flattened her, without raising his voice or breaking workplace etiquette. The scowl on Monique’s face was priceless.

I put my hand to my mouth, thinking I should hide my smirk rather than goad her further.

Straightening and sashaying to the door, she turned and pointed a glowing frost fingernail at Seb’s logo. “That won’t change anything, you’ll see.” She swept her hair back and turned, calling back over her shoulder as she left, “And the only men who talk to me like that are either blind or gay. Which are you?”

What an arr—

“Arrogant bitch?” Seb asked.

“It’s like you read my mind.”

After a beat, we both burst into laughter.