Page 173 of Heart So Hollow

I don’t know why I’m surprised. This is his detail, after all—his turf. Just like it used to be mine. I half expect to open the door and see him already inside my office, just hanging out like he always does. The fact that he’s waiting outside the door like a normal person seems too weird—too polite—for him.

When I come to a halt in front of him, he pushes off the wall, responding to my disinterested demeanor with a slight smile. He looks me up and down, lingering at the bottom of my skirt covering my platform Espadrille sandals.

“You get taller?”

Fucking asshole.

I exhale with exasperation and open the door. I don’t even have to look at him to know he’s probably eating this up. And I’m sure that’s what he’s doing for the next three hours while someone from maintenance repairs the keypad above the door handle, discovers they don’t have the correct part, leaves to procure said part, comes back, actually repairs the door, and only then do Colson and I begin executing the security checklist.

There’s minimal talking, throughout. I try to distract myself by sending awkward texts to Barrett. She tries to remain serious and offer moral support, but I keep cracking jokes. I can’t help it. It keeps me sane and breaks the tension—for me, not Colson. I’m not sure Colson ever feels awkward about anything. He’s usually too busy making everyone else uncomfortable.

When he walks back into my office from testing the keypad next door, I set down my phone and try to compose myself after nearly descending into a fit of laughter from Barrett’s latest GIF. Colson rounds my desk and leans against the metal cabinet behind me, watching as I refresh the monitoring program that records who goes in and out of that room.

“Is it fixed?” I ask as I wait for the window to refresh.

“Yeah, it’s fixed.”

But an error code in red text keeps populating the line next to the time stamp.

“It’s still throwing an error. You could get in, right?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Piece of trash,” I mutter in frustration, closing out the browser and pulling up my Teams chat, “it has to be the software. I’ll IM Tony and see if he knows what to do.”

I finish typing my message to Tony, who manages the system, further frustrated that the yellow icon next to his name indicates he’s idle and won’t respond immediately.

“You can go now,” I say without looking up from my screen.

Colson crosses his arms in my periphery and glances out the window, “I don’t have to be on north side until 2:00.”

I should’ve IM’d Dallas instead of Tony and asked her to come get her brother out of my office. Or, better yet, I should IM Nate and tell him I’m in danger and he’s the only one who can help me.

“Sorry,” I shake my head with a bitter laugh, then my smile abruptly disappears, “get out.”

“Get out?” Colson’s voice hitches with curiosity.

“Yes,” I spit over my shoulder, “leave, before I go to HR.”

He shifts his weight and drops his hands to the edge of the cabinet, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

My head slowly swivels toward him, “Oh?” Now, the thought of him threatening me evokes aggravation rather than fear.

Colson shrugs with indifference, “You’ll just make April jealous. If you’re going to brag on me to anyone, you could pick someone better. She’ll tell everyone, and I know you wouldn’t like that.”

He’s not wrong, and I hate that I agree with him. April’s the worst HR rep I’ve ever met. She has a horrible habit of making snide comments about people that are hilarious, but totally break any shred of confidentiality that exists. She’s the reason everyone found out that the head of finance got arrested for assault in the parking lot after the Christmas party last year because she started referring to him as “Fisticuffs” at the all-staff meetings.

I don’t want to know what she would do with this nonsense.

“I don’t need this from you,” I hiss, spinning around in my chair, “I don’t need you watching me, I don’t need you touching me, and I sure as hell don’t need you gaslighting me and telling me I’m not seeing what I’m seeing!”

Colson shakes his head, “I never said you’re not seeing what you’re seeing. I believe you.”

“Then why are you acting like you haven’t been the one texting me and breaking into my car to leave me creepy gifts?”

“So, I was right,” he cracks a smile, “you do have more admirers.”

I press my mouth together, biting back a frustrated grunt, which only makes Colson smile. Maybe I was wrong when I told Barrett he’s too honest for his own good. Maybe he’s just a liar, after all, because he’s certainly lying about this.

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