Page 27 of Kisses and Paperclips

I carefully studied her face the way I’d learned to study people as a kid, like my next move depended on it.

Because sometimes it did.

Micro-expressions is what they call it now.

Back then, it was just survival.

Watching for the quick twitch of a mouth, the blink that lasted half a second too long, the moment someone’s face told the truth their voice hadn’t caught up to yet.

Was this her congratulations face?

Or her watch me snatch the rug out from under you face?

I couldn’t tell. And that scared me more than anything.

So, I did what I always do when I’m two seconds from spiraling.

I smiled.

Polite.

Pretty.

Strategic.

“What’s up?”

She squeezed my shoulder lightly, her touch as calculated as her words.

“I’ve been meaning to catch you before the meeting.”

Oh, hell.

I tilted my head, internally bracing for impact.

“Oh?”

God, leave it to me to spiral over hypotheticals with no proof, just vibes and trauma.

But still.

If I’m passed over after everything I’ve poured into Guilty Pleasures?

I don’t know if I could stay.

I was there when this company was a logo and a dream in her apartment.

We shared cheap coffee and big ambition.

I’ve built this with her.

So, the idea of being overlooked now?

It doesn’t just sting, it burns.

The room began to fill, voices low, movements measured.

That pre-meeting hum of something unspoken circling the air.

---