Page 16 of Make Them Cry
He doesn’t move away. He just stands there, so close I can count the tiny stubble along his jaw. His fingers rest lightly on the counter beside mine, and I’m suddenly hyperaware of everything—his hand, his shoulder, the way his chest rises and falls just a breath behind me.
The machine gurgles out exactly half a cup.
He grabs the mug and holds it out toward me, the steam curling between us like smoke from something about to catch fire.
“For you, milady,” he says, voice low and teasing, but there’s something else underneath it. Somethingcharged. “I’ll take the sacrifice.”
I reach for the mug, fingers brushing his.
The contact is light. Barely a touch. But itlingers.
My skin tingles where we connect—ridiculous, fleeting heat like he short-circuited me with a graze.
Our eyes meet.
Neither of us speaks for a moment too long. The air between us stretches tight. He tilts his head just slightly, gaze dropping to my mouth before snapping back up like he caught himself.
I pull the mug toward me like it’s a shield. “You never give me the first cup,” I say, hating how breathy it comes out.
He shrugs, slow and smug. “Don’t read into it.”
Oh, I amdefinitelyreading into it.
And now I’m not sure if I want to slap him or kiss him—or maybe both, depending on the order.
“You’re weird today,” I say.
He smiles wider. “You’re welcome.”
I head back to my desk feeling… lighter. Which is suspicious. Any moment now the universe is going to slap me for eventhinkingI can breathe.
I settle into my chair, open my laptop, and scan my emails.
Ninety-three unread.
Cool. Normal. Everything is burning and no one is doing anything about it.
Then Slack pings.
#general
@everyone anyone else seeing that River Quinn interview?
My stomach drops.
I click. I shouldn’t click.
But I do.
A video loads. It’s me—or itlookslike me. I’m sitting in the NovaPlay press room, wearing the same blue blouse I wore to the launch panel last quarter. Same posture. Same voice.
Except the voice isn’t mine.
“I mean… yeah, sometimes you just have to sleep with the right people to get ahead.”
Laughter from the fake audience. My face smiling. Like it’strue.
“No,” I whisper. “No, no, no.”
