She takes a step in, her scent too sweet and suffocating. “Because if it’s… stress,” Shaina says, letting the word linger, “I could help. We used to be good at helping each other.”
My jaw ticks. “Not right now.”
“Is it because ofher?”
I look up. “Excuse me?”
“You barely look at me anymore. You barely talk to me. I’m not blind.”
My fingers drum once on the desk, then stop. “Mind your business, Ms. Reed.”
“So itisher.” There’s a quick flash of triumph on her face, then something pettier. “You know this is how it starts, right? You get a crush on the new girl and blow up your whole?—”
“That’s enough, Shaina. Whatever this is, it’s not a conversation I’m having with you.”
Shaina flinches, then recovers, taking another two steps closer, testing the boundary. “I’m just saying I could help you relax. We were good, Worth. Weworked.”
I stand, palms flat on the desk. “We were a mistake I let run too long. That’s on me.”
Color climbs her neck. “So that’s it.”
“That should’ve beenita while ago.” I keep my tone even. “And it has nothing to do with anyone else.”
Her eyes rake my face, looking for a crack. “You’re sure about that?”
No. “Yes.”
She laughs once, humorless. “This is unbelievable.”
“Shaina,” I say, quieter, because I don’t want to be cruel, just done, “go back to your desk. We’re finished. Professionally, you’ll keep doing your job. Personally, there is nothing here.”
For a heartbeat, I think Shaina will argue. Instead, her mouth flattens. “Right. Got it.”
She turns on her heel, yanks the door open, then leaves.
I sink back into my chair and stare at the ceiling, pressing my thumb against my throbbing temple.
HR disaster count: potentially two.
I spendSaturday in the shed, pretending banging on wood will solve things.
This project has been sitting half-started for months: a built-in cedar window bench for the breakfast nook, with hidden storage for Bri’s art supplies. I told myself I’d finish it “when the schedule clears.” The schedule never clears. But today I need my hands busy.
I clamp a board, measure it twice, and cut once. The miter saw whines and fresh cedar dust lifts like smoke. I run a palm along the edge, feel a burr, and reach for the block plane. Shavings curl to the floor as I refine the wood.
My phone buzzes on the workbench, skittering against a box of screws. Unknown number.
I don’t need the contact info to know who it is. I let out a sigh. It vibrates once more, then I swipe.
“What do you want, Vanessa?"
“Don’t hang up,” she rushes out. “I want to see Brianna.”
“I told you I’m not doing this.”
“If you agree, I’ll get on a flight back to the States right away.”
So she’s still in Asia. My PI said Tokyo, then Bangkok. I keep my voice flat. “Even more reason to say no. You’re not even in the country.”