“Maybe he’s in WITSEC,” Joy says deadpan, like she’s already planning to testify at my competency hearing. “New identity. Terrible name. Very on-brand for you.”
“He’s not in witness protection.” I roll my eyes. “And if he was, hewouldn’t be living in Texas, and he certainly wouldn’t pick CraigfreakingMiller as his alias.”
Joy hums, unimpressed. “I mean, if the goal was to sound aggressively boring, mission accomplished.”
“He did it to annoy me,” I mutter, glaring at the glass revolving doors, willing Bennett Bradley to dare step a foot outside. “And I hate him for it. And who does he think he is”—my voice jumps an octave—“posing like some big-shot financial advisor, schmoozing the wealthy, and then looking at me likeI’mthe one who doesn’t belong?”
Joy flicks an almond at my lap. “You’re spiraling. Eat that before you start quoting Taylor Swift lyrics.”
I stuff the almond in my mouth. It doesn’t help.
“I just— He was never the corporate type,” I grumble. “Whyfinanceof all things?”
We sit quietly, watching people hustle in and out of the building. My lunch break is ticking away fast. Another five minutes pass. Ben still doesn’t appear.
I slump lower in my seat and mutter, “Maybe he doesn’t eat lunch.”
Then Joy straightens with a wicked grin. “I’ve got it,” she says. “Order Uber Eats to the lobby under his name. He’ll have to come down to get it. And you”—she points dramatically at me—“you intercept the delivery. Instant confrontation.”
I blink at her. “That’s... brilliant.”
She shrugs. “I know.”
Excitement surges through me. I open the app, order a sandwich under “Craig Miller” from the closest restaurant, and sit back, heart thundering. This is it. This is how I get answers. Not feelings. Not clarity on why Ben’s infuriating smirk still makes my pulse jump. Nope. Definitely not thinking about him. I’m cool. Calm. This is peak professional focus. I’m like a Bond girl if she had student loans and an overactive conscience.
“It’s kind of cute,” Joy says. “You know—classic enemies-to-lovers story.”
I wrinkle my nose. “If by cute you mean the time he released my aunt and uncle’s deranged rooster in my bedroom, then yes. Total fairy tale.”
A sharp laugh bursts from Joy’s lips, which to her credit she quickly covers with her hand across her mouth, but the laughter is swimming in her expression.
“It’s not funny,” I grumble, fighting my own smile at the memory. “Kentucky Fried showed no mercy coming after us kids. He—”
“Kentucky Fried?” Joy squeaks between her fingers, and that’s it. She doubles over in laughter and it’s contagious. I’m laughing, too, even though nothing about my aunt and uncle’s deranged rooster is comical. I still have nightmares, but it feels good to laugh.
“Have I told you about my new book?”
Relief washes over me. Books are a safe subject. One I’m happy to discuss as opposed to the unsafe topic of Ben. BenfreakingBradley. Yep. It works that way too.
“So this book...” Joy’s lip quirks and I recognize my mistake immediately. She doesn’t give up that easily. “It’s about jungle warfare and there’s a section on psychological methods for information extraction.”
“Fascinating,” I deadpan.
She stares at me. I stare at her. It’s a showdown and I refuse to bend.
Joy shrugs. “Fine. If you don’t want to tell me that Ben was the love of your life. The one who got away. The one who broke your heart. The one you’ve been praying about...” Her eyes sparkle and mine begin to twitch. “The one you thought you lost forever but who has now returned and—”
My phone buzzes with a notification that the Uber driver is arriving—perfect timing.
“It’s time,” Joy says, her tone flat like a mafia boss giving final orders. “Ready?”
“Yes. No,” I say, suddenly unsure of the plan. “I don’t know.”
A chocolate-covered almond hits my forehead.
“Hey!” I rub the spot and then grab the candy from my lap and pop it into my mouth. “We don’t waste chocolate.”
She turns to me, voice low and dead serious. “March over there. Be polite. Be direct. Be the reason he needs therapy.”
