The handle turned and I went quiet.
The door opened and she walked in, late and out of dress code.
Skin tight dress with high heels, hair done up and that fucking rat dog in her arms like she was walking into brunch instead of work.
On the other end of the phone, Dillon exhaled slowly. “…she there?”
I kept my eyes on her.
“Yes,” I said, voice flat.
“Good,” he replied, the line went dead.
I lowered the phone and set it on the desk with care, my attention never leaving her.
“Aurora,” I said evenly. “What are you wearing?”
She stepped further into the room, completely unbothered.
“What do you mean?”
“Your outfit.”
She glanced down at herself. “What about it?”
“It’s inappropriate.”
She looked back up at me, unimpressed. “Is it? My cleavage is covered.”
“It’s inappropriate,” I repeated. “Go see if Lavender has a sweater or something.”
She let out a loud, dramatic exhale, shifting her weight like I was asking too much of her.
“Oh my God, Marley. It’s just arms and legs.”
“I’m not arguing with you, Aurora. This is wildly inappropriate and don’t even get me started on the rat.”
“Service dog.”
My eye twitched. “Go get covered up. Now.”
That should’ve been the end of it but of course, it wasn’t.
She didn’t move. Instead, she stepped closer.
“You know,” she said softer. “I think it has nothing to do with how I dress.”
I stayed still, letting her talk.
“I think,” she continued, tilting her head slightly, studying me. “Subconsciously, you still wanna fuck me.”
I kept my face blank.
“But you feel guilty about that,” she went on, closing the distance enough to test me. “So instead of dealing with it, you’re taking it out on me.”
“That so?”
“Yes,” she said, holding my gaze. “That’s exactly what I think.”
