She looked at me over the rim of her glass. “You’re being suspiciously quiet.”
“I’m hungover.”
“Still, you’re glowing. Which is weird.”
“I’m sweating the alcohol.” Rosenarrowed her eyes. “You got a morning text, didn’t you?” I raised a brow. “What makes you think that?”
“Because you haven’t stopped checking your phone, you look like your head is a mess, and you are barely touching your food, which means you’re nervous.” I sighed, then slid my phone across the table like it was Exhibit A in my emotional trial. She read the text and gasped.
“Oh, a goodnight text? Oh my God. That’s even better than a morning text.” I nodded, sipping my iced coffee to avoid smiling. “First time he texted me.”
“And he used your government name?” Her eyes widened. “Sam, that’s… something? I mean, it’s CEO-appropriate but also, like, low-key swoony.” I shrugged, but the blush was creeping up my neck. Rose leaned in. “Okay, but do we think it’s just post-coital etiquette, or are we entering the land of feelings?”
I stared at the bubbles in my mimosa. “That’s the million-dollar question.” She reached over and squeezed my hand. “You don’t have to answer it today. But I’m here for every chapter of this love story, bestie.” I laughed, finally relaxing for the first time since slipping out of Theo’s hotel room. “Thanks,” I said. “Also, next time I even consider sleeping with someone I technically report to, slap me.”
“Oh, I will,” she said sweetly. “But I’ll also bring wine and ask for every single detail.” I smiled, knowing she meant it. And knowing, deep down, I’dalready decided to keep writing this story, mess and all.
I kicked off my sneakers by the door, my apartment still smelled faintly of dry shampoo, last night’s perfume, and the citrus candle I forgot to blow out. My phone buzzed. I reached for it without thinking, thumb already swiping the screen.
Theodore Jones: Good morning.
Did you sleep well? How are you feeling today?
I blinked at the words. Good morning? Sleep well? How was I feeling? Was this him being cute? I grinned, sinking deeper into the couch and stretching my legs out.
Me: Are we texting now? Is this a thing?
His response came almost instantly.
Theodore Jones: We are.
Is that aproblem?
Me: Not at all. Just want to make sure this is part of our… updated terms and conditions.
A little late-night sin, followed by polite morning follow-up?
Theodore Jones: You forgot something.
Also includes: ongoing anticipation, occasional professional tension, and the promise of more.
I laughed softly. God, he was good at this.
Me: Is that in the fine print?
Theodore Jones: No.
That’s in bold. Underlined. Red ink.
I could picture him as I read it, smirking, composed, leaning back somewhere with that damn confident look he wore like a second suit.
Me: Then I guess I’ll read the full document next time. Thoroughly. Line by line.
Three dots blinked for a long moment.
Theodore Jones: Careful, Samantha. I might hold you to that.
I set my phone down for a second, staring at the ceiling with a stupid grin on my face.
