Page 48 of Wells

The words hit harder than an explicit command would have. My chest tightens. I remember how he used to want me, but something in me leans harder into this, being asked for nothing except to stay.

The oldest part of me doesn't trust that. It whispers that if the hunger changes, the leaving comes next.

"I'm not trying to be weird about this. I just noticed things changed. You don't ask me to do anything anymore. You just, I don't know, seem less interested. Which is fine. I mean it. But if you are tired of me, you can just say so. You don't have to keep logging on out of politeness or habit or whatever."

My heartbeat climbs into my throat. I sound too calm, too light. I've built a life out of pretending I'm not exposed when I am.

"I'm not tired of you, Peoria. And I'm definitely not less interested. I want you to know I come here for our 'dates,' as you call them, for more than just to get off. I like you."

"I like you, too."

"Will you sleep with me tonight?"

"What?" I ask, not sure I heard him correctly.

"I want to fall asleep together tonight. Would you do that with me?"

I think about sleeping in this make-up and a mask and this wig. What if I doze off and something comes off?

"If you're okay with me turning off my screen. I'm not sure I could fall asleep with a camera on me."

"That would be fine. I want to fall asleep to your breathing."

"Okay." I stand and head inside, setting the laptop on the bathroom counter. Without warning, I turn off the camera and start taking off my makeup.

"You still there?" I ask as I wipe the smoky eye shadow off my eyelid with a makeup remover pad.

"Yes, Peoria. I'm still here. I'm not going anywhere."

Wells walks into my workspace Friday morning without knocking. I'm used to him doing it, but he still startles me.

"We're flying to Tampa today to work. I need you to go home and pack a bag because we will stay the night."

I look up from my screen. He's already got his jacket on, a leather bag slung over one shoulder, and his expression hands me nothing.

"Sorry, what?"

"Our Gulf-East terminal flagged unauthorized access on its systems an hour ago. I'm not running a port breach from a thousand miles out. I already have the jet ready for us."

I sit back, not really understanding what this has to do with me. I have nothing to do with systems security. "And I'm going why?"

"Because Rotterdam's due in a week and I'm not surrendering two days to a flight I have to take regardless." He says it like a logistics problem, nothing underneath it. "We work it on the plane. We work it tonight. You keep us on track while I deal with the terminal. Unless you'd rather make up the time with another all-nighter once I'm back."

The last all-nighter ended with me bent over that desk, and the memory drops low and hot before I can shut it down. I wonder if he's remembering it too, but his face is a blank canvas.

"I'll be at the terminal this afternoon for a few hours, and probably first thing tomorrow, most of the morning. You'll have a nice room, all the amenities, even a massage if you want, and the quiet to push the build while I'm gone."

"So is this work or a lavish vacation?"

"I want to make it worth your while if I'm asking you to work overtime again, on your weekend, no less."

"If it comes with a massage and room service, I'm in."

"Go home, pack for one night, and I'll have a car pick you up in an hour. Does that work? We'll be back in New Orleans by early afternoon tomorrow."

As soon as I get to my car, I call Locke. "Please answer, please answer," I say into the ringing phone.

"Hey, babe," he answers on the fourth ring.