Page 35 of Glitched Play

"You need sleep,” he says with a firm voice, but not cold. Almost concerned like he’s concerned that I won’t be able to wake up for my first day on the job.

"You're right," I say, lifting my mug. "Goodnight, Mr. O'Ryan."

"Witt."

My breath catches for no reason at all. "What?"

"Mr. O'Ryan is inefficient. More syllables.”

I press my lips together. "Of course,” I say thinking Mr. O’Ryan doesn’t waste words or syllables—five syllables to one.

"Goodnight, Witt."

His name feels different out loud. Too intimate for a man I barely know.

His gaze holds just beyond my ear for one quiet second, before he nods. "Goodnight, Maci."

I make it all the way back to the guest room before I let out the breath stuck in my chest.

Then I shut the door, set my mug on the nightstand, and climb into bed like that will somehow force my brain to cooperate.

It doesn't.

I stare at the ceiling while Austin glows beyond the window and tomorrow waits on the other side of midnight. I should be thinking about Synatrix. About my new job. About the fact that I have to prove I belong in a company full of people smarter, faster, and probably better prepared than I am.

Instead, my mind keeps replaying the same impossible image.

Witt O'Ryan in low-slung shorts and an Armadillos tank.

Quiet.

Ripped.

Mysterious.

Suddenly, this massive penthouse seems smaller than it did an hour ago.

eight

. . .

Witt

Letter 136: Glitch

The difference between intelligence and expertise is simple. Intelligence solves problems. Expertise knows which problems matter.

I leave the penthouse at five in the morning which is normally when I get up. I usually arrive at the office by seven, but none of it matters. Because sometime around midnight, my brain decided replaying the image of Maci Hart standing barefoot in my kitchen was significantly more important than sleep.

By two a.m., I was irritated.

By four a.m., I was irritated and awake.

By four-thirty, I gave up, worked out and was in my office by five-thirty.

The solution is obvious—distance.

People are significantly less distracting when they're not standing in your kitchen wrapped in a towel.