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A pair of hazel eyes flash in my mind, the same ones that have haunted my dreams for weeks. I can still hear his deep voice, whispering sweet words before cruelly kicking me out. Just thinking about what we did—and where his fingers were—has me flinching with embarrassment.

Of course I told Paige the bare minimum. Besides the faceless strangers I game with online, she’s my only friend.

Licking my lips nervously, I pull away and head into the bathroom. “It just... set me back a little. But it’s fine, I promise. I’m fine.”

Zig Ziglar once wrote, ‘Repetition is the mother of learning, the father of action, which makes it the architect of accomplishment.’ The more I tell myself I’m fine, the more I’ll believe it.

Paige watches me, unconvinced, as I dip my head into the sink, washing the sticky gel out of my fading purple strands.

I really hope that if I keep saying it out loud, eventually, everyone else will believe it, too.

CalTek sits smack in the middle of downtown Seattle’s business district, with a breathtaking view of Elliott Bay. The building itself is made of silver glass and sleek metal arches, twisted in an artsy-fartsy way that probably cost millions. At the very top, there’s a tower where the CEO supposedly reigns supreme while the rest of the peasants toil away in cubicles and labs below.

Paige leads me through the massive sliding glass doors, and the lobby opens into a sprawling atrium. A towering white oak tree stretches toward a glass ceiling, surrounded by lush greenery lining the curved walkways. I pause near a fern, brushing its delicate leaves, and Paige nudges my shoulder with a grin.

“They’re all real,” she says, gesturing to the glass ceiling above us. “The architects used smart glass that adjusts the light. It’s tintable and controlled by an app.”

I nod, falling into step behind her. “I read about that. CalTek developed the software, right?”

“Yep. It’s our bread and butter.”

She greets the security team at the front desk, introducing me briefly while I study the plants with my hands shoved into my pockets. The lobby buzzes with energy, the sound of voices and footsteps blending into a dull static in my ears. I feel bad for the plants stuck in this fishbowl of a building. You’d think it’d be hard to grow with hundreds of eyes watching you every day, but they’re probably made of sturdier stuff than I am.

“Ronin Callahan must be, like, a gazillionaire,” I mutter once we’re alone again, referencing the company’s CEO.

Paige huffs a dry laugh, grabbing a radio before leading me into a glass elevator in the middle of the lobby. “He’s no Bezos or Gates, but he’s definitely up there.”

“And does his majesty ever come down from the ivory tower?”

She shoots me an unimpressed look. “Sparingly. I’ve seen him maybe ten times in five years. He handles the big-picture stuff and leaves day-to-day decisions to Declan and Ry.”

“Right, the two princes looking for a lackey. Which is why I’m here.”

“Shilo, enough.”

As the glass elevator rises, I wish it would take us right through the roof, like in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.

Just yeet me the frick outta here.

“You’ll like Declan, he’s super chill,” Paige assures me, smoothing a wrinkle on my shirt. “Ry is… a little abrasive at first, but he grows on you.”

I scoff, pointing at her. “That’s just a nice way of saying he’s a massive dick, but you get used to it.”

She laughs as the elevator dings, opening up to a fancy lounge with bright furniture. “I’m still not used to hearing you swear. It sounds weird. Like a toddler cursing.”

“You should hear what people say when I game online. It’d make your hair curl.”

“No thanks, I get enough of that working with IT guys all day.”

She leads me to a set of double doors labeled Conference Room Alpha before pausing to fuss over my appearance.

“You should’ve left the gel in. You need a haircut, Igs.” She pushes a loose strand of hair back from my face and grins when I bat her hand away. “How about we put in some fresh dye this weekend?”

“Fine. And you’ll repaint my nails?”

Paige grabs my hands, frowning at the chipped purple polish. “Only if you stop biting them. You’re ruining my handiwork, jerk face.”

“No promises.”