Chapter 13
THIRTEEN
The gentle strains of Ludovico Einaudi’s “Adieux” flutter into my consciousness, gently nudging me from sleep. I linger in the comfort of my bed, the covers drawn up to my chin, feeling bewildered and still somewhat fuzzy from the meds.
How exactly did I end up back in my bed last night?
The last snippet of memory I have is of dozing off on the couch, the guys’ voices a soothing background hum. My mind scrambles to piece together the missing steps from couch to bed.
Did Oliver carry me again?
The thought sends a warm flush across my cheeks. The idea of being in his arms, even just briefly, stirs something pleasantly unsettling in the pit of my stomach.
The way he smelled so good.
I’d love to lick his throat to find out if he tastes just as exquisite.
Jamie’s familiar voice breaks through my morning fog and inappropriate thoughts. “Good morning, Amelia. Misha instructed me to wake you. They will be over in an hour with breakfast and plan to work from here today.”
Work from here?
Like, in my bed?
I groan, feeling way too groggy for this kind of conversation. The thought of them feeling obligated to hover around me out of guilt twists a knot in my gut. I need my space back and to return to my routine without the weight of their pity.
After taking a quick shower and changing into jeans and a light blue sweater, I grab my phone to shoot a message into the new group chat.
Hey guys, I’m heading to work. Thank you again for yesterday, really appreciated it.
Before I can slip the phone into my pocket, it vibrates.
Misha
Naw, I was looking forward to the croissants.
I roll my eyes, a small smile betraying my annoyance.
Grey
You sure? How do you feel?
Choosing to sidestep Grey’s inquiry, not wanting to encourage their fussing, even though I still feel shitty, I send a quick, decisive reply.
Sorry. Have a nice day.
Misha
:(
Fuck. That hurt my heart.
Stuffing my phone into my jeans, I try to stifle the tiny bloom of sadness that Oliver hadn’t chimed in. He’s probably just as eager as I am to return to normalcy, not wanting to blur the lines between professional and personal further.
Sure, you so don’t want that, Amelia.
As I’m about to head out of my apartment, Jamie asks, “Stepping out, Amelia?”
“Yes, off to work,” I reply, adjusting my smartwatch, which also doubles as my door key.
“Would you like a weather update before you go?”
I chuckle at his eagerness, even though I can see through the window that it’s sunny outside. “Sure, what’s the forecast, Jamie?”
“Sunny with a slight chance of needing sunglasses,” he quips, and I can almost hear the smirk in his voice.
“Very funny. Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind,” I say in farewell, grinning all the way down the elevator and out of the building.
I walk the few feet over to the other side of the street and Elysium. The lobby is buzzing with the soft hum of colleagues in their morning rush. It’s familiar and, in a way, reassuringly predictable.
But I feel more eyes on me than usual and even hear my name whispered. I can’t help feeling out of place, as if I’ve stepped out of one world and into another where I don’t belong, either.
Hendricks is waiting for me by the elevator with a lifted eyebrow and a head tilt that reads more like a diagnosis than a greeting. Concern is etched deep in his features.
“Good morning,” I greet, attempting a smile as we catch an elevator up to our floor. The ride up feels slower today, or maybe it’s just my heartbeat filling the silence between us.
He’s always quiet. Why does it feel strange today?
“You all right?” Hendricks’s voice cuts through my thoughts, and I nod, more out of reflex than honesty. His question confirms that my ordeal is public knowledge by now.
Fuck.
Hendricks always eats lunch at his desk to avoid socializing. So if he knows…
Everyone knows.
Perfect, just perfect.
We step out of the elevator and head toward our shared office. Inside, I let my backpack thump next to my desk chair and sink into it with a sigh. The familiar startup sounds of my computer are oddly comforting.
This is fine, Amelia. Just drown in work and forget the whispers.
But only about thirty minutes later, I get pulled out of my coding when Dr. Cockwomble himself strides in. Keeping my eyes on the screen, I hope he’s here to talk with Hendricks, but he comes to a stand next to me, and I can feel his gaze on the side of my face.
Ugh.
I should have stayed at home.
I could have been lounging on the couch with three genius, good-looking men around me, but no, I chose to be here—with him.
He perches on the edge of my desk with his signature loom, his eyebrows knitting together in concern as thin as tissue paper as he asks, “Heard you had quite the adventure. Feeling better today?”
“Yes, thank you,” I manage, keeping my voice neutral despite the irritation bubbling inside me.
“You know, you could have taken the day off. I would have been happy to bring you any work you needed,” he continues, his tone dripping with something unsettlingly solicitous.
What a complete twat.
“That’s… kind but unnecessary. Thank you,” I reply, my polite tone just as contrived.
His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Glad to hear our AI friends took good care of you. How’s the project going?
They told me yesterday you’ll need to beta some more.
Seems they’re not as perfect as they think, huh?
” He chuckles, and his eyes light up with a gleam that’s too close to malicious delight for comfort.
I clench my jaw, resisting the urge to snap at him. But giving him gossip about the men who came to my rescue yesterday will never happen.
When I don’t say anything, he holds my gaze a moment longer, his eyes eventually drifting down my body in a slow, deliberate scan that makes my stomach turn.
“You should keep hydrated and catch up on the work you missed yesterday,” he finally says, standing up to leave. His voice is smooth as oil but just as unpleasant.
As he walks away, I turn back to my screen, my fingers itching to type something, anything, to cleanse my palate of the interaction. So, I do and dive back into the code that doesn’t have a single use for fake smiles and insincere sentiments.
A while later, my phone buzzes with a message from Misha, breaking my concentration once more.
Misha
Ready for lunch?
I glance at the message but decide against responding. I’m deep in code, and honestly, I haven’t even taken my usual coffee break, mostly because I wanted to avoid the cafeteria—too many curious eyes, possibly including Oliver’s.
A few minutes later, a knock at the office door catches me off guard. Hendricks looks up from his sandwich, as surprised as I am.
No one knocks at our office without a scheduled meeting.
He shrugs, crumbs on his lips, and I get up to answer it. Misha’s bright grin greets me from the threshold, with Oliver and Grey looming behind him. My heart does that annoying little flip at the sight of them.
Silly thing.
“Hey… what are you doing here?” I ask, masking my confusion with a half-smile.
“We’re taking you to lunch. Looks like you lost track of time,” Misha replies, his grin broadening. “Don’t worry. It happens to Oliver all the time.”
I shake my head. “Sorry, I didn’t think lunch was necessary today. I haven’t got anything to report. You probably know more than I do after my series of naps yesterday.” I try to joke about it, but the memory of my helplessness irks me.
Misha’s grin doesn’t fade. “It’s just lunch. Casual, remember?”
Casual. Right.
I’ve never really grasped what that’s supposed to mean.
“No, thank you,” I say, trying to maintain a light tone.
But Misha doesn’t budge, his grin persistent. “Come on, Amelia. I’m buying.”
I glance at Oliver, who quickly looks away when our eyes meet.
I thought we were over this since I slept with my head in your lap.
Or maybe that made him uncomfortable and the situation even worse.
Awesome.
Grey, on the other hand, watches me with a challenging expression that says he’s not taking no for an answer.
Ah, bloody hell.
I so don’t want to do this—the whispers, the wrong kind of attention of my high school days all over again. But avoiding the situation might fuel more speculation. The only thing that’s worse than going is not going—a lesson learned from my high school years as well.
“Fine,” I relent, my sigh heavy with resignation as I grab my backpack. “But remember where you buying me lunch has brought us? I’ll pick my own this time.”
Oliver snickers at my comment, and even Grey’s lips twitch into a smirk.
That wasn’t supposed to be funny.
“All right, as long as you come with,” Misha agrees cheerfully, stepping to the side to let me step out in the hallway with them.
Grey looks pointedly at my backpack, his tone turning serious. “Did they give you a new EpiPen?”
I feel my cheeks heat up at his concern. “Yes, they did.”
Let’s just hope I won’t need this one ever.
“Good. Let’s go,” Grey commands, leading the way as I follow, my mind racing.
Maybe it won’t be so bad.
Maybe I can handle this after all.
We pass the cylindrical aquarium in the hallway near my office with the nine-hundred-ninety-six siblings of the four neon tetras I’ve rehomed in my apartment.
Behind me, Misha’s voice breaks the silence that hung between us. “Oh, look, Amelia, they’re the same kind of fish you have. Just a lot more of them.”
I stiffen at his words, a chill running down my spine.
Did he connect the dots?
Turning slightly, I catch Oliver giving Misha a sharp elbow to the ribs. Misha winces, then chuckles, a glint of mischief in his eyes when he meets my gaze.
Dammit.
Without halting my stride to the lift, I manage a cool, “I noticed.”
I really should get to it, grabbing some more. Or this will take years.
If OMG have pieced together where my new-finned friends are from, I need to accelerate my efforts.
They might rat me out before I’ve managed to save enough of them.
How many are enough?
All of them.