15.0
"Amira." His voice came low, steady. Not tentative like it used to be when he'd call after midnight years ago, testing the waters. No—this was older, heavier, Brooks.
"You always say my name like that," I said, trying to keep the edge light. "Like you're about to deliver bad news."
A chuckle rumbled through the line. "Maybe it's just habit. You think I should lead with something sweeter?"
"Wouldn't hurt," I said.
"I'll try again then. Hey beautiful."
My lips pressed together, fighting a smile that was already there. I shook my head, staring down at the faint scratches on the staff breakroom table.
I didn't answer, because if I let myself laugh he'd hear more than I wanted him to. Silence worked as armor, even on the phone. But Brooks had always known how to sit in silence without fidgeting, without needing to fill it.
"What are you doing?" he asked finally.
"Counting the seconds until my break's over."
"Did you eat?"
"No."
"You better not be skipping meals, Amira."
The way he said my name carried something between scolding and concern, like he was still entitled to it.
I rolled my eyes at the breakroom wall. "You're not my dad."
"I'm not trying to be," he said, low. "I'm just saying I can hear it through the phone that you haven't."
I leaned back, pressing my head against the chair. "That's not something you can hear through the phone."
"You'd be surprised what I still hear." His pause stretched long enough for me to picture his mouth quirking at the corner, the exact way it always did when he thought he knew me better than I knew myself.
I bit down a sigh. "Don't start."
"I'm not starting," Brooks said. "I'm remembering."
The word landed heavier than I wanted it to. Remembering. Like he carried all of it in his back pocket while I tried every day not to.
I didn't reply, and for a moment all I could hear was the faint hum of voices outside the breakroom door and the tick of the old clock above me.
"Amira." He said it again, softer.
"What?"
"You sound tired."
I smirked, a sharp little thing to cut through the weight in my chest. "Thanks. That's exactly what a woman wants to hear."
He chuckled, warm and husky. "Not what I meant. Just... long day?"
"They're always long."
"I know the feeling." His voice shifted, lighter now. "Though mine come with a driver and someone who brings me coffee, so I can't complain."
I let out a small laugh before I could stop it, then pressed my lips together. "Right. Must be hard, future VP."
"Harder than you think." He sounded amused, but there was something under it, something unguarded.
Silence again. My heart picked up, traitorous thing. I wanted to steer us back to safer ground, but the question that had been needling me for days slipped out instead.
"Brooks," I said slowly, "you really expect me to believe that in years of being with Margot—married—you two have done nothing together?"
The air thinned between us, the kind of quiet that made my palms itch.
When he answered, his voice was deliberate, stripped of charm. "I didn't say we haven't done anything. I said I haven't done anything."
I blinked at the scratched tabletop, my throat dry. "That's the same thing."
"No." He was steady, firm. "It's not."
The breakroom door creaked open and shut again, one of the girls ducking out, laughter fading down the hall. I stared at the closed door as if it could give me an answer he couldn't.
"That's hard to believe," I whispered.
"Shouldn't be that hard to believe," Brooks said. "It's the truth."
The words sat between us like a dare.
A slow heat crept up my neck. I hated myself for asking, hated him for answering like that—half-answers, lined with things he'd never say out loud. The silence sat there, thick, until I broke it with the ugliest thing in my chest.
"What," I said, my voice sharper than I meant, "she's sucked your dick?"
The line went dead quiet. No breath, no laugh, nothing.
I closed my eyes. "There's my answer." I bit out a small, bitter laugh. "Gross, by the way."
It wasn't just disgust. It was the twist low in my stomach, the unwelcome tug of jealousy I didn't want to name. Four years and I still cared enough to burn.
"Amira—"
But the clock above the door ticked louder, dragging me back. My break was over. The hum of dryers and chatter outside the breakroom had picked up again, the world moving on whether I wanted to or not.
"I have to go," I cut in.
"Wait—"
"Don't," I said quickly, already standing, already sliding my phone into my pocket like I could bury everything he stirred up with it. "I'm not mad. Why would I be mad? I just have to go back out there."
The silence on the other end felt heavier than anything he could have said. I didn't give him the chance.
"Goodbye, Brooks."
I ended the call before I could hear how he would've said my name this time.
The breakroom door swung open, heat and noise rushing back at me. I plastered on a neutral face, smoothing my apron as I stepped out. Nina was at the front desk, voice bright as she checked in a walk-in client.
And just like that, I was back on the floor—back in the thick air of hairspray and chatter—when I spotted Kian across the room.
He was watching me, jaw tight, pretending not to.
I forced my shoulders loose. He wasn't my problem.
"Walk-in for color," Nina chirped, her voice cutting through as she smiled at the woman filling out the clipboard. "Half highlights. Looks like everyone's booked but Amira—she can take you."
I shifted automatically, already brushing hair back from my face. Easy. Work. Something I could do without thinking.
But then Kian's voice slid in, smooth on the surface but sharp underneath. "Rina should be finishing soon. She can take her."
Nina blinked, halfway between polite and confused. "Uh—Rina's got a cut and color coming in ten minutes."
"It's fine," Rina said from two chairs down, raising her hand like she was surrendering. "Seriously. Amira can take her. I'm about to start my appointment."
I stepped forward, palms open. "I'm free. No one after this either."
Kian didn't look at me. Didn't even flick his gaze in my direction. "No. Give it to Samya. She's open."
Samya, across the room, snapped her gum and muttered, "I'm not open, actually. Got a blowout in an hour."
Silence. All eyes flicked between us for a second too long.
I cleared my throat. "Like I said—I'm free."
Still nothing from him. He just slid his phone into his pocket, stared at the computer screen Nina had pulled up, and ignored me like I was an assistant he'd outgrown.
The walk-in client shifted her purse higher on her shoulder, looking awkwardly between the desk and me. "I don't mind whoever—"
"You'll take her," Kian cut in, turning his attention on Rina again, like the last ten seconds hadn't happened.
Rina frowned. "Kian, I literally said—"
"It's fine," I interrupted, even though it wasn't. My voice came tight, too careful. "If he wants it that way, fine."
Nina gave me a look, eyebrows tight, like she wanted to apologize but couldn't in front of him. The client smiled weakly, probably just relieved she wasn't caught in the crossfire anymore.
Rina caught my eye as she led the woman toward her chair. She mouthed something—"sorry"—before turning away.
I busied myself rearranging the combs and clips at my station, fingers moving faster than they needed to. My stomach was tight, the heat prickling up my neck.
It wasn't the first time Kian had been petty. But ignoring me in front of everyone, talking around me like I wasn't standing there—it landed sharper than it should have.
He still hadn't looked at me once.
Fine. Two could play that game.
I turned, walked the long way across the salon just to put more space between us, and let my hands steady themselves on the drawer of foils I didn't even need. My reflection in the mirror stared back at me, lips pressed flat.
Childish. That's what it was. Childish, and the kind of energy I didn't have to carry home with me.
But still, some part of me buzzed with irritation. With something closer to hurt.
Because if Brooks could still know me well enough to hear when I hadn't eaten, what excuse did Kian have—standing five feet away and choosing silence over acknowledgment?
None.
"Amira." Rina's voice came soft, close. She leaned against the divider between our stations, eyes darting toward the front where Kian stood. "Don't let him get under your skin."
"I'm not." My voice cracked. I adjusted, steadier. "I'm fine."
She tilted her head, unconvinced. "He's been like this with everyone today. Snapping at Nina, hovering around my client this morning. It's not just you."
Maybe. But it felt like me.
I gave her a thin smile and reached for a comb I didn't need. "Thanks."
She lingered a second, then sighed and slipped back to her chair.
The rest of the hour dragged, the kind of time that stretches just to test you. I swept hair that wasn't mine to sweep, sanitized tools that were already clean, folded towels into smaller and smaller squares just to keep moving.
Every once in a while, I felt him there. The angle of his posture at the counter. The heavy stillness in the corner of my vision.
When I finally risked a glance, he was watching again. Not scrolling his phone now. Just standing there, arms crossed, expression unreadable.
Our eyes met for the briefest second before I looked away. It wasn't attraction. It wasn't even fear. It was irritation, sharp enough to sting.
I gathered my things. There was no point in sticking around. I was halfway down the hall when I heard it.
"Amira."
Low. Flat. His voice.
I turned, slow, bag strap tight in my fist. Kian leaned against the doorway to the office, arms folded like he'd been waiting. The fluorescent light caught on the edge of his jaw, made him look harder than he had five minutes ago.
"What." My voice wasn't a question.
He studied me like he was weighing how much to say. "You've been distracted."