19. Scoring the Side-Quest
The next morning,I marched into the office with the mental armor of a woman ready to ice out the man who’d tangled up her heartstrings. I was all geared up to deliver the cold shoulder—an Arctic-level frostiness that would make a penguin shiver. However, my frosty resolve melted the second I spotted Everett. He was perched at my desk, a beacon of mischief, surrounded by an unmistakably sweet aroma that tugged at both my nostrils and my resolve.
Not just any aroma—cinnamon rolls. My favorite. And not the store-bought kind, but the ones that promised gooey centers and crispy edges, the kind that suggested someone woke up ridiculously early to bake them. As if that wasn’t enough, there was also a steaming cup of coffee, just the way I liked it, sitting next to the plate. Everett looked up, met my stormy gaze with his puppy-dog eyes, and grinned like he’d just gotten the high score on his favorite video game.
“What did you do yesterday?” he asked casually, as if we were chatting about the weather and not navigating a minefield of mixed signals.
“Nothing,” I grunted, the word sharp and clipped. I dropped my bag with more force than necessary, my eyes darting between the cinnamon rolls and his too-charming face.
He seemed unfazed by my one-word missile, his grin widening. “Really? Just a whole lot of nothing?”
“Yep,” I replied, popping the p with a pointed look that I hoped conveyed my annoyance. Despite my efforts, the sweet scent of cinnamon was seriously compromising my standoffish vibe.
“Hey, are we okay?” Everett’s tone shifted, the lightness fading as he caught the edge in my voice. He stood up, his height suddenly imposing as he approached.
I folded my arms, steeling myself against the warmth radiating from him—both literal and metaphorical. “I don’t know, are we?” I shot back, my words full of sarcasm and genuine confusion. How was I supposed to act when just hours ago, I was mentally scripting breakup scenes, and now he was here, being all… nice?
His brow furrowed, and he took a half step closer, his concern palpable. “I feel like something’s off. Did I do something wrong?”
I sighed, the anger deflating slightly as I met his earnest, worried look. Part of me wanted to spill everything—to confront him about the mixed signals and the Huntra versus Rachel saga. But all I could muster was a noncommittal shrug. “I’m just… tired, I guess.”
Everett watched me for a moment, his eyes searching mine for a sign, any sign, that would tell him what he needed to do to fix this. Then, almost as if resigning himself to waiting it out, he nodded slowly. “Okay. Well, I brought breakfast. And coffee. I thought it might make your Monday a little better.”
It was hard to stay mad at someone who brought you freshly baked cinnamon rolls and knew your coffee order by heart. As I reluctantly took a seat and reached for a roll, I couldn’t help but admit, even just to myself, that my icy resolve had a serious cinnamon roll-shaped dent in it.
Everett was halfway through briefing me on the week’s schedule, his expression all business, when I took a bite of one of the cinnamon rolls. The moment the flavors hit my tongue, I couldn’t help letting out a moan that was definitely more ‘prime-time TV’ than ‘Monday morning meeting.’
“Oh my God,” I mumbled, my voice muffled by pastry, “this is so good.”
Across the desk, Everett’s words trailed off into silence, and when I looked up, his eyes were wide, his lips parted slightly—as if my enjoyment of a cinnamon roll was the most riveting performance he’d ever witnessed.
I couldn’t resist playing it up a bit, because if there’s one thing you can do to throw a man off his game, it’s turn eating baked goods into an impromptu food critique show. “Seriously, Everett, it’s like a hug for my mouth. A warm, buttery, cinnamon-y hug.” I took another exaggerated bite, ensuring my moan was even more appreciative than the last. The pastry practically melted on my tongue, sweet and perfectly spiced.
Everett cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure and possibly his train of thought. “Uh, yeah, glad you like them,” he stammered, a blush creeping up his neck, which I found both adorable and a little empowering.
“Like them?” I quipped, my voice playful. “I might just marry them. Is it possible to marry a cinnamon roll? Because I would. I’d walk down the aisle with this plate of delicious betrayal right now.”
Everett chuckled, finally catching on to my teasing. “Betrayal?”
I shrugged, giving him a sly smile as I took another blissful bite. “Yeah, betraying all other breakfast foods by being so ridiculously superior.”
He laughed, shaking his head, clearly amused by my theatrics. “Okay, okay, I get it. They’re good. Can we get back to the schedule now, or are you planning on eloping with your new pastry husband?”
“Fine, fine,” I said, setting the roll down reluctantly. “But if this meeting could be half as satisfying as these cinnamon rolls, you’ll have really set a new standard for Mondays at the office.”
Just then, Liam approached, his arrival marked by a seemingly innocent question. “Am I interrupting something?” He eyed the scene—me, with frosting on my lips, and Everett, with a notepad still clutched in his hand.
I jolted upright, my mouth dropping open in shock. “Liam! You’re here!” Panic set in as I realized he knew I was Huntra, a fact I hadn’t revealed to Everett. In a hasty motion, I grabbed Liam’s arm. “What are you doing in San Francisco? Let me take you to a conference room.”
Everett stood up, his interest piqued. “Who is this?” he asked, a hint of irritation threading his voice.
“Damn,” I cursed under my breath, not prepared for this encounter. As Liam extended his hand to Everett, he introduced himself with a smooth confidence, “I’m Liam, the CEO of Apex, the company behind Heroes Quest.”
Everett’s eyes narrowed slightly, taking in the information with skepticism. Liam, oblivious to the tension, turned his attention back to me and chuckled. “You have frosting on your lip,” he commented casually, reaching up to brush it away with his thumb.
Everett’s expression darkened, the muscles in his jaw clenching visibly as he observed the intimate gesture. Smoke seemed to rise from his ears as he processed the scene, his hands forming tight fists at his sides.
Surprised by Liam’s gesture and Everett’s simmering glare, I flushed a deeper shade of red. “Oh, how embarrassing,” I stammered.
Liam chuckled softly, his ease in the situation only heightening the tension. “Nothing to be embarrassed about. We’re friends, right?” He gave me a playful wink, which didn’t go unnoticed by Everett, whose frown deepened.
“So, why are you here, Liam?” Everett asked, his voice tight as he tried to mask his annoyance with a semblance of professional curiosity.
Liam’s smirk didn’t waver as he responded, “I had a meeting with a business partner in the city and figured I’d stop by to see how things are going. I’m only here for the day, though.” His gaze shifted back to me, the smirk softening into a more genuine smile. “Rachel, would you like to do dinner later?”
Before I could answer, Everett cut in, his tone edged with a hint of possessiveness, “We might work late tonight. Gotta make the best game for your company, right?”
I turned to Everett, slightly annoyed by his attempt to dictate my plans. “No, we aren’t,” I corrected him sharply, then smiled at Liam. “I’d love to have dinner, thank you.”
Liam’s presence seemed to both irritate and challenge Everett. The air was thick with unspoken rivalry as Liam continued, leaning slightly towards me. “Great, it’s a date then. I know a fantastic place nearby.”
Everett scoffed subtly, clearly irked. “A date, huh? Just making sure we’re clear on priorities here,” he said, his tone laced with sarcasm.
Liam laughed, unbothered by Everett’s comment. “Always clear, Everett. But we all need a break sometimes, don’t we? It’s good for creativity. Or so they say.”
As Liam and I exchanged pleasantries, his casual mention of gaming streams made him pause. “Wait a second.” Liam paused, a realization dawning on him. “You’re EverDemon! I should be thanking you—your streams with Huntra really boost our engagement. And Rachel?—”
Clutching my stomach, I grimaced and doubled over, delivering my performance with Oscar-worthy flair. “Oh, wow! These cramps,” I gasped dramatically, each word punctuated with a wince. “They’re apocalyptic. Like, end-of-days bad.”
Liam, momentarily taken aback, quickly morphed into CEO mode. With a snap of his fingers, an assistant materialized at his side as if conjured. “Get her a heating pad, some tampons, and whatever potion is necessary to combat… whatever this is,” he instructed, waving a hand vaguely in my direction while trying not to look too alarmed.
Everett’s brows knitted in concern. “Are you okay?” he asked, his voice dripping with worry.
I shook my head, my voice strained as I continued my theatrics. “Nope, not even close,” I groaned, playing up the agony. “It’s like a tiny goblin is in there with a jackhammer. I need to—uh, get to the bathroom. Stat.”
“Can I do anything to help?” Everett offered.
“Just pray for me and maybe alert a priest?” I quipped, hobbling away dramatically. “Oh, and if you see a shaman, send them my way!”
Everett looked lost, glancing helplessly from Liam to me as I made my elaborate escape. “Should I follow her or…?”
Liam chuckled, shaking his head. “Let her go, man. Sounds like she’s got it under control.”
“Control is a strong word for what I’ve got,” I called back over my shoulder, still in character. “Oh, Liam, could you maybe catch up with Jo while you’re here? She’s a real character—thinks Wi-Fi can heal your soul. You’ll love her!”
As I finally rounded the corner, out of their view, I allowed myself a moment to breathe and smirk at the ridiculousness of my own antics. Definitely not how I imagined using my improv skills, but desperate times call for desperate measures.
Talking to Jo… or Johara, would keep him busy for at least seventeen hours.