Chapter 18 We’re Just Friends （And Other Lies I Tell Myself） #2
“You’re being generous.”
She glances up at me. Quick. Measuring. “Do you ever worry about perception?”
I let out a quiet breath. “Every day.”
“And yet…” she says, dragging it just enough to mean something else.
I look at her. “And yet I don’t reward performance. People like that confuse attention with value.”
She hums, thinking.
“Attention still gets you in the room.”
“It does,” I say. “Doesn’t mean you belong there.”
Her gaze sharpens.
“Belonging feels… subjective.”
“It’s not,” I say. “It’s consistent.”
“With what?”
I slow just slightly.
“With restraint.”
That lands.
I see it.
She exhales through her nose, subtle. Controlled.
“Restraint,” she repeats. “That your thing?”
I glance at her. Something sharper slipping through. “It has to be.”
“For everyone?”
There it is.
I stop.
She takes one more step before she catches it. Turns back.
Now we’re close.
Too close for a hallway.
Not close enough to justify fixing it.
And with glass on both sides—
nowhere to hide it if we get this wrong.
“For people who want to keep what they’ve earned?” I say. “Yeah.”
Her eyes don’t move.
“And the ones who don’t?”
Softer.
I step closer.
Still not touching.
Never touching.
“They don’t realize what it costs until it’s already gone.”
Her throat moves.
She holds my gaze anyway.
“Seems like a lot of waiting.”
“It is.”
A beat.
“The right things don’t rush.”
Something flickers across her face.
Recognition. Frustration. Curiosity.
All at once.
I glance at her, then add—quieter, like it just slipped out before I could stop it,
“Además… lo que vale la pena se hace desear.”
She slows half a step.
Not enough to stop walking.
Enough to feel it.
Her eyes cut to me. “You just… said something you definitely shouldn’t have said at work.”
I shrug, unbothered. “You understood it.”
“Don’t do that,” she says, but there’s no real heat behind it.
I tilt my head, just slightly. “Do what?”
Her mouth presses, fighting something. “Make it sound like that.”
“Like what?” I press, knowing exactly what I’m doing now.
She exhales through her nose. “Like you mean it.”
I look at her then. Really look at her.
“I do mean it.”
That lands heavier than anything before it.
She steps past me, breaking it before it snaps.
“Convenient philosophy,” she says.
No bite.
I fall back into step beside her.
“Effective,” I correct.
She huffs a quiet laugh. “We’ll see.”
We keep walking.
Close.
Contained.
Careful.
Reflections trailing us in the glass like witnesses.
Because this is what we do now.
Stay just inside the lines—
and pretend I didn’t just tell her, in a language no one else here would catch,
that the things worth having?
are the ones you let build… until they’re impossible to ignore.
Friday
The Crane briefing is packed.
Creatives. Strategists. Analysts. Producers. Everyone smelling opportunity and pretending they’re not nervous. The deck glows on the screen—white light, sharp edges, big promises.
I take the head of the table. Part ego. Part job.
Sadie sits to my right like a sentry.
Harlee sits two seats down on the opposite side, notebook open, posture perfect.
If you didn’t know better, you’d think she was calm.
I know better.
“I don’t know how much you know about Ethan Crane,” I start, letting the name settle, “but we’re on the short list to lead the launch for his new product.”
Chairs shift. Backs straighten.
“Crane doesn’t outsource,” I continue. “He believes external agencies dilute creative purity. He once fired an entire team for using the word synergy in a deck.”
A ripple of laughter. Tight. Nervous.
“This is the first time he’s letting another company in the room. Not because he needs us—” I pause “—because he wants to see how we think when he’s watching.”
That lands.
“If we land this, it’s not just a client. It’s credibility.”
The room adjusts around that.
“Titles don’t matter,” I add. “The best idea wins. If the intern has it, the intern speaks.”
That gets attention.
It gets something else, too.
Harlee’s eyes lift to mine—quick.
Like she heard the part that wasn’t said.
We move through the deck. Questions. Pushback. I guide it without raising my voice. Never have to.
It’s the one place no one walks away from me mid-sentence.
Harlee raises her hand once.
I nod.
“On the vendor data,” she says, voice clean, steady, “there’s a duplication pattern that looks intentional. If we don’t address it now, it compounds into the timeline.”
The room stills.
Air humming through vents. Screens glowing. A few people glance down, recalculating.
Then the nods start.
I lean back, fingers steepled, expression neutral.
Inside—something sparks.
Because she didn’t just catch a mistake.
She saw the pattern.
Most people find errors.
Harlee finds intent.
That’s rare.
My gaze drifts back to her.
Curls pulled high. Pen poised. Focus sharp enough to cut glass.
“Good catch,” I say. “Send that to Sadie.”
She nods.
Professional.
But her eyes flick up—just once.
And there it is.
Across the table, Sadie’s gaze flicks between us. Quick. Precise. Not a question—an assessment.
Noticing.
The meeting unravels around it.
Chairs scrape back. Laptops snap shut in uneven rhythm. Conversations spark and scatter into low, polite clusters—weekend plans, follow-ups, nothing that matters.
People start to filter out.
One by one.
Until the room begins to breathe again.
Harlee stays.
Head down, pen moving fast across her notes like she’s outrunning the shift in the room. Like if she keeps writing, she doesn’t have to look up. Doesn’t have to acknowledge it.
I don’t rush her.
I wait.
Let the noise thin out. Let the space clear.
Until it’s just us.
And the quiet that follows.
Sadie gathers her things with deliberate efficiency, stacking papers into perfect alignment. But she doesn’t miss anything.
She never does.
“August.”
“Sadie.”
“You have another meeting in 15 minutes, and you needed to be across town 30 minutes ago. Don't be late."
“Understood.”
She nods once. And then exits the conference room.
The door stays open, glass catching the reflection of empty chairs and a table that knows too much.
Because this is work.
Because rules don’t disappear just because you want them to.
Harlee looks up, pen still in her hand.
“Do you think she notices… vibes?” she asks.
I push off the wall and take a slow step closer, then another—measured, deliberate. Not touching her, but close enough that the space between us stops pretending to be neutral.
“I think Sadie notices inefficiency,” I say. “And anything that complicates my day gets handled.”
Her brow lifts slightly. “So we’re… a complication?”
My mouth curves. “You? Always.”
That lands exactly how I expect it to.
Her pen taps once against the table, but she doesn’t look away.
“So we’re not efficient then.”
I tilt my head, taking her in—really taking her in—before I answer. “We’re efficient in meetings,” I say lightly. “The rest of the time? Debatable.”
A flash of heat crosses her face—quick, gone—but I caught it.
Good.
Her pen stills.
“Did I do okay?” she asks.
There’s nothing casual about that question.
I step closer again, slow enough that she can feel it coming. Close enough now that her breath shifts just a fraction.
“You did more than okay,” I say, voice lower without trying. “You were early, you were precise, and you didn’t let anyone in that room move you off your point.”
I hold her gaze.
“You walked in like you knew exactly where you belonged.”
Her breath catches—quiet, but I hear it.
“That’s power, Harlee.”
Her eyes soften for half a second before she locks them back down.
“Thank you.”
I should step back.
I don’t.
Instead, my gaze drifts—just for a second—taking in the line of her, the way she’s holding herself, the way she doesn’t shrink even now.
Then I meet her eyes again.
“You should go,” I say, almost too calm. “Before I say something that’s definitely not appropriate for the workplace.”
Her lips part slightly. “You’ve been walking that line all day.”
“I know,” I say.
A beat.
Then, quieter—lower—
“Y cada vez se me hace más difícil parar.”
Her breath catches.
Small.
Sharp.
“You cannot say things like that here,” she murmurs, but it’s not outrage—it’s awareness.
I hold her gaze, not even pretending to take it back. “I just did.”
That one lands.
She stands, gathering her things a little quicker now, like she needs the movement.
Professional.
Composed.
But the tension doesn’t leave with it.
At the door, she pauses, fingers brushing the frame.
“You’re playing dirty.”
I lean back just enough to look relaxed. “I’m being honest.”
She huffs a soft laugh. “That’s worse.”
“Yeah,” I murmur. “Usually is.”
She shakes her head, but there’s a smile she’s trying not to give me as she turns and walks out.
And yeah—
I watch her go.
Not subtle about it either.
The sway of her hips, the confidence in it, the way she doesn’t look back like she knows exactly what it does to me.
It pulls something low and immediate in my chest.
Dangerous.
Addictive.
The hallway swallows her—phones ringing, voices rising, the building moving like nothing shifted in here.
I don’t move.
Because I know exactly what that was.
Not confusion.
Not a mistake.
Just bad timing…
and me pretending I’m the kind of man who always makes the right call.