Chapter 46
My office is packed with moving boxes, and I can’t help but wonder how I managed to cram so much into such a small space in just a few months.
One box is crammed with jackets, but that’s André’s fault.
He can be fussy about the AC. They’re in every colour, just to match whatever I’m wearing.
Another box is filled with flat shoes. Sometimes, I just can’t deal with heels.
Bastian watches me pack with an amused smirk.
“Why are you bothering to pack everything?” he asks.
“I have to take some of it home,” I reply, eyeing the boxes stuffed with clothes. “If I leave them here, I’ll run out of space as soon as the seasons change again.”
He bursts out laughing, the sound hearty and full of amusement.
“Well,” he says, knocking lightly on the door, his voice soft, “I’ve moved my stuff. The office is all yours.”
I nod, caught in his gaze, aching to run to him and share everything I keep inside.
But I don’t. I can’t.
“Thanks.”
For a moment, we just stare at each other, the air thick between us. My pulse quickens, and I’m the first to break, glancing away.
“I still have to finish up,” I mumble, bending down to grab a folder from the floor, hoping it distracts me.
Bastian knocks on the door again, his voice lower this time. “Okay,” he murmurs, almost like he doesn’t want to leave.
Then, he walks over, his footsteps barely making a sound against the wooden floor. My heart races as he closes the distance between us, and his lips stop just inches away before clashing against mine.
I realise I want this. I had missed Bastian’s touch like a flower craves sunlight after a long winter, so I grab his collar and tug him closer, and this time the kiss doesn’t end right away.
He melts into it, his hands finding my waist, the moment stretching warm and slow until I almost forget to breathe.
He smiles against my mouth, and I kiss him again just to feel it.
His fingers brush my cheek, just lightly enough to make my heart trip over itself.
For a second, the whole world tilts, warm and dizzy and way too easy to fall into.
And that’s exactly why I break it.
I press my hand to his chest and pull back, lowering my gaze.
“Okay,” he repeats, stepping away.
Our gazes meet, and we both hold them, afraid to tear them apart.
And then, without another word, he walks out.
It’s for the best, I tell myself.
We have decided that whatever there is between us can be put aside until the scandal over the Hawtrey-Moore and Dubois case gets sorted out.
I don’t want to make things more complicated than they already are.
It takes me almost an hour to move all my things into Bastian’s office—well, ex-office.
André has decided to take a break as soon as the case is closed. It didn’t surprise me; honestly, André’s been at this too long. He’s too old for… I don’t know how to say it, but this job just isn’t for him anymore. He needs a long break.
Antonia’s case will be his last major one at Saidi, and he is going to prepare it from home to avoid the constant questions from reporters who crowd the entrance of the building every day, which means Bastian’s about to take his office under Sarah’s tutelage until he passes his exam.
It’s only logical, since this is still Saidi, and he’s the only Saidi left here.
And I’m moving into Bastian’s old office, which happens to be the same size as mine, but has a balcony.
My old office will welcome the newest Chance program winner in March.
“Have you settled in yet?” Sarah asks, poking her head through my door.
“Almost, yeah,” I reply.
“Great. You got this in the mail.” She flashes me a quick smile before slipping back out.
Before she goes, she leaves a letter on my new desk—no more IKEA furniture, thankfully. My name is scrawled on the back, but there’s no return address.
I open the envelope. Inside is a single blue card, and in neat black ink, someone has written:
Good luck, Malin.
I turn the card over. It slips from my fingers and falls to the floor. I cover my mouth with my hands, trying to stifle a scream.
Taped to the back is a Club Montari check, and beneath it, a set of instructions.
Shaking, I pick up the card, tear it into tiny pieces, and throw the fragments into the trash. Then I do the same with the money, and I breathe out.
Good luck, my arse.