Misattribution of Intent #4
“I have access to a private space,” he continued. “My place has a gym. It’s set up for training clients, but I haven’t gotten around to finalising the move yet. No extra people, no excess noise, no cameras unless we put them there.”
Riley didn’t respond immediately. “A much smaller footprint,” he added. “And I’ve arranged it to be a predictable layout, but if you don’t like it, we can move the equipment around. We can run sessions there instead.”
Her grip shifted slightly on the wool. “You would be removing external variables,” she said, more to confirm than to question.
“Yeah.”
Riley pulled one of the knots loose, cleanly this time. “That is acceptable.”
There was the faintest shift in his tone when he replied, something lighter threading back in. “Good.”
Riley ignored it. “You will not redirect focus inconsistently,” she said. “If instruction is directed at me, it remains directed at me.”
“Done.”
“You will not introduce additional stimuli for the purpose of observation.”
He paused. “…Define ‘additional.’”
Riley’s eyes narrowed slightly. “In this case, deliberate disruption to my parameters.”
“Alright,” he said. “Done.”
“You will not use informal identifiers in place of my name.”
It took him less than a second. “Can’t promise you that one, I’m afraid.”
Her hand stilled again. “That is a non-negotiable.”
“Yeah,” he said lightly, “I don’t think it is.”
“Declan—”
“Riles.”
The word dropped straight through the line, intentional. Riley closed her eyes briefly, a controlled pause rather than a reaction, but her grip tightened around the wool. “You are doing it on purpose.”
“I am,” he agreed, and this time the amusement wasn’t even subtle.
Riley exhaled sharply through her nose. “That is not conducive to a functional working dynamic.”
“I disagree.”
Her eyes opened. “On what basis?”
“On the basis that it gets a reaction out of you.” A beat. “And that,” he added, voice softer now but no less certain, “is the most consistent and most enjoyable response I’ve seen from you all day.”
The statement echoed sharper this time and far less clinical. Riley’s fingers tightened again around the wool. “That is not a valid metric.”
“Seems pretty consistent to me.”
She pulled one of the knots harder than necessary. It gave suddenly, loosening under the force, the tension snapping out of it in a way that felt far more reactionary than she would have preferred.
Across from her, Dee smiled slightly. Riley chose to ignore it. If he insisted on maintaining one point of disruption, she would tolerate it provided it remained contained. A single variable was manageable, preferable even, to the alternative.
“Fine. I will be returning tomorrow,” she said, her tone clipped now, reasserting control where she could. “Under the adjusted conditions.”
“Good.”
“And if those conditions are not met—”
“You’ll leave,” he finished.
“Yes.”
“Alright.” The lack of argument shouldn’t have been disarming, and yet it was. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Riley. I’ll text you the address.”
Her name, composed, reverberated cleanly in her ears. Her shoulders lowered, just slightly, the shift so minimal it barely registered. The line stayed open a fraction longer than necessary.
“…Night, Riles.” The call ended.
Riley stared at the phone for a moment, her expression tightening into something more complicated than confusion and quieter than frustration. It settled somewhere between the two, unresolved, holding her attention longer than necessary as she tried to categorise it.
Across from her, Dee lifted her mug again, watching Riley over the rim with quiet, deliberate interest. “Huh.”
Riley’s gaze shifted toward her, faintly narrowed. “What?”
“Nothing,” Dee said easily, taking a slow sip. A beat passed, like she was deciding whether to say it. “You don’t have to worry about him doing that to you again,” she added.
Riley frowned. “That is not a reliable assumption.”
Dee lowered her mug slightly. “You don’t think so?”
“No,” Riley said. “His behaviour today demonstrated a consistent pattern of intentional disruption. There is no evidence to suggest that will not continue.”
Dee hummed softly, like she didn’t quite agree. “He pushed,” she said simply. “You didn’t give him what he wanted.”
Riley’s attention sharpened. “That is not an accurate interpretation of the interaction.”
“Maybe not yours,” Dee said. “But his?” She lifted one shoulder slightly. “Feels pretty clear.”
Riley’s brow furrowed. “On what basis?”
Dee smiled faintly. “You’ve never seen kids in primary school?”
Riley blinked once. “He is not a child,” she said.
“No,” Dee agreed easily. “But people don’t get that much more original than resorting to childhood tendencies, unfortunately. Take it from the children’s psychologist.”
Riley didn’t respond. Because he had changed his approach. Her fingers stilled against the wool again. If that were true, then his shift in behaviour during the call… Her attention flicked back to Dee. “…What else would you call it?”
Dee didn’t answer immediately. She just watched her for a second, something knowing sitting just beneath the surface. Then she shook her head lightly, like she was letting it go.
“Nothing,” she said again. But she was still smiling, and Riley still couldn’t identify why.