My eyes feel like they've been scraped with sandpaper—bloodshot, tired, and in desperate need of a break. But I'm not done yet. There's work to finish, an endless list of details to check, and only after all of it is cleared off my plate can I even think about indulging myself and seeing Leona.
Just as I refocus on the hologlyph screen, the door swings open without a knock. Only one person has the audacity to waltz in like he owns the place.
"Ethan," I say, glancing up.
"Hello, Your Highness," he says, a cocky grin already in place. "I'm here to grace you with my presence—though by the looks of things, you need more than a mere presence." He pauses, looking me over critically. "You look like absolute shit."
I roll my eyes, leaning back. "Thank you for that astute observation."
He shrugs, striding into my office with his usual cocky energy. "Looks like you haven't slept at all," he comments, settling himself into the chair across from me.
"I haven't," I admit, feeling the exhaustion sink deeper into my bones.
He sighs, grabbing the hologlyph and swiveling it to face him. "Relax, I'll take it from here for a while. Try to close those eyes before you scare your employees into quitting."
I don't need much convincing. I sink back in my chair, resting my head against the soft leather, shutting my eyes if only to steal a few precious seconds of rest. I start to drift, but then, as expected, Ethan decides the silence is too peaceful for his tastes.
"So," he says, a bit too casually, "I bumped into Melissa on my way up here."
I don't respond, though I feel the back of my neck prick with annoyance. I know where this is going.
"She said you called her in for your 'special services,' but then left her high and dry…" he continues.
I crack open an eye, too tired to even pretend this conversation has my interest. "I changed my mind. It happens."
His eyes narrow at me from across the hologram, suspicious, calculating. "You and I both know it doesn't just happen."
"Well, it did," I say sharply. "Drop it."
He hums in thought but thankfully lets it go, or so I think as he returns to typing on the hologlyph. A few minutes pass, and I'm almost lulled back into that tempting haze of rest, until I hear his voice again.
"You're down bad, aren't you?" he mutters with a smirk.
I shoot him a dark glare. He knows damn well who's been on my mind—and yes, it's infuriating that he's right. I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose as his smirk widens, fully enjoying his own cleverness.
Ethan's face lights up, and he snickers, stifling a laugh. I reach for the nearest item on my desk—a decorative potted plant—and hurl it in his direction. He easily dodges, the smug bastard, laughing even harder.
"You're lucky I didn't aim for your head," I mutter.
He waves it off. "You know, Zane, admitting you've got a bit of an obsession might actually help. Saves you all this brooding."
I scoff, looking away from him. "Noted."
But as much as I hate to admit it, the truth is staring me right in the face: I am down bad, and my thoughts keep trailing back to Leona. No matter how I try to shove the feelings aside, there's a pull that I can't shake. I find myself glancing at my intercom, almost hoping she'll call, and trying to convince myself it's not a sign of weakness. But hell, who am I kidding? She's driving me mad without even being here.
"Maybe," Ethan says, picking up the conversation after a few beats, "you should actually tell her."
I laugh dryly. "Noted, counselor."
I'm definitely not saying a word.