The next day at work, I feel Elena's presence everywhere—even though she's nowhere to be seen. Every footstep in the hallway makes me tense. My phone buzzes, and my heart jumps, only to find a mundane email. I bury myself in spreadsheets and reports, trying to outrun my own thoughts.
Around noon, Mr. Vasquez strides into the bullpen. His gaze sweeps across our desks, sharp and appraising. My pulse kicks up. He barely acknowledges me, though. "Meeting in ten, conference room," he barks, then disappears into his glass-walled office.
I release a shaky breath. Does he suspect something? Probably not—but my paranoia spikes anyway. A memory of Elena's sultry voice tangles with the sight of him. I can't help wondering if his stoic expression masks some deeper knowledge.
By day's end, I'm exhausted from tension alone. As I power down my computer, my phone vibrates with a new message. A flicker of electricity arcs through me before I even see the name.
E: You looked uneasy today.
My stomach twists. I glance around, as if someone might be reading over my shoulder. Me: Hard to be calm when you drop bombs, then vanish.
I wait, heartbeat pounding. Her response arrives moments later: I like seeing you ruffled. Means you're awake.
With that, she's gone again. I rub my temples, feeling an ache blossom behind my eyes. This woman is going to unravel me.