Page 83 of Faultlines

She narrows her eyes, the office lights glinting off her glasses. “You look unwell.”

“Thank you for your concern.”

“I’m serious.” She studies me for another second, a small frown creasing her brow. “Conference hangover still?”

“If only.”

That earns a laugh. “Well, your nine o’clock is waiting, your inbox is horrifying, and Reid has already asked for you twice.” Of course, he has. My stomach tightens around the thought.

“Anything else?”

“Yes.” Hattie lowers her voice, leaning closer until I can smell her peppermint gum. “I think someone stole my yogurt from the break-room refrigerator.”

I stop walking. “Again?”

“Again.”

“This is becoming a serious workplace issue.”

“I agree.”

“We should install cameras.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

I make the mistake of looking toward Reid’s office. He’s already watching me through the glass wall. My smile disappears, and I’m left with nothing on my face at all.

Hattie follows my gaze and mutters, “Good luck with whatever that is.”

I don’t bother responding because I know what that is. Reid and I have survived economic downturns, impossible projects, and one horrific attempt at office karaoke during a Christmas party—the memory of it still makes me shudder.

I’m pretending to review construction documents, the faint scent of ink and paper filling the air, when he appears in my doorway. “Afternoon.”

“Hey.” The exchange is awkward enough to make me wince.

He drops a folder onto my desk. “I reviewed the Harbor Falls proposal that was submitted last week by that new developer over in Fern Valley.”

Relief washes through me, we’re talking about work and not my personal life.

“Okay.”

“I think we should pass.”

“Why?”

“The timeline and budget are unrealistic.”

I nod. “I thought the same thing.”

We continue discussing staffing projections, environmental impact studies, and permitting issues. The conversation feels normal, the familiar rhythm of our professional banter a comfort. I start to believe things might be okay between us.

Then my phone buzzes, a soft vibration against my thigh. I glance down and see a message from Brooke. The text contains a picture of Ellie wearing an oversized costume, including a bedazzled crown, and making a ridiculous face.

Brooke: Your daughter has embraced her royal villain era.

Reid’s eyes move from my face to my phone. The comfortable atmosphere vanishes. I lock my phone and set it face down on the desk with a soft click.

“How’s Ellie?” The question sounds innocent enough, yet a thread of something sharper, runs beneath it. “Excited for opening night?”