Page 84 of Ride or Die

Her phone buzzed, and she glanced at it.

Speak of the devil…

Kristi: How’s the dark prince of fraud doing today?

Riley: Shut up.

Kristi: You love me.

She stared at her phone as responses flitted through her head. The office doorbell rang. She waited a minute, and it rang again. No one in the boardroom got up from whatever they were doing, and she ripped her headphones out and walked over to open it.

A delivery guy with a helmet under one arm pulled a giant iced Frappuccino out of his bag. Sprinkles and whipped cream tried to escape the domed lid as he handed it to her.

“Who’s this for?”

He glanced at the receipt and then handed that to her too.

“Sinclair.”

Riley narrowed her eyes at the drink but saw her name clearly typed on the order sticker. She took it back to her desk and stared at it for a minute longer before her phone buzzed again.

Kristi: See? Pure love.

Riley snapped a photo and sent it to her with several emojis that communicated her complicated feelings on the matter.

Kristi: But actually though, did he do anything? I can add it to the spreadsheet.

“Oh my god.” Riley glanced around.

Riley: I thought we were deleting the spreadsheet.

Kristi: You can delete your copy.

Riley had, from her email too, so every trace of it was gone.

She sipped the ridiculous drink until the sugar made her sick, and then she chucked the rest out.

The rest of the morning passed with its usual monotony.

The office was quiet with only a handful of people in the back. It was too easy to rest her head on the back of her chair and let her eyes close. She was tired from the weekend. Kristi. Saint. All the unanswered questions. Wheeler and Aaron were nice and fun, but all of them were complicated. If all your friends are complicated, who’s the common denominator?

She rubbed her eyes. The door handle on the front door rattled, muffled voices behind it. The drink lurched in her stomach as she tipped the chair up straight.

Nico and Gio blew in, barking back and forth in a mix of English and Italian. Nico’s face was dark with anger, and sweat darkened the armpits of Gio’s suit, his hair loose around his reddened face. The criminal accusations didn’t seem that unrealistic when he looked like that.

Her keyboard clattered under her fingers as the voices got closer, punctuated by heavy footfalls, and every breath tightened her chest.

Gio brought his fist into his hand. The resounding clap silenced every sound in the office. The sudden quiet hurt her ears. Chairs creaked and shifted as hushed murmurs trickled down the hall.

Gio resumed like he hadn’t noticed, gesturing in large, explosive movements. Riley straightened her keyboard, lining it up with the faint seam on the desk, as expensive cologne and cinnamon swirled past. She didn’t let herself inhale it.

They stopped next to her cubicle. Shit.

She glanced up and caught Nico’s eye. His jaw ticked.

“It’s fine, bella.”

Gio’s tirade was impossible to follow, both languages mixing and stumbling over each other. He paused as Nico’s words reached him.