Chapter Twenty-Two — “The Wrong Vibe”
455 Words
The office smelled like burnt coffee and stale ambition.
Fluorescent lights flickered overhead, buzzing faintly.
Owen leaned back in his chair, pretending to read an email he didn’t give a s**t about.
Across the bullpen, the new girl was setting up her desk.
He watched her over the top of his monitor —
petite, brunette, probably twenty-five if she was even that old.
Wearing some floral blouse that clung to her in all the right places without trying.
Fresh.
Bright-eyed.
Owen got up under the pretense of grabbing more coffee.
Took the long route — right past her desk.
She smiled politely when she noticed him, that automatic, customer-service smile women learn young.
Owen grinned back, letting a little extra charm bleed into it.
"Hey, you settling in okay?" he asked, voice low, easy.
She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, glancing at her computer.
"Yeah, thanks," she said lightly.
He leaned casually against the side of her desk, coffee in hand.
"First day’s always rough," he said, flashing a smile that usually got him places.
"Good thing you’ve got a friendly face around."
Her smile twitched.
She laughed — tight, short, uncomfortable.
"Yeah," she said, fiddling unnecessarily with a pen.
"Super friendly."
Owen let the silence stretch a little too long.
Waited for her to pick it up.
She didn’t.
She grabbed a stack of folders and started fake-flipping through them like her life depended on it.
The message was clear.
---
Owen straightened, masking his irritation with another lazy smile.
"Well," he said, stepping back, "if you need anything..."
She smiled again — thinner this time.
"Thanks," she said quickly, already half-turned away.
Dismissed.
---
By the time Owen made it back to his desk, the bad taste was already crawling up his throat.
He sat there, stewing.
The rejection shouldn’t have stung.
Shouldn’t have mattered.
But it did.
She'll come around eventually, he chuckled to himself.
---
The drive home was tight and silent.
His fingers clenched too hard on the steering wheel.
When he finally walked through the door, the house smelled like something warm and homey.
Leia was sitting at the kitchen table, bundled in blankets, looking like hell but smiling weakly.
Chloe bustled around the kitchen, setting plates and rattling utensils like she owned the place.
"Hey, Dad!" Chloe called brightly.
"Sit! I made dinner!"
Owen blinked.
Leia smiled at him —
that fragile, grateful smile she used to reserve for bigger things than a plate of spaghetti.
---
Dinner was noisy.
Chloe chattered about work.
Leia laughed weakly at all the right parts.
Owen ate mechanically, stabbing pasta, chewing without tasting.
He didn’t talk much.
Just sat there, stewing quietly, letting the house buzz around him.
- Writer
