Beth wore blue today.
Not navy. Not slate.
Blue.
That soft, blousey, secretary-from-another-life kind of blue that stuck to her skin like dew on cold glass. A pencil skirt carved her hips into suggestion. Her hair was pinned back, but a few strands had the audacity to fall loose—like they wanted to be touched.
She didn’t look at Owen once.
She didn’t need to.
She knew.
⸻
He watched her from his cubicle with the kind of stare that should come with warning tape. His fingers clicked aimlessly across his mouse, but his gaze carved a tunnel straight through her spine as she walked past—clip, clip, clip in those little kitten heels.
She paused near the printer, shoulders tight, holding some invoice like it mattered.
He stood. Calm. Casual.
A shark moving through beige office carpet.
