Through Time, For You.

EPISODE TEN

I wake up with a start and instantly regret it. The pounding in my head is so violent that it takes me a minute to realize that the upstairs neighbor isn't moving furniture – it's me. Alive, breathing and hungover. I see my phone facedown on the nightstand buzzing from a notification, a tablet of aspirin beside it and memories from last night come back to me in a rush.

“Ughhh,” I groan, pushing myself back to the bed, but instantly regret it the moment I do. I'm never drinking again. Picking up my phone, I spare a glance at the screen and instantly throw it to the other side of my bed. Of course it's him. My stomach flips. I called him in the bathroom – drunk. I replay fragments of what I said to him in my head. Something about him loosening up and giving himself a chance. Gosh, I just psychoanalyzed my boss's boss while slurring over a toilet. Kill me now. Dragging myself out of bed to the toilet, I find mascara smudged halfway across my face. The black dress I wore in a heap long discarded on the bathroom floor.

By the time I stumble into the office half an hour early, the insistent pounding in my head has dulled.

“Hey June,” Tammy at the front desk greets with her usual smile.

I mumble my response and head straight for the elevator, the fluorescent lights feeling like punishment on my too sensitive eyes. The hallway leading to my office is not nearly as full but I keep my head down, avoiding small talk. Halfway to my office, I feel the weight of his gaze. Miles is standing outside his office, speaking quietly with William, his expression unreadable. He doesn't look at me – not directly – but his jaw is tight. My pulse stutters and I almost drop my tote. I scurry into my office and slide into my seat, determined to pretend last night didn't happen. There's a knock on my door before Gina pokes her head in,

“Hey,” she looks like how I feel and I immediately laugh, momentarily forgetting my problem.

“I'm not touching alcohol ever again,” she says as she makes her way into my office and collapses onto the chair directly opposite me.

“No, you're not,” I say, opening my laptop.

I notice the coffee on my table, “Thanks for the coffee,” I say, taking a sip. The flavor is rich, its bitter aftertaste calming my nerves.

“I didn't bring you coffee ,” she says, massaging her temple. The paper cup burns my palm. I stare at it, then back at her,

“If you didn't, then…,” My voice trails off.

“Huh?” She squints at me.

“Nothing,” I say, setting the cup down carefully like it might give me away. There's only one person who has access to my office this early. First the aspirin, now this… What happened after I blacked out?

Before my thoughts can spiral any further, Gina groans, tugging at her hair.

“Please tell me I didn't say or do anything stupid last night.”

I give a short laugh, though it comes out strangled, “Define stupid.”

She groans louder, sinking into the chair, “Oh God.”

In that moment, I want to confess my own crime, my drunk dial to Miles but the words stay locked behind my teeth. Once again, I wish that my life wasn't so complicated. For now, it's safer to be buried.

“I'll see you after work,” Gina says, pushing herself up.

As soon as Gina leaves, I pull my tote onto my lap. My fingers grazing the brown journal that I've been too afraid to open since it rewrote itself before my eyes. My chest tightens at the memory. I shouldn't, but I do anyway. My stomach knots when I spot my own name scrawled across the pages.

8.11.a.m

June

She unsettles me. I hate that I–

Instead of his usual neat strokes I'm used to, this is scratched over and over like he was trying to erase it.

The next word is scratched into oblivion, but I can just make out the shape of it. Want. My pulse skip.

He wants what?

I flip back looking for context but there's none, just this unsettling line. I slam the journal shut just as my laptop pings with a new email. My heart jumps when I see the sender.

Miles Harrington: Report to my office. Now.

The coffee in my stomach churns as I push away from my desk. Straightening my grey blazer, I smooth my hair, praying I look less wrecked than I feel. When I knock on his door, there's a pause before a curt, “Enter.”

He's leaning on his desk and even at this height, he's a head taller than me. His dark hair falls into his eyes, shielding them. His sleeves are rolled up, exposing muscled arms and a ghost of a tattoo, but before I can access it, he clears his throat. Drawing my gaze away from his arms. My cheeks heat.

“Miss Reed,” He says evenly.

“Mr. Harrington,” I reply, keeping my voice level even though I felt anything but.

He pushes away from his desk and takes a step closer.

“Do you always make it a habit to call when you're drunk?” he asks, standing a few feet away.

“I– I don't. I didn't mean to,”

“What did you say I was?” He takes another step, forcing me to step back. He tracks my movement, one side of his lips twitching.

“You don't remember?” He takes another step forward, but this time I don't move.

“I must say, you're a lot… daring when you're drunk,” another step, “Miss Reed,” His voice is dangerously soft. He's close enough that I can smell his cologne – sharp, clean and something else I can only describe as him. Hazel eyes dare me to speak.

The silence stretches, unbearable. Then, just as fast, he steps back and I release the breath I didn't know that I was holding.

“Don't let it happen again,” his expression returns to ice. He turns toward his desk, dismissing me without a glance, but my knees are jelly as I turn towards the door. Just before I escape, his voice cuts through the air – low and unreadable.

“What the hell do I do with you?”

And those words follow me through the day.