Arianna's POV
I arrived at work the next day, directly ascended to my office. The office smelled like fresh coffee and printer ink—my least favorite combination when my mind was anywhere but work.
I stared at my computer screen, cursor blinking patiently in the middle of a half-written email I’d been “working on” for the last ten minutes. Instead of typing, my thoughts kept replaying one very specific scene from last night.
Camille.
Elliot Martins.
Dinner.
A date.
I smiled to myself, then frowned. Okay, smiled again.
I was genuinely happy for her, Camille deserved someone who looked at her like Elliot did, like she was something rare and worth slowing down for. But that didn’t mean I wasn’t painfully curious. Or mildly suspicious. Or wildly invested.
And that was where he came in.
