Monday arrived like a slow-motion ambush.
“Another bouquet for Fiona Hayes," chirped the receptionist, wheeling in a cart stacked with sunflowers and something lavender-scented.
Marla whistled. “Carter's going for broke, huh?"
I muttered thanks and tried to disappear into my cubicle.
Ben had also started showing up with lunch. Thai on Tuesday. Kale wraps on Wednesday. Chocolate-covered almonds on Thursday, “just because."
Every offering came with a warm smile and not-so-subtle glances.
And every time he appeared, Andrew showed up five minutes later.
“Joint review?" he asked on Wednesday, already pulling up a chair before I could say no.
He scribbled corrections on Ben's structural notes with surgical precision.
“Too much flex in the load-bearing joints," he said coolly.
Ben frown
