Elena’s P.O.V.
Another day. Another headache. All of which consisted mainly of one person.
“You know,” Dax said, watching me type, “for someone who swore she didn’t want this job, you’re annoyingly good at it.”
I didn’t look up. “Maybe I’m just good at pretending I care.”
His mouth curved, and I could feel the weight of his gaze even as I pretended my email was more interesting than him.
“Or maybe you care more than you admit.”
I pressed ‘send’ with a little too much force. “Or maybe you should find someone else to bother before I staple your tie to the desk.”
He chuckled, low and unbothered, before finally moving away. I hated that he wasn’t wrong.
I did care—not about him, but about the work. It had been two months of working at Valiente Industries, and the sala
