Page 172 of Sin

Then I turn off the kitchen light and walk away.

I do not open it.

Not tonight.

Maybe I never will.

Tate sits across from me in the restaurant, looking entirely too casual for a man who definitely has an agenda. I’ve been working from home, but he wanted to meet for lunch to “check in on me,” which I’m pretty sure is corporate code for making sure I haven’t gone off the deep end since I haven’t been to the office in over three weeks. The dust has settled, he’d said. But has it? Because from where I’m sitting, the dust hasn’t settled. It’s just found new and creative places to hide. In my hair. In my inbox. In the part of my chest that still tightens every time I pass the unopened letter sitting on my kitchen counter.

The restaurant is busy enough that we have privacy without silence. Servers weave around tables. Glasses clink. Someone nearby laughs too loudly at something that probably isn’t that funny. Normal life happening all around me.

Tate opens his menu, but I can tell he isn’t reading it. “Everything looks good for the Pride launch. The board is happy. Retailer interest is strong. Marketing hasn’t done anything too stupid this week.”

“That’s suspicious.”

“I know. I’m worried.”

I smile despite myself, but it feels rusty. He notices but doesn’t comment, which is one of the reasons I like Tate. He knows when to press and when to let a person pretend they’re fine in public.

He sets the menu down. “I was thinking we should work on Wrath or Greed next. Not really sure how we can do Gluttony without it sounding gross.”

“Gross?” I arch a brow. “Is that an official design term?”

“It’s in my personal glossary.”

“Right between squishy and unfortunately moist?”

His face twists. “Please never say unfortunately moist at lunch again.”

“No promises.”

He smiles back, and for a second, it almost feels like before.

I take a sip of water, mostly to give my hands something to do. “I actually think there are a lot of options for Gluttony.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Did you know that in some interpretations, gluttony wasn’t only about food? It was more about the desire for pleasure overtaking self-control. Consumption becoming an idol. Want replacing devotion.”

Tate leans back, studying me. “Never thought about it like that.”

“That’s why I get paid the big bucks.”

“About that.”

I swallow a sigh. There it is. The agenda has entered the chat. He wants to know if I’ve made a choice yet. Heck, Sex Activity Pro is wondering the same thing. They’ve been aggressively patient, which is just a very polished way of being terrifying. More money. Better title. My own department. A clean start wrapped in an offer letter that smells faintly like salvation and corporate perfume.

“I still don’t know,” I admit.

Tate doesn’t look surprised. “That’s fair.”

“Is it? Because everyone keeps saying that, but I feel like the clock is ticking.”

“It is.”

“Comforting.”

“I didn’t say it wasn’t ticking. I said it’s fair that you don’t know.”