Page 42 of Sin

She laughs. “Hell no, Ms. Cross.” She lifts one of the mini gourds and turns it over. “This is actually kind of cute.”

“That’s how bad ideas reproduce.”

Opal looks at the corn in my hand. “What are you doing with that?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re smiling and it’s your gremlin smile.”

“I do not have a gremlin smile.”

“You absolutely do.” Her gaze narrows. “Are you giving that to someone?”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe? You’re holding a tiny corn penis.”

I look down at it. Then back at her.

“Technically, all corn is a penis if you’re committed enough.”

Opal cackles so hard she has to grab the doorframe and I laugh despite myself.

“This is the last one,” I say, turning the toy over in my hand, “And I’ve decided Mr. Sinclair needs it.”

Opal laughs. “Boss, you have a death wish.”

I grab a sticky note, ignoring her.

She leans closer. “What are you writing?”

“Nothing.”

I write quickly before I can talk myself out of it.

Since Pride is having performance issues, I thought you could use something with proven stamina. Try not to overthink the shaft angle.

Opal presses both hands over her mouth.

I slap the note onto the corn and stand. “I’m going to hell.”

“Yes,” she says. “But at least you’re bringing snacks.”

I should put it back in the cursed promo box and pretend I never touched it. Instead, I tuck the little corn toy under a file folder and head for Mason’s office. His assistant isn’t at her desk, probably already mentally on vacation or, if anything, getting coffee in the lounge. The hallway is quiet, most people counting down the minutes until they can leave and pretend cranberry sauce is a personality trait.

Mason’s door is open, but he isn’t inside. Perfect. I step in quickly. His office is exactly how it always is. Neat. Dark. Expensive. Too controlled. His desk is almost offensively clean, so the tiny corn looks even more absurd when I set it in the center of the desk. Right where he can’t miss it. I cover my laugh with one hand and walk away before common sense can catch me.

By the time I get back to my office, I’m grinning like an idiot. Opal is waiting at her desk.

“Well?” she whispers.

“Delivered.”

“You’re my hero.”

I’m at my desk pretending to answer emails when I hear him arrive. His footsteps are unmistakable. So is his voice. He must be on the phone, if his low tone is any indication. My fingers pause over the keyboard.

Then his voice cuts off. Silence. Perfect, terrible silence. Which means he saw it. I press my lips together, trying not to laugh. It doesn’t work. A giggle escapes before I can stop it and Opal makes a strangled noise from outside my door, like she knows we’re both in danger.