Page 48 of Crawl for Me

Shut up.

My pulse goes feral, hammering straight up my throat. My fingers clamp the edge of the copier, numb with panic, knuckles bleaching white.

Sam snorts, head tipping back. “So it was hot boss guy, huh… that’s interesting…”

Please. Just stop. Please, God, stop talking.

He saw my tie that morning. Pulled it straight out of her sheets, twirling it between his fingers like a damn flag. He found the wrapper too. He grilled her on it, wouldn’t shut up, wouldn’t let it drop until she had to literally snap at him.

But if he puts it together now… One domino, and the whole thing comes crashing down. Eleanor runs her mouth, Sam feeds it to the bullpen, and by the end of the week Marla’s catching wind. Then HR. Then policy, investigations, write-ups, lost jobs, all of it.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Hey, have you seen Noah?” Sable’s voice cuts through their conspiring laughs, clear enough to rattle every bone in me.

“Have you seen Noah?” Sam parrots, his tone high and teasing enough to make Eleanor giggle again.

Sable’s voice sharpens. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” he laughs again. “You’re what? Looking for him?”

She exhales hard enough I can almost hear the accompanying eye-roll. “Yes,” she snaps. “Veylar are on my ass about their deadline and I need him for projections. Have you seen him or not?”

“No,” he grumbles. “Haven’t seen him.”

She sighs once. “Great.” And then the click of her heels fades, swallowed up by the noise of the floor.

My chest stays locked. Every part of me screams don’t move, not when Sam’s probably standing there with that smug little half-grin, piecing together whatever his probably-still-hungover brain can manage. But I can’t stay plastered to the copier like a coward. Someone will wander in eventually, and then I’ll have to explain why I’m holed up in here copying documents I don’t even need.

So what’s worse—walking out and risking whatever expression is on his face, or staying hidden until I really look guilty?

You can’t stay in here all day, Calloway.

Fuck it.

I shove the folder and papers under my arm, suck in a deep breath, square my shoulders, and push through the door. Sam glances over as I step out, one eyebrow raised. Eleanor spots me and immediately busies herself with something on her monitor, clicking around her screen with the kind of exaggerated focus that screams ‘don’t laugh, don’t laugh, don’t laugh.’

Normal. Be normal. If I look guilty, I might as well staple the tie and condom wrapper to my forehead.

“Morning,” I say evenly, giving him the kind of nod I’d throw a stranger in an elevator.

His mouth quirks into a grin. “Oh, hey—Sable’s looking for you.”

I hike the folder higher into the crook of my arm, faking casualness as best I can. “Oh, is she?”

“Yep,” he says, drawing it out, jerking his chin toward the far end of the aisle. “Went that way.”

“Thanks.” I nod again and turn down the row.

Her cubicle’s empty. Figures. She’ll be in the break room.

I weave through the noise, and sure enough—there she is. One hand braced on the counter, the other jabbing the coffee machine as she mutters to herself under her breath.

I stop in the doorway and swallow down the knot in my throat. “Sam said you were looking for me?”

“Finally,” she hisses, wrenching the mug up. “I’ve been looking for you. Veylar are on our asses, and Marla’s ready to start biting heads off. Can we use your office?”

My office? Shit.