MICHAEL

Aliana stepped fully inside my office, closing the door behind her like she was afraid of letting the noise from outside spill into whatever this moment was turning into.

She held the file against her chest.

Tight.

Protective.

Awkward.

“Michael,” she said gently, “you… look like you swallowed a grenade.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Because I did.”

She exhaled, walking toward the desk. “Okay. Then start talking.”

I stared at her for too long. She was so calm. So sober. So dangerously unaware of how easily she knocked my entire internal balance off its axis.

“I fired her,” I said simply.

“I gathered,” she muttered. Then...