Thursday ends the way it starts. With something unfinished sitting in my chest that I have no idea what to do with.
I drive home with Victor’s words looping in the back of my head. Real feelings will complicate everything. And then Adrian’s, quieter, standing eight inches from me in a corridor that smells like printer ink and honesty. I think it might already be too late for that conversation.
I think about that for approximately four hours. Then Friday arrives.
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Victor’s brief for the evening is three bullet points long and arrives by email at noon.
Knight Corporation business dinner. Private dining room. Twelve colleagues. Dress: established couple. Not honeymoon, not first date. Established.
I stare at my wardrobe for thirty minutes and settle on a deep burgundy dress with a
