Unknown Number: Yeah, yeah, you have high standards, blah blah. But do you ever screw up?
Me: No.
Unknown Number: Liar.
My grin widens.
Me: If I did, no one would dare point it out.
Unknown Number: Ah, true power. I dream of a life where my mistakes just magically don’t exist.
Me: You complain a lot for someone who still chooses to show up every day.
Unknown Number: You say that like I have a choice. My rent is atrocious. If I didn’t have this job, I’d be selling feet pics online and praying for the best.
Me: And where is this soulless corporation that’s slowly draining your will to live?
Unknown Number: Oh, you wouldn’t know it. Just another faceless empire run by men in suits who probably never have to fill out their own paperwork.
I smirk.
Me: Try me.
Unknown Number: Zaitsev Industries.
Everything stops.
I blink. Read it twice.
A slow, steady pulse of realization spreads through my chest.
She works for me.
Of all the faceless strangers in this city—of all the people I could have fallen into this with—she works at my company.
I exhale, tapping my fingers against the desk.
Me: Small world.
Unknown Number: Yeah? You heard of it?
I smirk, though my mind is already spinning.
Me: You could say that.
Because now?
Now, I need to know who the hell she is.
8
SASHA
I shouldn’t be smilingat my phone.
I shouldn’t be checking it between emails, sneaking glances at it in meetings, half-distracted when Ryan stops by my desk to ask about lunch.
I shouldn’t feel that little flutter every time it buzzes.