Page 33 of Anti-Hero

The question is matter-of-fact, his typical joking demeanor still noticeably absent.

“I want to pretend it never happened,” I confirm.

“Okay.”

“Okay,” I echo. “If, uh, if Sadie comes back, should I?—”

“She won’t be back.” Kit flips open one of the binders on his desk. “Let me know if you have any issues rescheduling.”

“Will do.”

“Thanks.”

He doesn’t look up again before I leave the room, and I tell myself I’m not disappointed.

9

“Top left.”

Collins’s head snaps in my direction, ponytail swishing against her shoulder as she hastily stands. “What?”

I leave the doorway and walk deeper into the supply room. “You’re looking for the hanging folders, right? Top shelf, on the left.”

She lifts an eyebrow. “How doyouknow that?”

“You brought one to match it to.” I nod toward the single folder tucked underher left arm.

“No, I mean, how do you know where the files are stored?”

I walk over to the pen section and open a box of my favorites, sliding two out and slipping them into my pocket.

“Because I was my own assistant for a week. Who do you think did the filing until you started?”

“I figured you had a temp or something.”

“Well, you figured wrong.” I smirk. “I’m very picky about who I work with.”

“Uh-huh. You’re known for your … discerning taste.”

My grin grows as I close the box.

“You came in here to get pens?” She sounds highly suspicious of that fact.

Maybe because I barricaded myself in my office all day. I didn’t even leave for lunch; I had it delivered.

“My favorite kind ran dry, and my assistant wasn’t at her desk. So, yeah, I came in here to get pens. How many do you need?” I ask, approaching the folder section.

“You don’t need to do that,” Collins says quickly.

“I know I don’t. I do whatever I want, remember?”

“Remember what?” She tilts her head, a serene smile fixed on her face.

Damn, do I like this girl. I like that it’s late, and we’re alone, and she’sstilldetermined to act like an encounter I know for a fact she enjoyed never happened.

I’ve been the definition ofrespectablesince she started working here. And fuck do I miss riling her. I’m so sick of that patient, practiced expression on her face.

“My grandfather knows the chief of neurology at Manhattan General,” I tell her, “if you want that selective amnesia looked at. Howmany folders?”

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