Dominic

I’m working late, trying to get through the last of today’s urgent decisions so I can start with fresh business in the morning, when my phone buzzes.

“Yes, Francine, I know I shouldn’t live at the office,” I mutter as I grab my phone and look down at the screen.

But to my surprise, it’s a text from Presley. And even more surprising, it reads: heeyyyy sexxxy, followed by a smattering of eggplant and fire emojis. What the hell?

I do a double-take to confirm that the sender really is her. Maybe someone took her phone as a prank? Then I remember that she got her promotion today, and text back:

I take it you’re having a night out to celebrate?

The response is immediate:

im so drink haha

I snort, my lips twitching. I’ve seen her tipsy before, but drunk is new. Getting to glimpse this new, uninhibited side of a woman who’s normally always so disciplined is . . . charming.

I can tell. I’m glad you’re having a good time—you’ve earned it.

thank you soooo much I love you

skips a beat. She doesn’t really mean that. It’s just the kind of thing people say when

come celebrate with me

should enjoy partying without

why

losing my shit and this

I really owe you

you were

I wanna owe you?

how to answer that, and in the thirty seconds I spend deliberating, she adds something that makes me forget

you do whatever you

like to say is “I’m on my way,” but instead

you still want that when you’re

She replies:

at least

them good night anyway. I’m too burned out to make any more headway on work tonight . . . so, why the hell not? It would give me the chance to check up on Presley and make sure she has a safe

sounds like fun. Where should I

• • •

just around the corner from our office, and I can’t help but notice it’s the same bar where I first asked her to play

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