Page 41

I wait.

She searches twice before stopping.

“Fine,” she says. “It’s missing.”

“I know.”

Her eyes snap back to mine.

“You don’t have to sound pleased about it,” she sneers.

“I’m not pleased.”

“You came all the way over here at nine o’clock to tell me something that could have waited until morning,” she says, her eyes fixed on mine.

“I assumed everyone had gone home.”

“But I haven’t,” she says.

“I can see that.”

The conversation has already moved well beyond the missing schedule, and both of us know it. Blaire closes the folder and pushes it across the table.

“I’ll fix it.”

“Good.”

I turn toward the door.

“Is that all?” she asks.

I stop. The question lands harder than it should.

I look back at her. “What else would there be?”

Blaire folds her arms.

“I don’t know, Ross. You tell me.”

I stare at her for a second before turning fully around. Her expression is controlled, but there is tension in the set of her shoulders and in the way she holds herself too still.

“I’m not doing this,” I say.

“Doing what?”

“This.”

“That’s very specific.”

“You know exactly what I mean.”

“No,” she replies.

“I know that you kissed me, disappeared for nearly a week, and then spent this afternoon speaking to me like I was someone you had met ten minutes earlier.”

My jaw tightens.

“I was trying to keep things uncomplicated,” I say.