"He kicked me out," Sabina hisses.

Andy gasps. "He kicked you out?"

MJ snickers. "He kicked you out."

"Nobody kicks me out," Sabina says, sitting back against her pedicure chair, stunned. "I—I do the kicking out."

"He broke her," Andy whispers loudly to MJ.

"I'm beautiful," Sabina says, gesturing to her face, and then to her body, "I'm sexy, I'm definitely desirable. Why the fuck did he kick me out?"

MJ sighs and stretches her arm out to take one of Sabina's hands with mock sympathy. "Oh, sweetheart. The poor boy wants nothing to do with you now, you traumatized him."

Madeline, MJ's mother, steps out of the massage room with a satisfied and relaxed smile on her face. She clicks her tongue as she's led to a pedicure chair. "Sabina. What did you do to the poor boy? You scared him off?"

"Mom." MJ laughs, shaking her head. "It's worse. He won't even touch her."

Sabina can't find it in her to be embarrassed talking about this with MJ's mother. Since Andy's return to South Bend, Madeline took it upon herself to take the girls out for a Spa Day once every month—a chance to get away from all work and all stress, and then they get brunch afterwards with bellinis and mimosas and talk about what girls talk about with their mother.

The strawberry blonde of Madeline's hair is washed out with soft gray, and despite the wrinkles and lines caused by her aging, the beam on her face makes her look younger. Madeline carries herself with so much grace and elegance; it's not a wonder MJ is her daughter.

Now, she's Sabina's and Andy's mother, too.

"Whatever," the model grumbles, giving out her arm for an oatmeal hand scrub. "He doesn't want me, fine. I can deal."

"But you want him," Andy sing-songs, admiring the powder blue color of her toes, stretching her legs out to wiggle them. She has a dumb smile on her face. "Just be honest, Sab."

MJ holds up a hand and tilts her head to look at Sabina. "Do you even know anything about this man? Aside from, you know, what he's like in bed."

"He has a surgeon for a sister," Sabina grumbles, rolling her eyes. "And he likes blueberries."

Andy raises an eyebrow. "Blueberries."

"And?" Madeline prompts.

"And that he likes making coffee—you know what? I don't have to know him. I just want him, I need some release and he's hot as shit."

The nail technicians are trying really hard to look like they're not interested. Sabina meets hers in the eye and she smiles, sickly sweet. The nail technician turns away, clearing her throat.

Andy shrugs. "Then be honest with him. You know, take the first step."

Sabina groans loudly in frustration. "I already did, I went to his damned condo unit. And you know, you're in no place to give me advice, you're a kid."

Andy flashes her a sweet grin and holds up her hand, showing off her sparkling ring. "I'm married."

Sabina scowls. "Still a kid to me."

Madeline clicks her tongue and shakes her finger at her, giving her a pointed look. "Ah, ah. No fighting, girls. We're here to destress, and talking about Sabina's..."

"Victim," MJ supplies helpfully.

"Object of anger," Andy chimes in.

"Mother said no fighting," Sabina reminds them through gritted teeth, grinning sweetly at her best friends.

"Sabina's love life issues," Madeline finally says, amusement shining in her eyes, "is stressful. Everyone, relax. This is a time for women to gather together. Let's leave the men in our lives for after our spa and brunch."

Sabina leans back against her chair and closes her eyes. "He's not a man in my life, but fine by me."

*

"I don't like the colors," Sabina states flatly, looking at the mockups of the items being presented on the board room's flat screen. "Reverse them—make the text red and put it on white, yes, thank you. I don't think we need all the rainbow colors for this, let's stick to the white and red for now and have mockups sent to Women For Women. What's the material?"

"Uh, like we discussed, 60 percent recycled cotton and 40 percent organic," Yam, project manager, speaks up after a quick look at her clipboard. Standing beside the flat screen, she shifts her weight from one foot to another. Her hair is a mess and the lipstick on her teeth is annoying Sabina.

"What did I say about stuttering," Sabina says.

"Sorry." Yam clears her throat and stands straight.

"Good on the material." Sabina closes her folder and leans back on her chair from the head of the table. She squints at the screen and sighs, massaging her temple. "I can't see our logo."

Denny leans over the computer and presses a key. The slide shows her a new angle of the shirts and hoodies.

Sabina hums, tilting her head. "Make sure the embroidery looks better than that. And can we make it bigger? Thank you. Change the font of the slogan, it doesn't complement our logo—and change the color, too. Good. Sizes? We have everything up until the plus?"

There's a chorus of affirmation, and Yam takes a deep breath to continue, "We'll send the updated mockups after lunch for yours and Elyse's approval, and send them over to WFW as well. The warehouse is good to go with the production afterwards and we have the layout for the merchandise and copies ready on our website."

"Mm. Have a subscription button for the magazine—the one year. That's the one with the tote bag, right?"

"Yes."

"Good. I expect the updated report on my desk after lunch with the list of models, photo pegs, and possible venues for the launch." Sabina stands, and the rest of the staff stands as well.

Tristan follows her out, the tablet in his hand. "You have your three o'clock with Ms. Van Doren and our senior manager for analytics wants to see you afterward for last week's numbers."

Sabina lets out a soft groan and heads towards the elevator. "Okay. My lunch is free, right?"

"Yes."

"Alright. Be back in an hour, I'll be napping in my office so don't disturb me."

Sabina crosses her arms over her chest and tilts her head up, watching the numbers go up. Silently, she prays Tristan doesn't say anything about the other night.

They had a good start to the morning. As always, work is professional between the two of them. He showed up at eight o'clock outside her apartment with her coffee ready, gave her a rundown of her schedule, and took calls, booked her shoots, interviews, and meetings for the rest of the week and sat beside her during her meetings.

But he keeps his mouth shut. He steps aside to let her through the car, and then stands behind her once he pushes the button to the top floor.

Somehow, that infuriates Sabina. Was this arrogant ass not planning to apologize? Was he not going to explain his blatant rudeness that resulted in her total humiliation?

She struggles to keep her anger in. As soon as the elevator doors open, Sabina storms out and pushes the glass door to her office with enough force to break it. She kicks off her shoes, letting her toes sink into the carpet, before she lies down on the couch and closes her eyes.

And Tristan doesn't say anything about it for the rest of the week. And the week after.

It's a Friday, just after the photoshoot with the models for The Fit's merchandise collaboration with Women For Women, when she finds out that Tristan has a date.

At five o'clock on the dot, just as she's fixing up some paperwork among the other mountain of paperwork she has to go through, Tristan knocks.

"Ms. Kyle," he says in his infuriating deep voice, and Sabina doesn't look up. "It's five."

"Go home," Sabina mutters distractedly.

"You should, too," Tristan continues softly. "Your work can wait tomorrow, it's not going anywhere."

She knows he's right. She's spent the past few weeks until ten, eleven in the evening, long after Tristan has gone home.Sabina sighs and leans back against her chair, squeezing her eyes shut for a moment. "Right. Fine." She stands, shuts her laptop closed, and stretches before taking her bag and the jacket on her arm.

She and Tristan load the car in the elevator. Glancing at him, she decides she's feeling a little generous, so she says, "Since we're both leaving the office at a reasonable time, what about dinner?"

"No thank you."

Sabina pretends the immediate rejection doesn't bother her. "Then I'll give you a ride home. Your condo isn't out of the way."

Behind her, her secretary clears his throat. "That won't be necessary."

Clenching her jaw, Sabina rolls her eyes. "I'm being a civil employer."

"You don't have to be."

"It's not a big deal, Bishop." Sabina huffs out a humorless laugh. "Just accept the ride, will you?"

He's silent for a few moments, but then his voice echoes across the four metal walls caging them in when he says, "I'm not going to my condo. I'm meeting someone."

Instinctively, Sabina makes a noncommittal sound and says, "Ah. A date. Is that why you're wearing your best tie today?"

"What?"

"The blue. I like it, it matches your eyes. You're not planning on wearing a suit to your first date, are you?"

Sabina thinks he's lying. He's lying just so he can get out of dinner with her, riding with her, spending time with her. He's so—he's so cheap for doing this, he can just tell her to fuck off, to stop making an effort—because she is, she is making an effort, goddamn it, she doesn't know why, because he kicked her out when she tried reimposing their arrangement, and she gave him so many chances to apologize at work, and she actually misses their banter and he's never played the HR game since then, never said Kyle with his annoying lazy smirk and charming eyes since then, and Sabina just wants him to go to dinner with her or accept a damn ride.

"I'll just take off the tie and the jacket and I'll be good to go."

Frustrated, Sabina leans over to push the emergency stop button. The elevator car shakes into a halt, and she turns around to face him. "I want you to take off the tie and the jacket and everything else. For me."

Finally, Tristan looks at her. His jaw tightens and his lips press into a line. "Kyle. Stop."

"Then stop making me want you. You're not actually going on a date, are you? Tell me why you're avoiding me."

He keeps his features tight and steps back when Sabina steps forward. He presses his back against the shiny wall of the elevator, hands clutching the handrails. Sabina crowds him. "I'm not avoiding you. I'm with you eight to five at work."

"And now we aren't at work. Tell me."

"I am going on a date," Tristan insists. Sabina wants to kiss him. "What, you can't believe that someone would actually want to spend time with me outside of bed?"

A slow, slow smile makes its way onto Sabina's gloss-coated lips. "Ah. Is this revenge?"

"No," he bites out, letting out a rough breath when she moves closer, spanning her hands on his shoulders, squeezing them. His eyes are ringed dark blue, fingers clutching the handrails. "Kyle."

Her name sounds broken on his lips. Sabina loves it. "Fine," she concedes, sighing, eyes trained to his lips. "I'll break one of my rules for you, Bishop."

She puts one hand on his jaw, tilts his head down, and presses her mouth lightly against his.

*

"There's this thing," Sabina said, tilting her head back to give Tristan better access, just as he's sucking her collarbone, trailing his hands down her back to her bottom, grinding forward, crowding her against the wall, "called patience."

"Really," Tristan murmured, breath hot against her neck, sliding the zipper of her dress down and pressing his fingers into the dip of her spine, "never heard of it."

They just got back from a seven-hour flight. Sabina had a runway at a fashion show for lingerie, and she needed to do work for the week she was away, and it was convenient to bring Tristan along for her safety and for...other things.

But it was too risky to do anything in the hotel, what with her agency and makeup and hair artists being across the hall, and Sabina had been deprived of this, been starved of this, and it may not show in her words, but she's loosening his tie, taking off his jacket, just as desperate as he is.

"Never heard of it either. Bed," Sabina breathed, pushing him back.

Tristan complied, picking her up easily. She bounced a little on the mattress when Tristan dropped her, and she barely had time to catch her breath before he was crawling over her in all fours, knees on either side of her hips, pulling her underwear down, trailing his hands up her skin. He kissed Sabina's throat, jaw, ear, leans down to her chest.

Sabina unbuckled his belt, but Tristan leaned back, hovering above her, and there was a small smile on his lips, and Sabina wanted those lips back on her body.

"Hi," Tristan whispered.

"Hi, I want you," Sabina whispered back.

His smile spread into a grin, and for a second, Sabina was blinded. Her breath stuttered, heart jumped. Tristan smoothed her hair away from her face. "You always want me. You have a thing for me."

Sabina hooked her legs around his hips and pulled him down. "Yeah, I do."

But to her horror, his grin moved closer, like it was about to touch hers, and she didn't even realize she was smiling stupidly. Tristan's eyes are glued to her mouth, and he cupped her face in his hands, angling his head to the side.

It was self-preservation—Sabina's rule number one. Her friends didn't know, but the last time she had kissed someone was years ago, and if she tilted her head up, let Tristan kiss her, slide his tongue into her mouth, swallow her moans—Sabina couldn't do it. It was too intimate, too scary, too committing. If she kissed Tristan, it was over. He'd have the upper hand.

So she dodged it. She turned to her cheek at the very last second and Tristan's mouth stopped an inch away from her skin. For a second, they both lay horribly still, until Sabina found the courage to look at him, swallow thickly, and mutter, "Weren't you going to fuck me?"

A laugh bubbled out of his chest. He nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, come here."

Self-preservation.

*

There's a stuttered breath that catches against Tristan's throat from the light brush of their lips together, and his eyes squeeze shut like he's in pain. Sabina loops her other arm around his neck and presses in deeper, moving her mouth against his, softly plying it open.

Sabina can't believe she's doing this, but oh God. Her toes curl in her shoes, her fingers grasp wildly at his hair, pulling him closer, slanting their mouths together that their teeth clash desperately. Tristan bites her bottom lip unkindly, and goose bumps spread across her skin, and she sighs into his mouth.

His hands are finally where she wants them—on her body. His long and slender fingers are splayed on her hips, gripping tightly, feeling her bones underneath all the fabric, and they scratch at her like they want to tear her dress off.

What the fuck is happening, Tristan asks in his kiss.

Shut up, Bishop, Sabina responds in hers, tiptoeing so she can reach the bastard and push him against the wall. I hate you.

Tristan pulls back, pulls back just an inch to catch his breath, yes darkened to black and lips swollen and red, and Sabina grabs him by the tie and kisses him again.

The sound he makes this time isn't surprise, or wonder, or shock—it's a huh sound. The I knew it sound. The kind of sound assholes like him make when they realize they were right about something, and find that extremely pleasing and satisfying. Nah. I don't think you do.

Sabina smiles against his lips. Shut up.

Tristan melts into her. Sabina runs her fingers along the stubble on his jawline, around his neck, the broadness of his shoulders and his solid, solid chest. Whispers a kiss on his lips, sighs in contentment and want and horror and surprise.

A voice on the elevator speaker says, "Everything alright in there?"

Tristan freezes, body going rigid and hands stilling. Sabina steps back, presses the intercom and answers, "Bumped it, sorry."

And then the elevators move again, neither of them saying another word. Sabina looks at him, biting her lip, heart jumping uncontrollably fast, but Tristan's looking at the ground, knuckles white from gripping the handrails.

The car stops at the basement. Sabina walks out first, legs shaky, picking up her bag from the floor (she seems to be doing that a lot whenever she's with Tristan, it's not good), and she fumbles with her key to unlock her Mustang.

Tristan is right behind her. "Where's Stan?"

"I sent him home today, figured he could use the day off." She opens the door to the driver's side and tosses her bag in the backseat. Her secretary is frozen, and Sabina begins to grin. "Ah, I've traumatized you again, haven't I?"

Tristan's mouth opens, but a word doesn't come out. She wants to kiss him again.

"Get in," Sabina says. "This is the first and last time I'm driving you, Bishop."

Tristan gets in. He's stiff in the passenger seat, and Sabina starts the engine. "I've never seen you so flustered before."

"What the hell just happened."

"Stop freaking out," Sabina chides him, clicking her tongue. She backs away her parking space and drives off. She can feel Tristan's eyes on the side of her face, burning through her skull with a million questions.

"You kissed me."

"Yes."

"That's rule number one."

"Yes, so, now that we've done that, dinner at my place?" She turns her head to smile at him. "Or we can skip that and head straight to bed, I don't mind either way."

Tristan is still staring at her. "I told you I have a date," he says.

Sabina scoffs out a snicker. "Ah, right. Your imaginary date."

"No, I'm meeting Camie Brown. From features. We've had lunch together all week at the office pantry."

Sabina's smile slips off. She can't stop driving—they're far away from a stoplight and she's frozen. Breath caught in her throat. "What? The office pantry? They make salads with raisins."

She's stupid. She's so fucking stupid and overconfident and she's done it again—humiliated herself. God. Goddamn it. Her chest prickles with something that stings, and her hands shake when she grips the steering wheel.

"I hate raisins," Sabina says pathetically.

"Did you really think I was lying?"

Tristan's voice is flat. Sabina can't find it in her to look at him. Her lashes are wet. She's been—oh. She's never been so stupid in her entire fucking life.

There's a humorless laugh that escapes Tristan. There's a sound he makes from banging his head against the headrest, and he swipes his hand down his face. "Ah, God. You kissed me because you can't handle rejection. Because you can't handle it when someone doesn't choose you."

"I kissed you because I wanted to," Sabina says, keeping her eyes on the road. "Because I wanted you, I want you."

"No, you—I'm not your toy, Sabina," Tristan snaps. "You don't get to keep me around for your convenience."

She screwed up. She screwed up, she screwed up. "Tristan, I thought you were lying to make me jealous."

He's silent. And then, "Just drop me off at my condo. I don't want to—" he stops short, sucking in a deep breath. Then he looks out the window. "It was a mistake, let's not talk about it anymore."

It feels like hours before she slows the car down in front of his building. Tristan unlocks the door, and he's out of the car before she can come to a complete stop.

Sabina lets out a shaky breath. Her fingers are numb from gripping the steering wheel too tight; she thinks her fingernails punctured her skin. There's sweat on her face, and she takes another breath, and another, and another.

Her father calls. Sabina answers it. "Hey, Dad." Her voice is as normal as she can manage.

"Honey, are you busy?" her dad's voice comes through the speakers, and Sabina slumps down, head laying on the wheel. "My laptop just died, the charger isn't working. I was working on my homework and it just died!"

"I told you so many times to have it replaced," Sabina says, and her laugh doesn't sound like a laugh, "the battery is probably worn out. I'll drop by the shop and buy you a new one. We can have dinner together, what do you say?"

Her father agrees. He's delighted that Sabina is coming to see him. She wonders if he'd be so delighted if he knew how fucked his daughter is in the head.

*

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