After hours

SIENNA

Everyone left at seven.

I stayed. I had a report to finish and I was not going to let the anonymous text or the camera or the coffee situation live rent-free in my head for one more hour. Work was work. I could do work.

At seven-thirty I realized Kade hadn’t left.

His office light was still on. I could see him through the glass — jacket off, sleeves rolled, standing at his desk reading something. Completely still in that way he had, like the world could catch fire and he’d finish the page first.

I went back to my screen.

At eight-fifteen a coffee appeared on my desk.

Black. No sugar. Still hot.

I looked up. He was already walking back to his office. Didn’t turn around. Like he just happened to bring two coffees from the machine and one of them happened to end up next to me.

I stood up.

“Kade.”

He stopped.

“Did you send that text to my phone today?”

He turned around slowly. Looked at me across the empty floor.

“What text?”

“Unknown number. About you watching me. About the coffee.”

Something moved through his expression. Gone before I could catch it.

“No,” he said.

“But you do know my coffee order.”

“I know everyone’s coffee order in my building.”

“That’s not normal.”

“It’s efficient.”

I crossed the floor. Stopped maybe four feet from him, which felt close in the empty quiet. “Who has access to my personnel file?”

“HR. Me.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“And the camera above my desk—”

“Covers the whole floor. Standard.”

“Was it pointed at that specific desk before I got here?”

A pause. Just long enough to be an answer.

I said, “Okay. That’s what I thought.”

I turned and walked back to my desk. He stayed where he was.

For a while neither of us spoke. The building was almost completely silent — just the low hum of the climate system and distant city traffic below. I typed. He went back to his office and didn’t quite close the door.

✶

KADE

He’d known who she was before the wedding.

That was the honest version of it, the one he didn’t say out loud. His father had mentioned her — Sienna, my new wife’s daughter, she’ll be staying with us — and Kade had done what he always did: researched. Background check, social media, work history, credit report. Standard due diligence on anyone entering the household.

What he hadn’t expected was to find himself reading her file at 11pm on a Wednesday for no reason that held up under examination.

He walked back to the doorway of his office.

She was still typing. Back straight, eyes on the screen, coffee untouched beside her keyboard. She’d been here since nine this morning. She’d saved the Richardson account with less information and less time than Marcus had with both. She’d done it like it was obvious.

He needed to send her home.

He walked out instead.

✶

SIENNA

He came back out and stood near my desk and I pretended not to notice.

“It’s eight-forty,” he said.

“I’m aware.”

“The report will be there tomorrow.”

“I know. I’m almost done.”

He sat down in the empty chair across from my desk, which — nobody had ever done that. It had only been a day, yes, but still. He sat across from me and put his elbows on his knees and looked at me like he was trying to decide something.

“What?” I said.

“Who sent you that text?”

“You said it wasn’t you.”

“It wasn’t. But someone did. Someone who knows this building.”

I saved my document. Closed the laptop. Looked at him straight.

“You had me investigated before I got here. Didn’t you.”

It wasn’t a question and he knew it. He didn’t look away.

“Background check. Standard.”

“On your future stepsister.”

“On anyone new in my household.”

“That’s a nice way to say it.”

He almost smiled. I caught the edge of it — the corner of his mouth moving and then stopping — and it was somehow worse than if he’d just smiled.

“Go home, Sienna,” he said.

“You first.”

Neither of us moved. The office was very quiet and he was very close and I was very aware of every place our eyes were touching.

His phone rang.

He looked at the screen. His whole face went professional in one second — the almost-smile gone, the stillness back. He stood. Answered it. Walked away without looking back.

I picked up my bag and left.

In the elevator I pressed my back against the wall and breathed.

My hands were shaking. I didn’t know why that was more frightening than anything else.

✶

Rex was in the lobby.

He was sitting on one of the low benches near the doors, elbows on his knees, looking at his phone. He looked up when he saw me and his expression shifted — went more serious than I’d seen it.

“Hey,” he said. “I need to tell you something.”

“Rex, it’s late—”

“About Kade. Something you need to know.” He stood. Lowered his voice. “Not here.”

He glanced at his phone as it buzzed. Looked at the screen. Went still. Then looked up at me with an expression I hadn’t seen on him before — something close to fear. “Shit,” he said quietly. “He knows we’re talking.”