almost, but not quite — she purses her lips and fights down any urge to feel. “well, thank you. that’s obviously very reassuring and important to me.”

“mhm.” she twirls her pen, puts the bin to her notebook. scribbles almost absentmindedly over an old note, then takes a red to add a line. “begging for what, roman?”

“if you’re not going to get to the point, and quickly, you can leave.” it reminds her of her eldest, and the way she would swallow whole floors in an effort to get gerri’s attention. “i can’t help with sickness.”

ah — well, yes, i suppose.

not at all, but am i someone you want to congratulate?

no, no — but our employers are hardly friends.

squashed by time and the risk of whispers reaching cassandra before she does, gerri simply… - txt: ً - 📲: i’ve been meaning to let you know that i’m engaged. it would be good to see you soon if you’re not busy. 📲: to karolina.

it’s nothing, really — if she’s watching karolina through the glass, it’s mere coincidence that the comms guru has planted herself where gerri’s gaze should land.

—~ temporary new gerri layout to introduce my new fc 🫶

don’t blame me for your creepy little obsession.

hours pass as cassandra sits at the bottom of a digital pile. hours turn to a day. and a half. - txt: cass - 📲: yes, i thought so. no great surprise — women get women, after all — but a pleasant fit and view all the same. 📲: i’m not a lesbian.

her eyes flick down, embracing silence and solitude as she focuses once more on the knotty legal problem on her desk. nothing, then. just a look.

as much as i love a dog humping my leg.

good god, you’re like a litmus test for bad kinks.

i was not.

she notes karolina’s presence through smell alone and welcomes her with a softer hum than usual, eyes fixed on a document that sits flat on her desk. “not really, but you can have one anyway.” the sort of thing a fiancée should get, probably.

“certainly nothing for you to worry about, yet,” but she has been making calls herself, has been whispering in phones for rumours, details, secrets. it’s demeaning. her new assistant should really be stepping up. “what’s the perfume?”

that gathers more attention — more than gojo, more than the accounts in front of her — and her neck clicks at the flagrant reveal of intimacy. she sniffs, focuses on it for a little longer. it smells different, mingling with lina. “. . . guerlain? that’s hideously expensive.”

bleach and vinegar have chemistry, roman — that doesn’t mean the result is positive.

“i don’t use it often.” she could afford another bottle or ten without complaint, of course, but by her gaze it’s not the issue. “evenings, usually.” a little more weight gathers in her throat, adding a huskier quality than before, and, “late nights spent with companions.”