The Affair

Chapter 21.3

Thursday, July 21, 2022, 7:56pm

It is an anxious morning for Amy. A distant beep from the elevator's arrival calls from across the room, and Amy peers over the cubical walls to look. This time it is a duo of attorneys, coffee drinks in hand as they wave and split.

Amy huffs, plopping back into her chair. She checks her phone. Nearing 11:00am, and Dylan still hasn't arrived.

"Argh, what gives? Where are you??" she rages inside.

He's ignoring her—it's all she can conclude. But why?

She groans, resting her head in her palms. Still no messages since yesterday when he left early.

I'm leaving.

It was all he said after his talk with William. And the string of messages to him thereafter—begging for details or just a sign that he was okay—all remain unanswered. The unknown of it drives her crazy.

Worry nags at her, making work impossible at the moment. She looks over to Fallon instead. The girl is humming to herself again, attention bouncing between two screens as she reviews documents.

"Hey... Fallon."

Her head perks up at the words. She turns slowly, unsure—as if she would see a ghost. But when she finds Amy, just standing there beside her desk with crossed arms and that usual proud smirk, something eases.

Fallon's gaze flicks up and down, capturing Amy's outfit in just a heartbeat. Fitted navy slacks taper down her long legs, leaving a generous view of ankle, the right one bearing a lovely silver anklet with tiny charms, finished with simple black flats. A short-sleeved blouse colored a lush white, and shimmery with silk's allure, tucked and divided off with a skinny brown leather belt. Her pretty black hair falls in symmetry, manicured with a perfectionist's touch, leaving her ends straight and healthy.

"Cute!"

"Yes?" she manages.

"Get up, girl. I want boba. And you're coming with me," Amy states, more of a demand than anything.

"Wha—yeah?" she stammers, still cautious, "I mean, okay!"

Fallon is up in an instant. Amy's gaze narrows on her, noting each piece of clothing. A black long-sleeved top—a leotard most likely—fits her snug across her bust and arms, its neckline wide and thus showing off collar bone before cresting over the edges of her shoulders. Seamlessly, it slips under a red skirt with a plaid design, its length modestly falling just above her knees. Black socks sit about mid-calf, sheer and delicate, fitting neatly into a glossy set of baby-blue heels.

"Ugh. Fucking cute."

Amy scoffs, turning up her nose.

"You look cute," she says.

"Really?? Thank you, Amy!"

"Slutty," she adds, flipping her hair, "But cute nonetheless... Come on."

That gets a giggle from Fallon, thankful for the compliment despite the second part. She follows Amy into the elevator, and they ride it down. Along the way, Amy kicks up a conversation—a gripe about the new client and their shitty little rules. Fallon is eager to join.

At the bottom, the doors open and the girls step out. Without thinking, Amy takes Fallon's hand as she leads through the crowded area. The area is quieter now, more manageable, but Fallon clutches Amy's hand with interlocked fingers regardless. She tries to let go, but Fallon clings.

Her lips purse. This bitch, she thinks, feeling something warm flutter inside her. It's so soothing—Fallon's hand in hers, and the way she follows without hesitation.