The Boys of Blueberries

8

"So you didn't do anything?" MJ breathes, keeping her pace steady as she runs up the treadmill. There's sweat all over her face and her cheeks are flushed, and the bright orange strands of her hair are sticking to her forehead. "That's a serious waste of time," she scoffs out with a laugh.

"Well," Sabina breathes, running on the treadmill next to her, "I don't just want in his pants—obviously, I still do, but it's not just that anymore. At least, I don't think it is. I don't know, I'm crazy. I'm nuts."

"Yes," MJ agrees quietly, pushing a button. Her treadmill stops, and she leans against it to stare at Sabina. "Wait, what? You like him?"

"I'm not sure yet," Sabina says, keeping her eyes forward, focusing on her breathing. "Like I said, I'm crazy and I've gone nuts. Maybe I'm just horny and I want him to rearrange my guts, because I don't want a boyfriend. I don't like boyfriends, I think they're stupid. Adrian and Rhysand are no exceptions."

"And I agree with you there, but I love him, stupid as he may be. And Andy isn't here to defend her husband's honor, but, wait. Sabina. Back up." MJ yanks her wrist, and Sabina squeals in surprise as her body is dragged away from the machine. "You understand that you haven't had a proper relationship since, I don't know, since forever, right? Even if you did have one, the longest was, what, two weeks. Plus, this is your secretary—you dump your three hundred thousand to-do list tasks on him and then expect him to get it done."

Sabina blinks, slinging her towel over her shoulder. "Well, yes. Isn't that what secretaries do?"

MJ blinks, too. Then, she sighs and rubs a finger on her forehead. "You are unbelievable."

"I'm kidding, I'm trying not to overwork him anymore, okay? Plus, I'm not going to marry him, so relax." The model laughs out loud at the prospect. She sits down and uncaps her water bottle, winking at her friend. "Like I said, maybe I'm just in need of a great lay. So I'm going to be a little nicer to said lay."

"All your potential love interests are victims," the ginger comments snarkily, pointing an accusing finger at her. "You know that, right?"

Yes, Sabina thinks. As soon as Monday comes, even from Sabina's furthest view, the shape more familiar than her own shadow isn't standing next to her car. Her smile slips and she stalks up to Stan, who holds the door open for her. "Where's Tristan?" she demands.

"Running late, ma'am," Stan grumbles in his gravelly voice, and he steps aside to let her through. "He said he texted you."

"Thank you, Stan," she mutters, and her frown deepens as she settles in the backseat and fishes immediately for her phone. Tristan's text is waiting for her, and an attachment of her schedule.

I'm sorry, Ms. Kyle. I'll be a little late, I'll get there asap.

Tristan has never been late in his years working for Sabina. She purses her lips and types her response. Okay. Let me know if you need the day off.

He doesn't. He makes it on his desk thirty minutes late, scrambling to his desk and dumping his bag on the table, gathering his documents and reports and papers. He looks a little frazzled, and he's wearing a gray tie today. Sabina smiles, stands up from where she'd been watching him, and picks up the two coffee cups and snack bag settled on her desk.

Tristan stands up straight when he hears the glass door opens, chest rising and falling rapidly as he catches his breath. "I'm sorry, I had an issue to take care of."

Sabina passes by him and places one coffee with the bagel on the high countertop that divides his desk from the rest of the office. "Meeting starts in five, Bishop. Glad to see you could make it to work."