“No.”
Right. Of course. “Can I see the blueprints for the prototype? Make a few notes?”
“They’re on the server. You have access.”
“Do I? I sent you an email about that, and about—”
A phone rings in his pocket. He checks the caller ID and answers with a soft “Hey” before I can continue. I hear a female voice on the other side.
Levi doesn’t look at me as he mouths, “Excuse me,” and slips out of the kitchen. I’m left alone.
Alone with my stabbing dreams.
On the fifth day, my fantasies evolve yet again. I’m walking to my office, schlepping a refill bottle for the water cooler and half-heartedly considering using it to drown Levi (his hair seems long enough to hold on to while I push his head underwater, but I could also tie an anvil to his neck).
Then I hear voices inside and stop to listen.
Okay, fine: to eavesdrop.
“—in Houston?” Rocío is asking.
“Five or six years,” a deep voice answers. Levi’s.
“And how many times have you seen La Llorona?”
A pause. “Is that the woman from the legend?”
“Not a woman,” she scoffs. “A tall lady ghost with dark hair. Wronged by a man, she drowned her own children in revenge. Now she dresses in white, like a bride, and weeps on the banks of rivers and streams throughout the south.”
“Because she regrets it?”
“No. She’s trying to lure more children to bodies of water and drown them. She’s amazing. I want to be her.”
Levi’s soft laugh surprises me. And so does his tone, gently teasing.
Warm. What the hell? “I’ve never had the, um, pleasure, but I can recommend nearby hiking trails
with water. I’ll send you an email.”
What is happening? Why is he conversing? Like a normal person? Not with grunts, or nods, or clipped fragments of words, but in actual sentences?
And why is he promising to send emails? Does he know how to? And why, why, why am I thinking about the way he pinned me against that stupid wall? Again?
“That would be great. I normally avoid nature, but I am ready to brave clean air and sunlight for my favorite celebrity.”
“I don’t think she qualifies as a—”
I step into the office and immediately halt, dumbstruck by the most extraordinary sight I have ever laid my eyes upon.
Dr. Levi Ward. Is. Smiling.
Apparently, The Wardass can smile. At people. He possesses the necessary facial muscles. Though the second I step inside, his dimpled, boyish grin fades, and his eyes darken. Maybe he can only smile at some people? Maybe I’m just not considered “people”?
“Morning, boss.” Rocío waves at me from her desk. “Levi let me in. Our badges still aren’t working.”
“Thanks, Levi. Any idea when they will?”
Icy green. Can green be icy? The one in his eyes sure manages to. “We’re working on it.” He makes for the door, and I think he’s going to leave, but instead he picks up the refill bottle I dragged here, lifts it with one hand—
one! (1)!
hand!—and lodges it on top of the cooler.
“You don’t have to—”
“It’s no problem,” he says. He should be sent to jail for the way his biceps look. At least for a little bit. Also, please lock him up for being gone before I can ask if our equipment will ever arrive, if he’ll ever answer my emails, if I’ll ever be worthy of a compound sentence made of multiple clauses.
“Boss?”
I slowly turn to Rocío. She’s looking at me, inquisitive.
“Yep?”
“I don’t think Levi likes you very much.”
I sigh. I shouldn’t be involving Rocío in this weird feud of ours—partly because it seems unprofessional, partly because I’m not sure what she’ll blurt out at the most inappropriate moment. On the other hand, there’s no point in denying the obvious. “We know each other from before. Levi and I.”
“Before you publicly announced that he’s shit at neuroscience, you mean?”
