“You literally banned them at the last employee retreat, and the year before you walked out until we’d finished.” In hindsight, her previously withholding those growls of hers was a blessing in disguise. My self-control would’ve snapped a month into her working for me.

“That’s not how I remember it.” I was being completely shameless, but at least she wasn’t nervous anymore. She looked like she wanted to murder me, but that was an improvement from her looking spooked by Chase. She probably would’ve kept reaming me out, but Keli, the other producer—and the one I actually liked—walked in.

“This is so great,” she exclaimed, apparently delighted to see Alba trying to take my head off over icebreakers. “The viewers love the banter. You know what?” she asked, turning to Mona. “It might be fun to have them answer some questions about each other.” Alba’s eyes lit up at that, probably thinking she had me.

“Let’s do this then.” She clapped, suddenly all smiles.

“I never knew about this petty side of you, Alba Dulcinea,” I teased, and she smiled wider, coming closer.

“Bite me, Theodoro.”

“Just tell me when,” I told her under my breath. “I have a few spots all picked out already.” She bared her teeth, and I had to adjust the front of my slacks.

“The first ones will be pretty easy ones,” Mona assured us, unaware of the threats my co-host was muttering in my direction. Keli was all smiles, seemingly ecstatic that Alba hated my guts. Chase stood back and watched us with an ugly sneer on his face. I at least gave him credit for realizing he was close to getting his ass beat and staying out of my way.

“This should be a cakewalk for the two of you,” Keli chimed in. “Since you’ve worked together for years.” Alba shot me a smug grin like she couldn’t wait to watch me fuck up.

What Alba didn’t know was that I paid attention to everything she did. I may not have known her childhood history or even the names of her siblings, but I knew Alba Serena. I could write a fucking dissertation on the way she scribbled tulips in the margins of her ever-present notepad whenever she had to sit through one of my business conference calls. I could give a TED Talk on the way she would turn all the capital Os into smiley faces when she was in a good mood. I may not have known where she went for elementary school or who her prom date was, but I could tell you what kind of day Alba Duarte was having by the way she handed me my macchiatos in the morning.

“First question,” Mona announced, and Alba sat up straight.

“Teacher’s pet,” I muttered, and she responded with more death threats in Spanish.