The lights in her office are still off, a darkness staring back at me. Taunting me. Testing me. It’s already 9:02. For someone exceedingly early and often behind her desk by 7 a.m., it’s safe to say she won’t be coming in.

I sigh, shoulders hunching, abandoning all hope and collapsing into my chair.

Not today.

Perhaps tomorrow.

The rest of my day is a wash. Words go in one ear and out the other. I have to ask people to repeat themselves multiple times. Paperwork takes twice as long to read. I fumble my speech on a call with a client and mistakenly add an extra zero to a contract. I had to go back and edit 50 pages. When 4:45 creeps around, I’ve had enough. I stand, stretching my back, when I notice her office. Illuminated.

I blink twice, making sure I’m not projecting what I want to see. Twenty seconds later, Emma strides out, holding her briefcase and keeping her head down, hair obscuring her face. She’s real. Not a hallucination.

I want to cry and roar simultaneously at the sight of her. Even from this distance, I can tell she’s paler. Skinnier. More closed in and hunched over. Because of me.

The feeble ball of light in my chest—hope—snuffs out like a candle in the wind, plunging my world into total darkness.

Fury and self-loathing boil in my blood. Pulling out my phone with shaky hands, I click on Noah’s name.

“What’s up, H?” he asks, answering on the third ring.

I swallow, squeezing my eyes closed, unable to speak. No words are sufficient enough to convey my duress and turmoil.

“Henry? Are you okay?”

“No,” I finally croak out, digging the heel of my palm into my eye. “No I’m not okay.”

“You’re scaring the hell out of me. Where are you? What’s going on?”

“I fucked up, man. I fucked up so bad. I’ve never… I don’t… I can’t…”

Noah curses and I hear muffled voices on the other side of the phone. “Are you at your office?”

I nod, even though he can’t see me.

“Don’t move. I’m two blocks up. I’ll be there soon.”

The line goes dead, and I stand still. Taking a deep breath, I count to five, then exhale slowly. I repeat the exercise three more times, muscles and tension beginning to uncoil. The door to my office swings open, hitting the wall. Noah stands in the doorway, fury on his face.

“Don’t you ever fucking scare me like that again,” he snarls. “You look like shit.”

“I feel worse.”

“Good. I texted the guys and they’re meeting us in fifteen minutes.” He reaches for my blazer hanging on the back of the door and tosses it to me. The buttons hit my nose and I wince.

“You did? They are?”