Fault Lines
Lucas doesn't let go of my arm.
Not immediately.
Not until Elliot shifts—just slightly—his hand firming at my waist in a way that's unmistakably territorial. The room hasn't quieted, but it feels like it has, like the air itself is waiting to see who moves first.
Lucas's smile turns knowing. "Did I interrupt something?"
"Yes," Elliot says flatly.
I pull my arm free. "No."
Both of them look at me.
I straighten my shoulders. "You don't get to speak over me. Either of you."
Lucas lifts his hands in mock surrender. "Fair enough. I was just surprised. Elliot doesn't usually bring… company."
The pause before company is deliberate.
Elliot's jaw tightens. "You're done here."
Lucas's brows lift. "Possessive, aren't we?"
"I'm efficient," Elliot replies. "And you're being distracting."
Lucas chuckles. "Careful. That's not how it looks."
He turns to me, eyes warm, curious. "If you ever want a drink without conditions, you know where to find me."
Elliot doesn't move. Doesn't speak.
But I feel the tension in him like a held breath.
Lucas walks away.
The moment he's gone, I step back. "Don't ever do that again."
"Do what?" Elliot asks.
"Use me as leverage."
"I didn't."
"You did," I snap. "You marked territory."
His eyes flash. "You were being targeted."
"I can handle myself."
"I know," he says quietly. "That's the problem."
I stare at him. "What does that mean?"
"It means," he says, lowering his voice, "that I underestimated how quickly this would stop being theoretical."
The words hit harder than I expect.
"This was supposed to be simple," I say. "Temporary."
"Yes," he agrees. "It was."
"And now?"
His gaze drops to my mouth again, then lifts—controlled, conflicted. "Now there are variables."
I shake my head. "You're not allowed to be jealous."
"I'm not," he says immediately.
I laugh, sharp. "Then what was that?"
He doesn't answer.
Which is answer enough.
"I'm leaving," I say.
"You arrived with me."
"I can get home on my own."
Silence stretches. Then he nods once. "I'll have the driver take you."
"No," I say. "I need space."
His eyes darken, but he steps back. "Very well."
I turn away before he can say anything else—before I can change my mind.
The ride home is quiet. Too quiet.
I replay the night in my head: the way he said mine, the tension with Lucas, the look in Elliot's eyes when he realized he might lose control—not of the situation, but of himself.
My phone buzzes as soon as I step into my apartment.
Elliot Blackwood: We need to talk.
I don't respond.
Another buzz.
Elliot Blackwood: Not as employer. Not as owner.
I close my eyes.
Elliot Blackwood: As two people who crossed a line.
That one gets me.
I type, then erase. Type again.
Me: I have an interview follow-up tomorrow.
Three dots appear. Disappear.
Then:
Elliot Blackwood: If you take that job, this ends.
My chest tightens.
Me: Is that a threat?
The reply takes longer this time.
Elliot Blackwood: It's a boundary.
I sink onto the couch, phone heavy in my hand.
Because I suddenly understand the real choice in front of me isn't about money or stability.
It's about whether I'm willing to walk away…
Before this becomes something neither of us can control.