"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."

She allows him to freeze for a total of three seconds before he's scurrying after her, coffee in his hand, tablet in the other. Sabina's lips pull up in a smile.

At the meeting, she can feel his eyes on the side of her head from her peripheral vision. Sabina focuses on the presentation and doesn't spare him a glance.

On Tuesday, Tristan has a particularly difficult phone call. Sabina twirls around in her office chair, biting her lip as she watches his eyebrows scrunch together, the crease appearing between them when he's annoyed, or confused, or mad. She sees his jaw tighten, and he takes a deep breath.

Sabina grins widely and leaves her office. Her secretary's eyes raise when the glass door shuts. "Ms. Tramel, I'm sorry, but Ms. Kyle is completely booked this week, and she's already confirmed this schedule. If I have any cancellations whatsoever, you'll be the first to know."

She leans over his desk and props her chin on her palm. Tristan stares at her, eyebrows still drawn together—a silent question of what are you doing here? I can handle this just fine.

Sabina gives him a shrug.

Tristan rolls his neck and shuts his eyes. Sabina can hear Amelia Tramel raising her voice. "Yes, I understand," Tristan says in his calmest tone, and he reaches up to loosen his tie. Sabina eyes it. "Our calendar is full—we've received your proposal and...yes. I'll see if there's anything I can do—"

He gets cut off. Sabina clicks her tongue. She doesn't like that.

Without another thought, she grabs the phone from him and presses it to her ear. Her smile has turned into that sarcastic, sickly sweet grin Tristan mentioned was a sight to see. "Hello, Ms. Tramel. This is Sabina Kyle, it's nice to hear from you again."

"Ah!" she gasps in surprise. "Ms. Kyle, yes, I was meaning to speak with you, but your assistant wasn't giving me a schedule this week." She laughs. "It seems like he's not cut out for the job—what is a man doing as a secretary at a fashion magazine?"

Sabina laughs, too. "Actually, Ms. Tramel, my secretary is perfectly capable and his gender has nothing to do with his work here. Anyway, what did you want to talk about?"

"Ah, it's quite urgent—I wanted to ask if you would reconsider covering a story about our line. We have our runway this Saturday and we've reserved seats for your staff. Can I come in today to discuss further details?"

Elyse had rejected the proposal. Sabina keeps her lips upward, and she turns around to face Tristan. His eyes are wide and unblinking, staring up at her. Sabina stares back at him. "I see. Well, I apologize, but I don't think that's happening. We simply felt that your clothing line is not cut out for The Fit, and, like my secretary said, my schedule is booked and our calendar is full."

On the other line, her voice drops the pleasantries. "Ms. Kyle—"

"I don't appreciate rudeness, Ms. Tramel," Sabina mutters, arching an eyebrow as she continues to keep her gaze locked with Tristan's. "But thank you for thinking about our magazine. We wish you luck on your runway. Goodbye."

Tristan's blue eyes are piercing. Sabina takes the phone away from her ear and hands it back to him. Her smile loses its bitterness, and she props her chin up on her palm. "Have any lunch plans today?"

He takes the phone back slowly. "Thank you." He says those two words very slowly, too.

Sabina's smile widens. "I was thinking steak."

"Yes." Tristan's tongue darts out to lick his lips. "Steak is always a good choice."

"Good, I'll reserve the table this time." She taps her fingers on the counter. "Get back to work, we're going to the warehouse in ten."

When she returns to her office, the widest smile plastered on her face that her cheekbones have started to hurt, she sees him pull open a lunchbox and stuff a blueberry into his mouth.

It's Friday when he finally cracks. They're going over the end-of-the-week report, and Tristan's leaning over her desk. Sabina is watching him, and his stubble looks so tempting to touch. She's raising a finger to do so, and Tristan grasps her wrist before the inch closes.

Tristan sighs in annoyance, lets her hand go, and stands straight. He demands, "Are you flirting with me?"

Sabina grins. "That would be against company policy, Tristan."

"Oh, yeah, silly me." He palms his forehead and rolls his eyes. "It's normal for bosses to buy their secretary coffee and breakfast, and take them to fancy lunches once a week, and check them out from inside their office every time they try to do their work and concentrate. Right, what was I thinking?"

"Hm." Sabina pretends to mull it over. She takes a deep breath and shakes her head. "I think the secretary started it when he touched her last week."

"I think the boss started it when she kissed him."

"And the boss would very much like to do it again." Sabina smiles at him. "We can schedule it for this evening."

Tristan scoffs out a laugh. "I already told you I don't want to be fuck buddies with you again."

Sabina drops her teasing grin and frowns. She snaps, "Why not? You're hot, I'm hot, we're—kind of...friends. We've kissed, and—fine. To boost your stupid ego, no one can touch me like you do. Happy?"

The eyebrow he raises looks mocking. His hands move upwards to loosen his tie, and Sabina eyes it. "Do the rules still apply?"

Sabina narrows her eyes. She knows what he's asking. "The second does, as much as possible."

"As much as possible," he repeats, mockingly, looking around her office.

Sabina rolls her eyes. "And the third does."

He looks at her again, and the corner of his mouth turns up lazily. "Friends don't kiss," he drawls. "Or fuck."

"Friends with benefits do."

The other corner of his lips lifts up. "You don't do that shit."

He's right. Internally, Sabina groans. "I'm willing to do it with you."

"I'm not," Tristan quips, already turning around. Sabina's jaw drops as she watches him incredulously. "Sorry, Kyle."

"Fuck you, Bishop."

"I'm sure you would very much like to," he says, asshole that he is—and then he leaves her office.

*

"I need to get laid."

Andy, Rhysand, and MJ are unfazed.

"Can't relate," the ginger says, munching on a freshly-baked cinnamon donut, half-sprawled on one end of the couch.

"Can't relate," Andy repeats from the floor, writing on a piece of table napkin.

Rhysand is still working, laptop open on the coffee table. His eyes stay on the screen, but his lips twitch.

Sabina scowls and tips her head back to down her can of root beer. "I hate you all."

Andy pulls back to smile at the napkin she was writing on. Beside her, Sabina's face scrunches together in disgust. Her handwriting reads:

Do you like me? Circle: YES or NO

Across the table, Andy slides it over to Rhysand. When he receives it, his face doesn't change, but he grabs a pen nearby and circles yes.

He slides it back to Andy. Andy's cheeks flush and she presses the napkin to her chest.

Sabina is unimpressed. "When will you two stop doing that? It's been seven fucking years and you've been married for months."

Without looking at her, Rhysand tells her, "Shut it."

"Don't be jealous, Sab!" Andy singsongs, standing up to drape herself on her husband's lap. Rhysand doesn't even react—just adjusts his position and moves his arms around Andy's body to reach his computer. "What happened with Tristan?"

"Nothing's happening, that's what."

"He's traumatized," MJ says.

Sabina sighs. "I need to go out tonight. This is not healthy for me."

"Rejection?" the orange head snickers.

Andy bites her lip and hides her laugh in Rhysand's shoulder.

Before Sabina can retort back, Rhysand's phone rings. He sighs and gently squeezes Andy's waist. "Be right back, baby."

He takes the call and leaves.

"So." Sabina picks up another cinnamon-baked donut and pulls her legs up to her chest. "How's the married life? Aside from, you know, the note-passing like you're in high school."

Andy watches Rhysand move further away, towards the direction of his studio, and then she slumps down on the floor, face falling.

Sabina raises an eyebrow. "Does the clinginess get worse when you're married or is that just an Andy Sanford—sorry, Andy Harton thing?"

To her and MJ's surprise, Andy groans, leaning back to lay her head on the couch behind her. "It's overwhelming."

MJ licks off the cinnamon and sugar on her fingers. "Please, enlighten those of us who are husband-less. Ring-less. Mansion-less..."

"This is not a mansion," Andy mutters, neck tilted back.

"Andy. Shut up. Just this living room is the size of my whole apartment," Sabina says, patting the space on the floor next to her. Biscuit wags his little tail and comes closer, and Sabina reaches out to pet him. "And there are stairs, you have three guest rooms, and the kitchen is huge, and—whatever. Why is it overwhelming? Do I have to slap the shit out of Harton?"

She juts her bottom lip out and looks at her friends with a sigh. Noticing his mother's mood, Biscuit leaves Sabina and runs to Andy, sprawling across her lap. Andy holds his paw and says, "What you just said is what makes it overwhelming. He has all this money, I suddenly have all this money because apparently, what's his is mine—I mean, it's been like that since before we got married, but now it's legally true and official, and I can't look at our bank account without feeling the need to throw up. I didn't even want to move from our house." She looks at Biscuit and hugs him, features tightening into a frown. "I mean, I did, I'm glad Jenner moved back in and he's keeping it, but I was thinking a small, two-story house of our own and not a freaking mansion." Andy purses her lips and sighs. "This—this is too much. I love it, we modeled this house together and worked with the architect and interior designer, and I love him, but it just feels weird, you know? God, I'm a teacher and I own a bakery, I barely make a sixteenth of what he makes. And, I barely paid for shit for the wedding. And it was a very expensive wedding."

"Bub," MJ starts, propping her elbow on the couch. Her torso shifts so she can face her friend. "You said it yourself. It's not just Rhysand's money now—it's both of yours. And I'm pretty sure he'd sell this place and buy a much a smaller one if it'll make you happier."

"Sell this mansion?" Sabina squeaks incredulously, wildly looking around.

Andy shoots her a look. MJ shakes her head with a sigh.

"I mean." The eldest clears her throat and spreads her legs on the carpet, shrugging. "Harton could care less that you barely make a sixteenth of what he does."

"And he knows that if he were broke, you'd still love him and stay with him," MJ adds helpfully, grabbing her can of root beer with her perfectly-manicured fingernails. "Maybe it's just a little getting used to."

"I'm carrying millions on my finger alone," Andy deadpans.

"Like I said, a little getting used to," MJ repeats cheerfully. "And you should talk to him about it."

"I was planning to," Andy murmurs, taking a deep breath. She reaches with her other hand out to take her own can. "Anyway, since school is starting soon, I've been busy making lesson plans and trying out new recipes for the bakeshop. Are the donuts good?"

Sabina makes an affirmative noise from her chewing. Her lips are smeared with cinnamon and sugar.

The ginger gives her a thumbs-up, too, and leans over to feed Andy. The youngest takes a bite.

"The cheese tarts still win, though," Sabina comments. "Best-seller."

"I agree," MJ says.

Andy grins.

"Have you guys freed up your schedule for the clinic launch?" MJ mutters, closing her eyes and nestling her drink on her stomach. "I know we're all busy and shit, but it's important to Adrian and he needs his friends' support."

"Already freed up," Andy chirps, taking another donut in her hands. "Rhys will be there, too."

Sabina raises an eyebrow. "Wow. He has time for the commoners."

"And you?" MJ asks. "Do you have time for us commoners?"

She ignores the jab. "Tristan has it scheduled," she says, and then her brain wakes up—like a light bulb just went out. "Actually, mind if I take him as a date?"

MJ snickers, opening her eyes to look at her friend. "If he agrees to be your arm candy, go ahead."

"Go, Sab!" Andy cheers, every the supportive. "Just ask him, I'm sure he'll say yes."

Sabina doesn't ask him right out. She waits until she has a cocktail press event with one of the brands she's an ambassador for—and she waits until she's drunk.

Which is probably not such a good idea, but Tristan has never been the subject of Sabina's good ideas.

He's sticking to the bar. Even with the lights dim, Sabina can feel his eyes piercing the back of her head as she moves her body to the beat on the dance floor, letting loose and enjoying the music. It's crowded, it's hot, and she feels high and euphoric, and she doesn't care when unfamiliar hands run themselves all over her from behind. Sabina tips her head back onto his shoulder and sways her hips, fully aware that she's doing this not for whoever's trying to get some luck, but to put on a show for the ass watching a few feet away.

Sabina had told him that he could go home if he wanted to. The event proper was done, he was going to get paid for working overtime, and he could go home before Sabina could take a cocktail and let her hair fall from its many, suffocating pins and her bones relax from the stiffness and formality of the atmosphere, that she'd call Denver to come. But her bodyguard refused and insisted to take her home.

So. Here she is, putting on a show for him. But she's swaying, head up in the clouds, chest rising and falling rapidly, and she doesn't notice when the stranger begins grinding on her.

Sabina turns around and pushes him. "Just dance," she snaps, and throws her arms around his neck.

He says something, and Sabina guesses it's something she'd roll her eyes at and find disgusting if she were sober, but she doesn't hear it. She doesn't want to, she lets the music take over, not minding the stranger's hands on her hips, head lolling back from the rising dizziness in her head.

The man clearly doesn't understand a simple instruction, because he leans forward and tries to rub against her. Before Sabina can slap this jackshit, she gets pulled off, and Tristan's hand is circling her wrist. "Kyle," Tristan's deep voice says, his eyebrows are furrowed. Switching his gaze to the stranger, he says, in his low and dangerous tone, "She's drunk, back off."

She smiles at the stranger and waves at him. To Tristan, she says, "Okay, I'm fine. Go back to the bar, I'm dancing."

"No more." Tristan sets his jaw and begins pulling her back. "You're drunk and you're in heels, you can fall over—"

"Stop." Sabina yanks her hand away and snarkily snaps, "You won't fuck me, so I'm trying to find someone who will."

The scoff he lets out is loud, and his arched brow is mocking. The model crosses her arms over her chest. "Really."

Sabina pauses, teeth grinding together. They both know Sabina's not taking anyone home, and they both know she's not going home with someone else—not with Tristan here. Resigned, she groans loudly and steps closer to run her hands up his chest, over his dress shirt, biting her lip. "You're so hot," she mutters, unabashedly, brushing her fingers on the strands of his hair.

Tristan sighs, prying her hands off. "Kyle. You're so fucking drunk."

Annoyed, she grumbles, "Tell me why you don't want me anymore."

"Because it's against company policy," he answers, slipping his arm around her waist, leading her away. "You're so stupid. Where's your coat?"

In the car, Sabina is quiet in the front seat. Her head is throbbing and her skin feels hot, and she's watching Tristan drive with one hand and she really, really wants his other hand on her thigh. Andy's right. It's hot when men do that.

She eyes his long and slender fingers resting on the gear stick. Without thinking, she blurts out, "You pencilled me in for a clinic launch next week, right?"

Tristan glances at her quickly. His face is impassive. "Yeah. Do you need me to cancel it?"

"No," Sabina breathes out, rubbing her temple with her finger. "Do you want to go with me?"

"Sure," he answers easily with a shrug.

The model frowns. She stares at the side of his head, the stubble on his chin and jaw, and mutters, "Not as my employee. As my date."

As she expected, Tristan falls quiet. It takes several heartbeats, and the pinch in between his eyebrows appear thrice, before he finally says, "That would require me working outside of my work hours."

"Yes."

"So this is a favor?"

The way he asks it makes Sabina narrow her eyes. "If being my date is a favor, then fine."

The corner of his lips turn up, but he keeps his eyes on the road. "Okay. Then I'd like to ask you come to a thing of mine after that. Let's do each other a favor."

She...whatever she was expecting, it wasn't that. Sabina sits up and states flatly, "As your date."

Tristan shrugs. "Are you in or not?"

Sabina takes a very, very deep breath. She leans her head against the window and states, "I'm a very busy person, Bishop."

A quiet chuckle escapes his mouth. Pretty, delicate mouth. Sabina stares at it. "I wouldn't know anything about that," is his annoying response.

Sabina sighs and shakes her head. "You'd have to check with my secretary to see if I'm available."

He turns his head, and his eyes are striking and shining with amusement. "I'll see what he can do," he says, grinning, and then he returns his focus to the road.

Sabina feels her own mouth pulling up at the sides. She hums and opens the window, sticking her head out to feel some air on her face.