Since they've grown up, it's rare that everyone in their little circle can make it—the last was Andy and Rhysand's wedding, and even then, it almost cost the bride her hair and her sanity because it was apparently demonizing to find a one-week schedule that fit everyone's availability.

So to the clinic's opening, it's Andy and Rhysand, who have been each other's since the beginning of time, are living in domestic bliss and have a son; MJ and Adrian, who have transitioned from a lot of tequila and on/offs before finally getting their shit together and building this clinic from support and ambition and dedication; Jenner, who is always a delight to be with and can't seem to find anyone to share the ridiculously large house with yet; and Sabina and Tristan who are—something. Lots of things, and also nothing at all.

"Congratulations." Sabina leans close to give Adrian a hug. "How's it feel, Doctor?"

"Overwhelming," he answers with a grin, wrapping an arm around MJ. "Worth it. Thanks for coming, Sab."

"MJ forced me to."

"I did not," MJ retorts, rolling her eyes.

Sabina tightens her arm around Tristan, who's just standing there beside her, all stiff and rigid, like he's here as her bodyguard and not as her freaking date. "Adrian, this is Tristan Bishop. Tristan, this is Doctor Adrian Flynn, he owns the clinic. And you know MJ."

The doctor's grin turns menacing as he switches his gaze to Tristan. And then back to Sabina. "Ah. It's a blonde this time."

Sabina narrows her eyes at him. It's his day, she tells herself. We can't kill anyone. Oh, and it's MJ's boyfriend, she'd be pretty sad.

MJ shoots him a look. "Babe."

Adrian offers his hand out to him. "Nice to meet you, man."

"Hello." Tristan shakes it. "Congratulations."

Adrian's eyebrows raise. "You don't have to be so polite. Come on, Sabina's..." He sucks in a deep breath and pretends to think about it. Sabina rolls her eyes. "Any friend of Sabina's is a friend of mine."

Before Sabina can speak, Tristan says, in his flat, flat voice, "We're not friends."

The brunet's eyebrows raise up higher. They reach his hairline. He looks at Sabina, and his eyes are mischievous. "Really." The word rolls off his tongue so mockingly, Sabina is going to punch him. "So it's more than the usual. You like her, she likes you, which is it—"

"Neither. Shut him up," Sabina snaps to MJ, taking Tristan's hand. "Just because he's a big shot now doesn't mean he can treat me and my date like this."

"Ah!" Adrian's voice calls out from behind them. "So the term is date!"

Tristan's hand is slack in hers, but Sabina keeps pulling him inside the small clinic, through the glass doors. They're instantly hit with the cool air conditioning, and despite her flusteredness, Sabina can appreciate beauty when she sees it. The walls are cream but the doors and the paintings are blue—but not the blinding blue, more of a Robin's egg blue, the kind of blue that makes you feel sleepy. The sofa, throw pillows and rug are beige, and the reception desk is marble, and the Flynn Psychology Center name plate is in metallic gold, right up on the wall—no one can miss it. It looks bright and cozy for people coming to see a shrink.

And filled with people—Adrian and MJ's friends from work and medical school. Andy is easy to spot—if it's not the floral embroidered mesh mini-cami dress she's wearing, it's the fact that she's eyeing the sweets on the table, features drawn together like she's thinking hard, like she's making an incredibly difficult decision at a candy store.

"Huh. Someone nice, finally," Sabina breathes out, tugging Tristan with her.

His face hasn't lost the frown and he's trudging along like a...like a guard dog, like her bodyguard. Sabina is praying that Andy's great people-powers and her annoyingly sunshine personality makes the man loosen up.

Because they've been fine since he drove Sabina home from her press event. They're fine at work, Sabina still checks him out from inside her office—the drill. But this morning, when Tristan came to pick her up in a light blue dress shirt with the collar popped out and sleeves rolled up, in jeans and white sneakers, as much as he was breathtakingly and annoyingly handsome, he looked...as constipated as he does now.

And the first thing he said when she opened the door was, "I read about your friends."

Sabina was annoyed he didn't notice how pretty she was first. Still, she said, "What?"

"MJ is the CEO of the Chaucer-Hyatt Suites," he said, slowly, like he's trying to remember. "And apparently, she's well-liked by the media and she's handling business well. Her boyfriend is Adrian Flynn—that's the doctor, the psychologist, the one whose clinic is opening today. And they live together but they're not married."

Sabina pursed her lips and crossed her arms.

Tristan took a deep breath. His eyes were focused on her face, reading her expression, and he continued, "Andy is a preschool teacher, she owns Bake Away and she's married to the famous producer, Rhysand Harton. Rhysand is...intimidating. That's what my, uh, research said. And then there's also Jenner, who's...kind of your friend but not. You hooked up before and tried but it didn't work. And I knew most of this already, but it's good to know you have some...interesting friends. Not serial killers."

Sabina could feel her lips starting to tug upwards, chest beating so loudly at the prospect, the prospect of Tristan Bishop being nervous—Tristan, who's never almost nervous for anything and it's the first time she's seeing him ramble like this, so she clears her throat and stands straight. "I have breakfast inside. Georgia made cinnamon apple bostock. I don't know what the hell that is but it smells good, and I made coffee for you. But before I open the door, tell me how I look first."

It was new—the satin puff-sleeve tie-front mini dress in cream, with matching heels and a silver, shining purse. Her black hair was down and curled, her face is a glorious experiment of new makeup, and there are two silver chains around her neck.

Tristan's eyes travelled downwards, and then back up to meet her awaiting gaze. Sabina was grinning, even twirled around for him. "It's new," he noted.

"It is."

His mouth curled slightly as he stared at her. "Why are you always fishing for compliments?"

"I'm not fishing." She cleared her throat and raised her chin. "I know I'm pretty, but it's just different when you say it."

His lips pressed together. "I don't understand why it's different."

"Just—" Sabina rolled her eyes and turned back around to her apartment. "Annoying. Boys. Why do I even—never mind. Have some breakfast and coffee. Why'd you read about my friends? You're meeting them today anyway."

Tristan couldn't give her an answer this morning. Andy turns around when Sabina pulls her by the arm, and her eyes brightens. "Sab, hey!" She's holding a cupcake in her hands, but she leans forward to hug her friend. To Tristan, she keeps her wide grin and says, "Hi! I'm Andy San—Harton. But you...already knew that. Sorry, my hands are dirty."

Tristan manages a small smile. "Hi. Nice to see you again, Andy. Tristan Bishop."

"I know that!" Andy giggles, passing him a pastry. "I'm glad you came with Sabina, it's so nice seeing you outside of your whole bodyguard-secretary thingo. You guys look great together and I'm so happy for Sab!"

Not so amazing people-powers after all. Sabina resists the urge to bang her head against the table.

Tristan's voice is flat when he says, "We're not together."

Sabina's smile turns sickly sweet. "Andy, kid, we talked about this."

"Oh, yeah, I know. I didn't mean together-together, Sabina doesn't do that. I meant like, you're back on your agreement," Andy says, wide-eyed and curious, and normally, Sabina would find it adorable and endearing, but right now, it's just torture. "Right...anyway! I'm going to go find my husband," she mutters, already turning away, grabbing another cupcake on the go. "I'll see you guys at the ribbon-cutting."

As soon as she's gone, Tristan takes his hand away from Sabina's and stares at her. "So you're known to bring a fuck to your things. These things."

Sabina's whole face sours. She stalks forward, heels snapping across the hall, and opens a door, expecting him to follow.

He does, shutting it closed behind him.

Sabina faces him, crosses her arms over her chest, and says, "Well, you're not a fuck. Not anymore. You could be, again."

Disbelief crosses Tristan's expression. He scoffs and shakes his head once. "I already told you, I don't want to. Is this why you brought me here? Because if it is, you're insane. You're fucking insane, and you're going to all these lengths to, what, bring our fuck buddy agreement back on? You think I'd change my mind—"

"I meant," Sabina continues quietly, cutting him off, "you could be, again. And more."

Whatever he was planning to say, Sabina doesn't hear it. They get stuck in his throat, and his jaw snaps shut.

The surprise on his face is glorious, as well as the mumbled, "And more."

"You heard what Andy and Adrian said, stupid as they are. I don't do this, I bring my fuck buddy as a date and then my friends never see them again." She takes a deep breath and swallows hard, locking him with her gaze. "And I plan on my friends seeing you again in the future. So we can figure out the relationship stuff as we go," Sabina says, waving her palm around like she's presenting to the freaking board or something. "Establish some rules, what's good and what's not—"

"I can't," Tristan says suddenly. Icy and harsh.

"Can't what?"

"I can't do this with you, Kyle."

Her eyes blink, so incredibly slow, she sees dots behind her eyelids. "Because I'm your boss or because you're seeing someone else?"

His pause is excruciatingly long. "Because I just don't want to. With you."

Her teeth grit together. In anger, she snaps, "Then why are you here?"

"Sabina," he snaps back, and he steps forward. There's that pinch in between his eyebrows again, and Sabina wants to slap it off. "Do you realize you're—you're just telling me to be a part of what you want without asking if it's what I want?"

Sabina's features tighten in confusion. "What?"

"And another set of your goddamn rules." Tristan shakes his head and laughs humorlessly. "Jesus Christ, dating shouldn't have any rules, Kyle."

"They're just to keep us—"

"No," Tristan bites out angrily. "No, they're to keep you from whatever it is you're afraid I'd do to you. The second you feel uncertainty and doubt, you will bail, the second I break any of your stupid rules, you will run. And you don't want to spend time with me outside of bed," Tristan says, jaw clenching. "You don't like me. You don't want to know me, you don't want me to know you. You asked me to be here because you wanted to show me off, because you can't believe I don't want you anymore."

Sabina is stunned. She's panting, her chest is rising and falling rapidly. Tristan straightens his back when Sabina steps closer to him, and she's only a couple of inches from Tristan, but she hates that she has to look up to meet his eyes. Sabina looks at the blueness in them, the swirling ink and heated indignation behind the beautiful color, and mutters, "And how do you know that."

"Because I know you," he says, and his eyes are hard, and unforgiving. "And you're not giving me any space or room to work with, Kyle. To you, I'll just be another business meeting or negotiation or opponent in a competition you're dying to win. And I'm not going to be another one of your boxes to tick off in your check list when you're done screwing with me."

"That's not what I—"

"Then can you tell me you want to know me? To my face? Can you tell me you want to spend time with me outside of work and bed? Can you tell me I can know you, can you tell me you're going to try letting me know you? Can you tell me you can date me with no rules? No sarcasm and bullshit, Kyle. Truth."

Her fingernails are digging into her skin. She's ripped open flesh, and her vision is blurry, and her jaw feels like it's going to snap in half from how tight she's been clenching it. "You're pressuring me to give you answers to something I've never done before."

"It's fine if you're not ready. It's fine if you're not ready for what I want, Kyle. But don't just give me your MO and expect me to follow through. So think about it," Tristan says, already turning around. His shoes ring loudly against the floor. "Think about it first before telling me to be in a relationship with you. Or I don't know, you can just go back to being my boss and we can forget about this."

Sabina thought he'd be gone after that, but he stays. He stays with Sabina during the ribbon-cutting, stands as frigid and stiff beside her, tension building up between them, and they're not talking, but at least he stayed. He followed through his end of the deal, and the after-party isn't a part of that deal, even when her friends insist he come.

And Sabina can say it doesn't hurt.

She can say it, she can say it out loud here, at this club, with a single malt scotch in hand, watching her friends dance and celebrate Adrian's clinic, without anyone listening to her. She can say it, but it doesn't make it true.

Tristan was gone, but he called Denver to take over. The replacement bodyguard was standing near the doors, keeping his eyes on her.

"Asshole," Sabina mutters. "Sweet, annoying asshole. Hey." She turns to Rhysand, who's leaning on the bar beside her. "Am I hard to get to know?"

Rhysand doesn't look at her. His gaze stays on Andy, expression soft and adoring, and he mutters, "Ask J."

"No, I want an objective point of view, like, from a friend." She cringes as soon as the word is out. With an expression of disgust, she asks, "Are we even friends? Whatever. Answer me."

The producer turns his head, and in a millisecond, loses all the gentleness in his features. The harsh and scary lines on his face are back. If Sabina weren't so drunk, she'd find it amazing how Rhysand can only let his guard down with Andy. "I think you're a coward."

The laugh Sabina lets out is loud. It's boisterously loud, she throws her head back and everything. "Oh my God, don't even start."

Rhysand only takes a sip of his soda—he's driving today. And then he turns back to watch Andy dance. "I wouldn't be married to my wife if I were a coward. But you, Sabina, I think you get hysterical when things aren't in your control."

She can't even argue. "Like you. When Andy and you started dating."

"Like me," he agrees with one nod. "Before. And we broke up because of it. So. Coward. You're not letting anyone try."

Sabina gulps down one shot. Feeling the bitter taste in her tongue, she mumbles, "I don't need it."

"What? Love?" Rhysand laughs once. He's still staring at Andy. "Oh, you don't. God knows you don't."

Sabina waits for him to continue, tell her something reassuring, give her a whoop-de-doo pep talk about how love will change her, having a partner will change her, that she'd need it because she's a little fucked in the head for wanting rules in a relationship.

But he doesn't. So they stay at the bar and drink the rest of the night away, and if she sees Tristan's name pop up in her head, see him behind her eyelids, hope that her fingers are touching him while she makes out with someone else on the dance floor, Tristan doesn't have to know.

*

The best course of action would be to go back to boss-employee. That would be, hell, that would be easier for everyone involved—that would be easier for Sabina.

But there's this ugly thing she recognizes—and she knows this thing because she's familiar with it, she's that kind of person, she's selfish and possessive and when Andy moved to Little Elm and made friends in her school, she screamed in MJ's ear, "She doesn't care about us anymore! She's making friends with her demon-loving co-teachers who do bake sales and family days!" and when MJ was in her honeymoon phase with Adrian the second time around, she screamed to Andy, "That bitch found herself good dick and left us alone!" because they're her only friends, and Sabina generally doesn't like people, so when she does, she needs their attention. Jealousy is not a good look on her.

They return to work in civil terms. She's good at being cold and nonchalant. Professional. But Tristan is, too.

"Where's the story on Calin Van Paris?" Sabina snaps, features drawing together as she flips through the files on her desk. "That's supposed to be headline by tomorrow. The style, fashion, runway sections aren't in yet? She's our cover star this month, for fuck's sake."

"I'll double check with Ms. Summit," Tristan mutters, staring at the screen of his tablet. "Also, the warehouse called—they said that there was some manufacturing problem, would you like me to pencil in a visit today?"

Sabina tosses the papers aside and purses her lips, leaning back against her chair. "No, let's let the team work on that, we still have time before the launch. My worry is Calin Van Paris, we can't have the website up without the articles. My CF shoot today, what was it for—uh, sportswear? Fila?"

"Yes."

"Okay. I'll need to wrap up early." She checks the time on her watch and stands, bringing her coffee with her. "Come on, all-staff in two."

They're quiet as they head to the elevators and in the car. Sabina crosses her arms over her chest and stares at the number going down, perfectly aware of Tristan's breathing, his smell, his huge figure standing behind her. She resists the urge to gag. Disgusting is what she is. Boss-employee—it's easier. She doesn't like complications, and dating—now, that brought complications. Thinking about trying makes her queasy, and Tristan isn't worth it.

At least, that's what she's trying to tell herself, all the way until they reach the main boardroom. Loud chatters instantly quiet down, and those perching on the low windowsills take their respective seats or stand near the coffee station, as far away as possible from the head of the table, where Elyse sits. Sabina settles in beside her chair, and Tristan on her right. As soon as Tristan's butt touches his seat, he's engaged in conversation from the person on his other side, and he has to lean away from her to respond.

Sabina rolls her chair back on its wheels, head turning lazily to the side as she rests her chin on two fingers on the armrest. It's Camie Brown from features, and she's grinning at her secretary, making disgusting heart-eyes. Sabina can't help what expression she plasters on—she's been told she can't hide anything she feels on her face. She must be showing revulsion. The consciousness of having that kind of expression doesn't make it go away. Sabina doesn't want it to.

"Hey, I took a look at your website," Camie says, front teeth showing in her smile. "Your recommendations look good, I'll try to drop by the bookstore and check one out—there's one that's really interesting to me, it was about a female astronaut..."

"In the Quick," Tristan answers, nodding, and from what angle she can see his face in, he's smiling. Sabina can hear it in his voice, too. "By Kate Hope Day. Yeah, it was amazing, let me know what you think of it."

"I'll let you know after dinner on Friday." Much to Sabina's disgust, Camie winks.

She suppresses a retching sound and looks away, biting the inside of her cheek. A website? A book about a female astronaut? Dinner on Friday?

Sabina tunes them out until the door opens, and Elyse gracefully strolls in. "Good morning, darlings! Let's get started, shall we?"

The all-staff meeting goes smoothly. As soon as the editor-in-chief adjourns it and the employees come shuffling out, she asks Sabina to stay. Tristan is right behind her.

"Where's our headline stories?" she asks, staring at her laptop, fingers moving swiftly across the keyboard.

Sabina purses her lips. "We're double-checking with our section editor right now, but it will be up by tomorrow."

Elyse doesn't look up, but the lines on her forehead thicken. "She wasn't here? Amanda?"

"No, she wasn't. I'm on it."

"Good. Calin is my friend." Her boss finally meets her eyes. The silverness of them startles her, as they always do, but Sabina keeps her ground. "I'd hate for incompetence to get in the way of that. Please fix this, Sabina. Thank you, you're dismissed."

As soon as Elyse is out of earshot, Sabina hisses, "Find me Amanda and get her on the phone. Now."

Amanda had been on maternity leave for five days now. She left the articles to her associate editor. Associate editor, Miranda York, is close to tears when Sabina shows up in their staff room. She never steps foot on this floor and she's leaning against her desk now, impatient and getting angrier by the second.

"You've lost it," Sabina says. Slowly.

"I'm—I'm sorry," Miranda sputters, looking through her files on her desk, papers thrown up in the air and on the floor. "We have the unedited drafts on the computer—"

"Get them."

The other writers are moving to their computer stations. Miranda has tears on her face.

"It's not on the drive," one of them says.

"It's not on the desktop either," another mutters.

"I deleted the ones on the drive because there were duplicates," Camie pipes up. "Did someone delete the duplicates?"

When she was met with silence, Sabina clicks her jaw. She shuts her eyes and says, "No one is leaving the building until you send me exact copies of the stories you've lost. I'm assuming the interview and the voice recording are still alive?"

"Yes," Miranda mutters.

"Good, at least you didn't fuck that up." Sabina turns on her heel and leaves.

Later, after she returns from her CF shoot, she fully expects Tristan's desk to be empty. He went home before she left the building, riding with her down the elevator, not a word exchanged between them except for a pleasant, "Have a good night, Ms. Kyle," and "You too, Tristan." When she comes back, with tired bones and aching muscles but having to stay to work because some dumbasses lost their headline stories, his bag and jacket are still on the table. Sabina can see his lunchbox beside his computer.

She furrows her eyebrows in confusion. Dumping her bag on the sofa inside her office, Sabina decides to check with her staffers. Feeling the least bit of compassionate, as it's already nearing nine in the evening, she decides she'll let them go home. Send over what they have, she'll finish the rest.

But she sees Tristan beside Camie and the rest of their team, eating cup noodles. They're laughing.

As soon as one of the writers spots her, he stands up and almost falls over the table. The rest turn their heads and stand up shakily, too.

And old friend jealousy may be because Sabina doesn't have friends in her workplace, but it may also be because she's never seen Tristan laugh. Smile that wide, eyes shine that bright while eating cup noodles. Did he make ramen for Camie, too?

"Ms. Kyle." Miranda swallows thickly. "We were just taking a break—"

"Send over what you have," Sabina says. She's tired. "Send over what you have—the articles, the research, the interview, and go home. Thank you for your work today."

Sabina receives the five stories in her email not five minutes later. She gets to work immediately, fighting the exhaustion in her body, drilling into her head Elyse's words. She is not going to fuck this up.

Tristan is kind enough to bring her coffee from the cafe downstairs. Maybe he just feels sorry for her, that's fine, too. He places it on her desk and murmurs, "It will be a lot faster if you let me work on half."

"Go home," Sabina says, not bothering to look at him. Stopping her fingers will stop her momentum, too. "I thought you went home already."

"I was helping Camie with her story."

"I don't care."

Tristan pauses. He takes a deep breath. "Let me help, Kyle. Stop being fucking stubborn."

"Fine," Sabina bites out, sliding over the rest of the stories she hasn't started on.

Tristan brings his laptop in. They work together at the sitting area, across each other, engrossed in their screens. Sabina takes the time to stretch, she shuts her eyes for a second, strained from all the words that they begin to look like math formulas, and when she opens them, rests her chin on her fist, she finds herself staring at Tristan and unable to look away.

Beautiful face. Sharp jaw, angular cheekbones. Features pronounced on his light skin, ocean-blue eyes. If she can remember how his mouth feels like when he's smiling into her skin, if she can remember the feel of his stubble on her finger, the breadth of his chest, the space of his back on her hand, the veins on his arm when Sabina digs her fingernails in them and the breathiness of his voice on her ear, the solidness and the weight of his own body, the tight yet gentle hold of his fingers in her hair—if she can remember all of those, that should be enough.

Except it isn't, and instead of wanting to undo his tie (it's black today. Yum.), she finds herself wanting to ask, "You have a website? What's it about? You read? What do you like to read? Are you and Camie dating?"

But she keeps her mouth shut, and Tristan looks up. He raises an eyebrow. "What?"

Boss-employee. Boss-employee. Is that possible when all Sabina can think about, aside from wanting to know the answers to her questions, is moving across couches, pushing him back against it, and kissing him senseless?

Not because of old friend jealousy. Maybe a little because of it. But more because she forgot what it feels like to have him smile into her mouth when she kissed him and she wants to remember.

"Nothing," Sabina mutters, and gets back to work, even as that organ trapped in her chest begins to speed up, and her stomach and intestines feel like they're in knots.

*

school is kicking me in the ass rn but let me know what u think :c