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noticed lunchtime had come and gone. By the time my stomach let out a loud growling protest that had Arian glaring at me and George chuckling, it was already three in the afternoon.
    Big mistake, I could hear the ever-practical Alyx tutting in my head . Never show your boss you’re having so much fun at work that you’re willing to skip lunch. They’ll come to expect it from you all the time after.
    “Could you tell Charli I went out for a quick lunch?” I asked George as I grabbed my purse from the table.
    George nodded, eyes glued on the screen. He seemed just as engrossed as I was with his own work. “I’ll text you if she needs something urgent.”
    “Thanks,” I said over my shoulder, already on my way out.
    Arian and I did not look at each other as I left.
    Yup, bitter frenemies it really was.
    Employees of Kastein, Inc. had access to a private cafeteria in 30/F, which looked more like a hotel lobby holding a gourmet food fair. The staff was dressed – you guessed it – entirely in black. One section of the cafeteria had cozy crescent-shaped booths while the rest had matching sets of steel-legged tables and chairs accessorized with the finest tablecloths and cushions, both also in black.
    All of us had daily meal allowances. How much you could spend depended on your job level. Right now, I had $10 to spend each day. Anything I incurred over that, I had to pay out of pocket.
    To take your one-hour lunch break, you need to clock out. Most people already had by the time the machine scanned my fingerprints. Overhead, a huge board showed a list of the initials of every employee working for Kastein, Inc. The light next to my initials blinked blue, which meant I was on a break. It would turn green once I clocked back in or red if I didn’t show up for work.
    My eyes strayed unconsciously to the top of the board, where Constantijin’s own initials were also on display.
    Blue.
    There went my heart, racing all the way to the finish line of utter emotional stupidity and winning first place.
    The cafeteria was nearly deserted when I went through the swinging doors. One table at the corner was occupied by giggling interns as they repeatedly looked over their shoulders.
    Their subject of interest?
    He had his back to me, but the exquisite color of his hair was easily recognizable. I quickly turned around and walked to the Italian station, my heart torn between wishing he’d see me and wishing he wouldn’t.
    I asked for spaghetti with meatballs and iced cappuccino, waited patiently for my order because I was too busy trying not to think about Constantijin, and afterwards chose a table next to the windows, far from the giggling girls.
    As I took a sip of my coffee, I took a very surreptitious glance at where Constantijin was sitting.
    He wasn’t there.
    Disappointment made my shoulders droop and I took comfort in twirling a nice amount of spaghetti with my fork and feeding myself. Soon enough, the delightful taste made me temporarily forget about Dutch playboys and mini-orgasms. I closed my eyes, savoring the wonderful texture and spicy taste of my meatballs.
    When I opened my eyes, Constantijin was seated across me, a familiar wicked grin playing on his lips, a glass of water in one hand. He was dressed in another pinstriped suit, charcoal gray this time, and one that also defined the broadness of his shoulders. His pale blue shirt underneath was partially unbuttoned, revealing a glimpse of his chest – the very same chest I was able to---
    Aghast at where my thoughts were heading, I hissed, “You shouldn’t be here!” Then I remembered where we were and who I was talking to and I added reluctantly, “sir.”
              He laughed when he saw me looking around nervously. I couldn’t help it. I didn’t want anyone to know – see – that I was talking to him, much less sharing a table with him. It smacked of inappropriateness, the kind that could either get me fired or talked about in sly and hushed