Bernard's POV
By Tuesday morning, I had given up any pretense of not caring. Half the night had been spent dissecting yesterday's scene: Penny slamming her phone down like it contained state secrets, that deer-in-headlights look of pure guilt, and Felicity's laughably transparent "strategies of strategy" excuse that wouldn't fool a five-year-old.
The financial reports scattered across my desk might as well have been written in hieroglyphics. Every few minutes, my attention wandered to the hallway, hoping to catch a glimpse of her. At nine fifteen, she strolled past my office, coffee in hand, grinning at whatever was lighting up her screen. Something twisted painfully in my chest.
None of my business, I reminded myself. We were friends now. Friends didn't pry into each other's private affairs like paranoid stalkers.
Yet here I was, unable to let it go.
