It was past nine when HR pushed the door open to drop off a file.
Sam was on his knees, fingers working the strap of Ria’s heel. She sat in his chair, one leg crossed over the other, scrolling.
The HR woman froze in the doorway.
A thin silver chain hung around Ria’s neck. A small key rested flat against her collarbone.
“Stand,” Ria said, without looking up.
Sam stood. Hands clasped behind his back. Flushed.
“You can speak to her now.”
Sam turned and began some explanation about the quarterly timeline. The HR woman didn’t hear a syllable. She looked at the key. She looked at him.
“I’ll come back tomorrow,” she said.
“Mm,” said Ria. “Knock first.”