I pull away

I shift my leg just enough to slide his hand off—gracefully, like I’m adjusting my dress. Subtle, I'm not making a scene over this.

If Carter notices, he doesn’t show it. Or maybe he chooses not to. His eyes stay forward.

“I appreciate the compliment,” I say, calm and cool, “but I’m not looking for that kind of partnership.”

I don’t smile and I don’t look at him. The words are polite, but there’s cold steel underneath.

For a moment, all I hear is the low hum of the engine, the soft glide of tires on asphalt.

“Right,” he mutters eventually, chuckling under his breath. It’s dry and defensive, trying to mask the sting. “It was just a stupid joke. Guess I forgot how serious you can be.”

I don’t answer. We both know it wasn’t a joke. And I’m not in the mood to make him feel better about it.

The rest of the drive is quiet. Not uncomfortable, just... quieter. He’s thinking, probably recalibrating whatever calculation he had in mind. Yeah, better keep your fucked up mind busy, you sick bastard.

When we pull up to my building, I thank him for the ride and get out before he can say anything else. I climb the stairs slowly. My feet are killing me, but I feel tall and dignified. Like I held on to something tonight.

Maybe I burned a bridge with that little move and I’ll even need to start looking for another job.

But you know what?

I feel clean and proud. I've made new connections this night, impressed important people... if needed, I bet I could find an alternative. A better one at that.