A Selfish Plea

Hazel

The moment Monica leaves and the door clicks shut, the air tightens again. I’m about to speak, when his phone rings. He doesn’t even look at me, just picks it up, muttering a low, deep "Yes?" before turning slightly away.

Typical.

I cross my arms and shift my weight, staring at the edge of his desk. He speaks in short, calm replies—"Okay," "Fine," "Do that." Nothing emotional, or revealing.