She was at her desk, pretending to be busy. Typing like her fingers weren’t still trembling, sitting like her legs hadn’t just betrayed her an hour ago. She didn’t look up.

“Coffee.”

She looked up, blinked. “Sorry?”

“You heard me.”

Her lips tightened. “Right away, sir.”

She returned three minutes later, setting the mug in front of me carefully.

I took a sip and frowned. “Too cold.”

She didn’t move. “It’s fresh.”

“Still cold.” She disappeared to get ...