Zariah
“What do you mean we're screwed?" I ask Micah as I enter his office, leaving his office door slightly ajar because my attention is on him. It's clear he's p*ssed, which is nothing new, but this is different.
This is a kind of irritation I haven't seen in a while, and for once, it doesn't seem to be completely focused on me.
Micah comes around his desk and sits on the edge of it, and I pretend not to notice how his light blue T-shirt hugs his biceps or how nicely his jeans fit because he is talking about something important.
Or at least… he was. “Nothing, Zariah," he says, shaking his head as I walk across the room and stop a few feet in front of him. “It doesn't matter."
“It does matter," I say, disagreeing with him completely. “What are you talking about? Money?" I know that
