The pic she sent was a selfie. She sat in front of her dressing table, in a strapless peach nightgown. Her dark, lustrous hair, which was usually tied up, fell loose around her shoulders. She wore no makeup except the lipstick Wesley bought her.

Wesley's hand shook a little, and the enlarged image snapped back to its normal size.

"You're quiet. That bad? Never mind. I'll take it down," Blair said.

Before she deleted the pic, Wesley saved it.

"I just wanted to let you know that not all lipstick is red. This one is buttermilk with a brownish tint. You can call it a Mocha lipstick shade."

Holding his phone in his left hand, and a cigarette between his fingers of his right, Wesley leaned against the wall with his eyes closed.

The only thing he could think about was Blair. She filled his head. Her smile, her voice... the gentle Blair, the mischievous Blair, the aloof Blair, the angry Blair... Every one of them was adorable.

His finger slid across the screen of his phone. He found the picture and stared at it, longer this time, mesmerized.

He missed her so much, he realized.

The silence from Wesley was like a slap in the face. Blair felt humiliated.

She regretted ever sending him the photo. Not even patient enough to get the makeup remover, she grabbed a cotton swab and started to remove the lipstick. She was frustrated, angrily wiping her face clean.

Afterwards, she tossed the lipstick into a drawer and buried it deep under the rest of the detritus in there. Behind the suntan lotion, underneath the loofah, mixed in with all the other shades she rarely touched.

Then she went to bed, leaving the desk lamp on.

But sleep seemed reluctant to visit. She tossed and turned in bed, wondering why Wesley never replied.

When her phone buzzed, she jerked up like a spring and reached for her phone out of reflex. It was a two-second message from Wesley.

historical

She clicked on it excitedly and put her phone to her ear. "You look very nice," he said. He was breathing heavily, as if he was running.

'Not "nice" but "very nice."' Blair thought the world was bright and beautiful again.

'But why did it take him so long to reply? And I already deleted it. If he just saw my message, he shouldn't have been able to see the photo.'

To solve the puzzle, she asked, "Who looks nice?"

"You do. In your pic," he typed.

So he did see it. Blair didn't know what to say. She sent him an ellipsis and

Hearing the knock on the door, she didn't look up. "The guests are on their way, but my office is still dirty. The cleaning lady did a lousy job. You need to clean it again."

'Me? Cleaning? Yeah, you wish!' Blair refused, "I'm sorry, Filberta. I can't. The guests will be here in less than twenty minutes. I'm still working on the materials that need interpretation. Find someone else to clean!"

Filberta Wang, who was wearing smoky eye makeup, gaped at Blair and berated, "I'm your supervisor! When I ask you to clean, you clean! Besides, you're so brilliant. I think you'll do a better job cleaning."

Blair wasn't provoked. She retorted with a smile, "Yes, you're my supervisor. I'm wondering—will you take the fall if something goes wrong with the upcoming meeting? After all, I'm supposed to be preparing the materials. If you're preventing me from doing that, then do you want to do it? Or can you just tell the boss for me? Come on, I'm just a nobody. I don't think I can take on so much responsibility. So can you do it for me?"

Filberta Wang's face was dark as coal. "How dare you challenge me like that!"

"I'm just trying to do my job. The delegation is about to arrive. Need someone to clean? Grab a broom. I'm running out of time. So, if you'll excuse me..." With that, Blair left the office.

She was telling the truth. If she spent the time cleaning Filberta Wang's office, she wouldn't have enough time to prepare for the meeting. If she screwed up, she would get fired. Maybe that was her supervisor's intent all along.

At 7:30 a.m., Blair followed Percy Jin to the front doors to meet the guests.