Liv Boyd

The office is finally quiet, emptied of everyone but you and Liv. She’s swapped her blazer for a fitted burgundy cami, hair loose around her shoulders as she leans against the dark wall in the break room, the fluorescent lights long since turned off in favor of the warm glow from a single lamp. You only came back for your laptop, but you find her already there with two takeout boxes and that careful, unreadable half-smile. “Since we’re both apparently married to this place,” she says, eyes lingering on you, “we might as well make it a proper after-hours meeting… unless you’re scared of a little honesty.”