Once she was inside, Lina walked toward the couch where they were seated and placed the coffee down. She didn't look at either of them—especially not Daniel. She was already mentally kicking herself for every goddamn second that passed in that room. As far as she was concerned, her job was done. Coffee delivered. Exit stage left.
Daniel picked up the mug, took a sip, and said nothing. Lina turned away and had barely taken a step when it happened.
CRASH.
She froze.
The loud, sharp noise cut through the air like a blade. Her heart jumped into her throat. Her breath caught.
When she looked up, her eyes met the mess of shattered ceramic by the door. The same mug that had been in Daniel's hand was now in pieces. The hot liquid had splattered against the walls, dripping down like blood in a horror scene. The same door she had just been walking through.
And fuck.
If she had taken one more step—just one second earlier—that cup would've fucking hit her.
Her mouth parted slightly, but no sound came out.
Lina's breath caught in her throat.
Did he just…?
No. No fucking way.
But the silence in the room said everything.
Carter stared at Daniel, wide-eyed, stunned as shit, like he couldn't believe what he'd just witnessed either.
Lina blinked, trying to process what the fuck just happened. Was that meant for her? Did he just throw a damn mug across the room like a fucking psycho?
Her gaze snapped toward Daniel, and for the first time since she walked into that room, she actually looked at him.
And Daniel?
He was calm.
So goddamn calm.
He sat there like he hadn't just thrown ceramic across the fucking room with enough force to kill someone. His expression didn't shift. No guilt. No regret. No emotion at all.
Carter sat frozen, his eyes wide in disbelief. He looked at the floor, then back at Daniel.
"Daniel—"
But Daniel didn't even look at him. He looked straight at Lina.
"Make another one," he said, voice low but biting. "With sugar."
Lina blinked.
That was when it hit her.
She hadn't added sugar.
Right. Shit. That was her mistake.
But what the fuck? Lina's jaw clenched so hard her teeth ached.
Seriously? That didn't give him the right to nearly decapitate her with a flying mug. Who the fuck did he think he was?
Oh right. Daniel fucking Viggo.
She could feel the sting building behind her eyes. Not tears. She wasn't gonna fucking cry over this. But god, the humiliation sat heavy in her chest. The anger. The disbelief.
And still, she didn't say a word.
Because what would she say?
What the fuck could she say?
She turned around, stiff as hell, and walked out.
The hallway outside Carter's office was quiet. Too quiet. She hated how her footsteps echoed.
By the time she reached the breakroom, her hands were trembling. Her mind kept replaying the moment over and over again like a fucked-up movie. The sound of the crash. The feeling of heat in her chest. The way Carter stared. The fact that she couldn't have done a damn thing.
She grabbed another mug and slammed it down on the counter harder than necessary.
Her hands were shaking. Not from the heat. Not from the effort.
From pure rage.
What the hell was wrong with that man?
One tiny mistake. One missing teaspoon of sugar and he turned into some coffee-throwing maniac. Who the fuck does that? Because of sugar?
"Fucking psycho," she muttered under her breath.
She spooned in the coffee grounds. Boiled the water. Stared at her reflection in the shiny silver kettle. Her face looked pale. Her lips were tight. Her eyes dull.
This wasn't just a shitty morning.
This was humiliation.
She reached for the sugar and dumped it in. One spoon. Then another. Then another. And then she lost count. At this point, the coffee was practically a dessert.
Let him drink it like that. Let it rot his damn teeth out.
Was it petty? Yeah.
Did she care? Fuck no.
She stirred it, hard, biting her bottom lip. The metal spoon clinked against the ceramic as her mind spiraled.
But beneath all that angry stirring and muttering, her hands still shook.
Because the truth was—he scared her.
She could act tough, pretend she didn't care, call him names in her head. But deep down, she knew—if he had aimed that mug at her, it would've hit. He wouldn't have missed.
And a man like Daniel Viggo didn't throw things on accident.
He wasn't careless.
He was dangerous.
Just existing in the same room as him was enough to make her feel like she was being held under water.
Lina stared down at the coffee, now swirling with sugary sweetness, and let out a long breath.
Then another.
Still, she stirred the coffee, wiped the mug clean, and took a deep breath.
She wasn't going to cry.
Fuck that.
He wasn't going to get that satisfaction.
Let him throw mugs. Let him glare and act like God's gift to the world. She would walk in there, hand him this over-sweetened coffee, and walk the fuck back out with her chin up.
Even if her legs were barely holding her up.
Lina stepped out of the breakroom and began walking back toward Carter's office.
Every step echoed.
Her heart pounded in her chest. She couldn't stop thinking about what might've happened if she'd moved faster earlier. If she hadn't paused.
If that mug had hit her…
Would Daniel have said sorry? Would Carter have even cared?
She reached the door.
Paused.
Swallowed hard.
The mug in her hand felt hot—too hot—like it was warning her not to go back inside.
But she didn't have a choice.
She pushed the door open.
And stepped back into the room.