Free What's Yours is Mine by Talia Quinn

Wèi ?” He sounded curt.  
    “It’s Darcy. How have you been?” She spoke in Mandarin, slipping easily into the language, so familiar from all her time in Shanghai and on-site.  
    He responded in English, his way of setting boundaries. “You left only two days ago. I’m the same as then.”
    English it was. “Right. I was hoping you could help jog my memory about something. Do you remember the Slippery Elm lotion?”
    “Your skin cream that crashed and burned, yes.”  
    Ouch. “Some new information has come to my attention. I was wondering if you knew anything about triclosate in the formula?”  
    “I’d have to look at my records. I can’t remember details from that far back. Is it important? Are you beginning the project again?”
    “Thinking about it. Can you send me the protocol and all relevant emails and phone follow-up memos from back then?”
    “It’ll take a few days.” He sounded dubious. “I’d simply start again. It was a nice product but not that unusual. I’m sure your scientists can recreate the texture, especially now that you’re willing to dabble in conventional methods.”
    That sounded ominous.  
    “Well, sure. I guess I should talk to Stan about the ingredients, huh?”
    “Stanley Golden?” He sounded surprised. “Is he involved in this kind of decision? I thought— Never mind. I am sure you are correct.”
    “What did you think?”
    “It does not matter. You know the hierarchy in your company better than I do. If you’ll excuse me, I have a train to catch. Nice talking with you, Darcy.” He hung up, abrupt as ever.  
    Well. That was odd. It was hard to know if it meant anything, though, or Jianyu was simply being his overly cautious self.  
    She set the phone down and yanked her makeshift blanket back over her legs. God, the floor was hard. And boy, was the surf noisy. She got up and settled on the couch once more, burrowing into the seam between back and seat for comfort and warmth, flinging an arm over her face to block out the sound.
    Three fifteen a.m. Why was she camped out in the living room, anyway? She was the one with habitual, tormenting insomnia. Last night was the first good night’s sleep she’d had in forever. Will’s bed was amazing. She needed that bed. And it was right through that bedroom door, taunting her with the promise of a good night’s rest.  
    This was her condo, after all. Her bedroom. Why had she let herself get exiled to the couch? That was like admitting defeat. Her father had taught her better. Will had slept fine on the couch last night, hadn’t he? He could do it again tonight. They should at least have a discussion about it. Decide this like adults. Or toss a coin, whatever. But she shouldn’t admit defeat without trying for that amazing bed.  
    She gathered up her towel and her pillow and marched down the short hallway to the bedroom, then flung the door open.  
    Will was sprawled across the bed, tangled in the sheets, sound asleep. So unfair.  
    Going over to the bed, she yanked a corner of the sheet out from under him.  
    He woke up with a start, thrashing and sitting up. “Whu?” He blinked at her in the gloom. “Darcy? What…?”
    “Here’s the thing. I need to sleep here. I have the right to my own bedroom. It shouldn’t be yours by default. I shouldn’t have to—”
    “Yeah, fine, whatever.”  
    He lay down again, rolled over onto his side, and went back to sleep.  
    She shook him again. “I said I wanted to sleep here. That means you go to the couch.”
    Opening his eyes a slit, he lifted a corner of the blanket, gestured between her and it. Then he closed his eyes. In less than five seconds, his breathing changed.  
    He was asleep again.  
    Darcy stood stock-still, her heart beating too fast.  
    More than anything in the world—more than sole ownership of this condo, more than approval by the boss—Darcy craved a good night’s sleep. A solid stretch of sleep two nights in a row would be some