I could see her mentally testing each suggestion, weighing how it would fit with our brand voice. “And ten?”
“Ten—create a signature moment. Something that makes your gathering uniquely yours. Could be a toast with a special story, a game everyone plays, a tradition you start. The thing people will remember and ask about next year.”
She stopped typing and looked up at me, those dark eyes wide and a little awed. “How did you just solve my writer’s block in under two minutes?”
“I’ve been doing this a long time.”
“No, it’s more than that.” She tilted her head, studying me. “Those last three aren’t just good content ideas. They’re…personal. Like you’ve actually thought about what makes a gathering meaningful.”
I had. Every Christmas with my grandmother. The way she’d made everything special—the food, the decorations, the way she’d insist we go around the table and say what we were grateful for. The memory jar we’d kept for years, reading past entries and adding new ones.
But I wasn’t about to tell her that.
“Do the work long enough, you learn what resonates,” I said instead.
She didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t push. She just went back to typing, filling in the gaps I’d given her.
I should leave. Let her finish. Go home to my empty penthouse and my empty life.
“You hungry?” The question came out before I could stop it.
She glanced up. “What?”
“It’s after six. You’ve been working all day. Are you hungry?”
“I…yeah, actually.” She gestured to the granola bar wrapper. “But I’m almost done here, so?—”
“I’ll order something. Chinese? Thai? There’s a good Italian place that delivers.”
“You want to order dinner. Here. While I finish this article.”
“Unless you have other plans.”
She stared at me like I’d grown a second head. “I knocked over your awards this morning, invaded your private conference room, and now you want to buy me dinner?”
“We’re working late on a project. I always buy dinner for the team when we work late like this.”
“Eli—”
“Thai or Chinese, Gabriella. Choose.”
A smile tugged at her lips—the first real one I’d seen since this morning. “Thai. Pad see ew, extra vegetables, medium spice.”
“Specific order. I like it.” I pulled out my phone. “Spring rolls?”
“Always.”
“Good answer.”
I placed the order while she finished typing, and when she finally hit save and looked up at me, there was something different in her expression. Less nervous. More curious.
“Why are you being nice to me?” she asked.
“I’m not being nice. I’m ensuring my copywriter doesn’t burn out on day one of the return-to-office mandate.”
“Right. Purely professional.”
“Purely.”
