The best option is to keep pretending Friday night never happened and treat her like any other employee.
Except I can’t stop seeing her in my doorway, looking at me like I’m simultaneously a stranger and someone who knows exactly what she sounds like when she comes apart.
My phone buzzes. I grab it, grateful for the distraction.
A text from Trevor, my best friend since college:Family reunion next weekend. You still coming? Mom’s asking.
I type back:Yeah, I’ll be there.
Another text comes through immediately:Great. My sister is coming too. You’ll finally get to meet her.
My intercom buzzes. “Mr. Williams? You have the Larsson call in five minutes.”
“Thank you, Patricia. Put them through when they’re ready.”
I press my palms against my eyes, hard enough to see stars, except all I see is Bailey Rodgers’ face.
This is fine. I can handle this. I’ve built an empire on control and discipline. One woman, no matter how she makes me feel, isn’t going to destroy that.
I’ll keep things professional, and I’ll absolutely not, under any circumstances, think about Friday night again. But when I glance at my office door, I know I’m lying to myself.
And now I have to figure out how to work beside the woman who’s made me forget why I built these walls in the first place.
3
Bailey
Idon’t sleep for the next two days.
Tuesday and Wednesday blur together in a haze of coffee, concept sketches, and relentless pressure to prove I’m not just ‘adequate’. My tiny apartment becomes a war zone. Printed mockups cover every surface, my laptop’s glow is the only light at three AM, and takeout containers breed in the sink.
Derek calls six times. I block his number after the third voicemail.
Gretchen texts:You alive?
Barely, I type back.New job. Trying to not get fired.
You didn't tell me about the sex bar guy. We need to catch up.
My fingers freeze over the keyboard. I haven’t given her all the details yet. She'd be too wound up about the sex bar guy turning out to be my new boss. Knowing Gretchen, she'll probably decide it's fate or some budding love story, and all that talk would grate on me while I'm in this mood.
Long story,I finally respond.Tell you later.
By Tuesday night, I have something I’m proud of. The client brief called for a rebrand of a boutique hotel chain. I’ve created something sophisticated but approachable, luxury without pretension.
It’s good. Better than good.
I just hope he sees it.
Monday morning, I’m at my desk by seven, uploading files with shaking hands. The office is mostly empty, except for the early risers and the workaholics. I fit both categories now, and it's just my third day.
I attach the presentation to an email addressed to Daniel Williams, my cursor hovering over send for a full minute. Turning, I hit send before I can overthink it further.
My inbox refreshes almost immediately.
From:Daniel Williams
Subject: RE: Harrington Hotels Concepts.
