The elevator doors open on our floor and she exits first without turning back.
“Bailey—”
“I have work to finish. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She’s gone before I can respond.
I stand in the elevator as the doors close again. My pulse is unsteady, and my control is fraying. Everything I’ve been trying to keep contained is threatening to spill over.
This was supposed to be simple: a business arrangement, a mutually beneficial transaction.
When did it become this?
I return to my office and try to work. The afternoon drags. Every email feels meaningless, and every phone call is background noise.
All I can think about is the way Bailey had felt against me. The way she’d looked up at me with those soft eyes. The way she’d admitted she was scared of me.
By seven, I give up. I gather my files and head for the elevator.
On impulse, I take a detour past the design floor.
Her workspace is still lit. She’s hunched over her desk, completely absorbed in whatever she’s working on. I should leave and give her the space she clearly needs, but instead, I move closer.
Her computer screen shows an animation. A girl made of paper folds herself into different shapes: a bird first, wings spreading wide, then a boat floating on water, and then a flower blooming petal by petal. Each transformation is fluid and beautiful.
“That’s incredible.”
Bailey jumps and spins around in her chair. Her hand flies to her chest. “God, Daniel. You’re going to give me a heart attack.”
“Sorry. I saw your light on.”
She quickly moves to minimize the window. “It’s nothing. Just something I’m working on.”
“That wasn’t nothing. That was beautiful.”
“It’s not finished.”
“It’s still beautiful.” I step closer to her desk. “You have real talent, Bailey. Not just in graphic design. In actual art.”
Her cheeks flush with color. “It’s just a hobby.”
“It shouldn’t be. This is what you should be doing full-time.”
“We’ve had this conversation already.”
“And I will keep having it until you believe me.” I lean against the edge of her desk. “How long have you been working on this?”
“A few months. I work on it when I can’t sleep.”
“Which is often?”
“Recently, yes.”
“Because of me?”
She meets my eyes directly. “Because of a lot of things.”
She pauses, glancing away.
