She leaves, and I'm alone again on the thirty-seventh floor, surrounded by the gentle hum of computers and the distant sound of the janitorial staff vacuuming somewherefar away.
I should listen to her. Should pack up and go home.
Instead, I pull up the next spreadsheet and dive back in.
By ten PM, my eyes are crossing and I've forgotten what day it is.
I also need coffee. Desperately.
The break room is mercifully empty when I stumble in, already planning to mainline an entire pot and deal with the insomnia later.
Except someone's already made coffee.
Fresh coffee, by the smell of it.
I pour myself a cup and take a grateful sip—then immediately regret it because this coffee tastes like it was brewed by someone who thinks "subtle" is for the weak.
"Jesus Christ," I mutter, checking the pot. "Who made battery acid?"
"That would be me."
I spin around, sloshing coffee onto my hand, and find Donovan leaning against the doorframe.
Steel-gray eyes narrowed, salt-and-peper hair tousled, he blinks at me, gaze steady.
He's shed his suit jacket and tie, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, looking disturbingly good for someone who's been at work for right around fifteen hours.
"Mr. Titan.” I set down my cup and grab a napkin to wipe my hand. "I didn't realize anyone else was still here."
"I could say the same thing." He moves into the break room, grabbing his own cup from the counter. "And it's Donovan. We're the only two people here—you can drop the formality."
"I thought we were beingprofessional."
"Professional went out the window around hour twelve." He takes a sip of his coffee and doesn't even flinch. "How's the market analysis coming?"
"You know about that?"
"Carmen copied me on her email when she assigned it to you." He leans against the counter. "She also mentioned you've been working seventy-hour weeks."
"It's only been four days. That's hardly a pattern."
"It's a concerning start."
I cross my arms. "I'm just trying to prove myself."
"To who?"
"Everyone. You. Carmen. The people who hired me." I pick up my coffee again, more carefully this time. "I'm the youngest person on the strategy team. I'm new. I need to show I can handle the workload."
"By killing yourself?"
"I'm not—" I stop, because a wave of dizziness hits me out of nowhere. I grip the counter, waiting for it to pass.
“Take it easy there.” Donovan's immediately at my side, hand on my elbow. “You good?”
"Fine. Just stood up too fast." The dizziness fades, leaving behind a faint nausea I've been ignoring all week. "I probably need to eat something."
"When was the last time you ate?"
