“It’s none of your business what I do with my time,” she snaps, blocking my path to the door.
My eyes roll before I can stop them.
Typical Amanda—deflection instead of answers, invasion disguised as vigilance, her buzzing presence impossible to swat away.
“You’re snooping around, aren’t you?” she accuses.
“I am working on the campaign,” I fire back, stepping around her like she’s nothing more than an inconveniently placed office chair. “Go back to working with your team.”
Mission accomplished in at least one department—the twisted expression on her face confirms I’ve successfully gotten under her skin.
“I have some ideas for Tim,” I say with manufactured brightness, walking past her toward the elevator. “Thought I’d catch him here.”
Her indignant grunt is the last thing I hear before stepping out into the hallway, headed for the elevator.
Like some corporate ninja dressed in designer blazers, Amanda’s watchful eye tracks my every move as if I’m the threat when she’s the one with sabotage written all over smug face.
But I’m getting closer to the truth. I can feel it.
The next day, after surviving another uncomfortable brainstorming session, I decide to take Wendy up on her offer to meet at the other branch. My sanity needs this escape more than my lungs need oxygen.
I hop on the 3 o’clock bus to Pineridge, the quaint neighboring town that stands as Maplewood Springs’ slightly more sophisticated cousin with its artisan bakeries and indie bookstores dotting Main Street. The thirty-minute ride gives me time to decompress, to untangle the knots of frustration that have been tightening around my chest all day.
I’ve made zero progress today toward uncovering Tim’s sinister plans.
When the bus hisses to a stop at the corner of Maple and Fifth, Wendy’s bright smile and enthusiastic waving catch my attention immediately. Her bubbly energy radiates across the sidewalk as she bounces on the balls of her feet.
“You made it!” she squeals, throwing her arms around me with the excitement of someone greeting a returning war hero rather than a coworker she saw three days ago.
The building that houses Lantern Bridge’s second branch towers above us in all its gleaming glass glory. Inside, the lobby bustles with afternoon activity, professionals in tailored suits hurrying to meetings or hunched over laptops in communal workspaces.
“Mocha Dream awaits,” Wendy declares, pulling me toward the ground floor café tucked in the back corner. “They have the best pastries—and that’s not even an exaggeration.”
Mocha Dream embraces us in a cloud of coffee-scented warmth the moment we push through its glass doors. Dark wooden tables nestled between plush armchairs create cozy conversation corners, while soft jazz floats from the speakers overhead.
Standing beneath the chalkboard menu, I order my mocha latte while Wendy opts for her signature iced coffee with exactly three pumps of caramel.
My eyes sweep the pastry case filled with golden croissants and cinnamon swirls that glisten under the display lights. “This place is heaven disguised as a café.”
“Told you,” Wendy says, leading me to a leather booth beside windows overlooking a small courtyard where office workers escape for fresh air. “I stopped bringing lunch weeks ago. Their avocado toast with poached eggs has ruined all other lunches for me forever.”
This place is an ideal sanctuary from Tim’s passive-aggressive leadership style and Amanda’s eagle-eyed surveillance.
Cradling my oversized mug between my palms, I inhale deeply and feel my shoulders finally drop from their permanent position near my ears. The smell of those toasted breads reminds me of Christmas baking with Claire.
After taking her first sip of iced coffee, Wendy’s eyes close in reverence. “See? Better than therapy—and cheaper too.”
“So, how’s the campaign progressing over here?” I ask, trying to sound casual while fighting the urge to demand every detail about Jake’s current emotional state.
Her eyebrows lift knowingly. “Not bad. Everyone’s pulling long hours, throwing themselves into finishing touches. It’s intense but exciting.”
“And Jake? How is he handling everything?”
“He’s been practically living at the office,” Wendy says, stirring her straw through the ice. “Most nights he’s still there when I leave, surrounded by sketches and market research.”
That explains why he’s never home. Is he even eating regularly? Getting enough sleep? Maybe I should cook his favorite lasagna.
“But we’re almost ready for the presentation,” Wendy adds.
