“It wasfine, Layla. We discussed the technical approach. He’s going to run some simulations.” I gesture at my screen. “And now I’m catching up on the biocompatibility data, which is a disaster. Who was managing the database migrations while I was gone?”
“Don’t change the subject.”
“I’m not changing the subject. I’m telling you about my actual work, which is what I should be focused on instead of—” I stop myself.
Layla waits.
“Instead of what?” she asks softly.
“Nothing. It’s nothing.” I turn back to my screen. “I’m almost down to eighty-two days to fix three major FDA deficiencies. I don’t have time for distractions.”
Layla is quiet for a moment. Then she reaches over and closes my laptop.
“Hey—”
“We’re going out.”
“No, we’re not.”
“Yes, we are. I already texted Serena. She’s meeting us in twenty minutes.” Layla stands, smoothing her coat. “And before you argue, I want you to know that I’m prepared to physically carry you out of this building if necessary. Bennett’s been teaching me deadlifts.”
“Layla, I really can’t?—”
“You can. We have a whole team working on this. The data will be here tomorrow. And the day after that. And for the next eighty-two days.” She holds out her hand. “One drink. You can tell us you’re fine, we can pretend to believe you, and then you can come back here and stare at tissue response metrics all night if that’s really how you want to spend your evening.”
“It’s not about what Iwant. It’s about what needs to get done.”
“Audrey.” Her voice softens. “You just got back. You walked into a meeting and found out you’re working with Logan for the next three months. You’re allowed to need a drink.”
I want to fight back, stay in my safe little bubble of work and data and problems I can actually solve. The bubble where I’m competent. Valuable. In control.
But Layla’s looking at me with care in her eyes because she’s one of my best friends. The kind that shows up uninvited and refuses to let you drown alone. The kind that sees through my flimsy excuses and doesn’t flinch.
Maybe that’s what I’m really afraid of. Not Logan’s explanation, but being seen. By anyone.
“One drink,” I say.
“That’s my girl.” She grabs my coat from the hook and tosses it to me.
“And I don’t want to go to Lockwood. Or anywhere we usually go.”
“Got it,” Layla says, pulling out her phone. “Nowhere anyone we know could possibly be drinking too.”
Layla scrolls through her phone for two minutes, a look of concentration on her face. She finally thrusts her screen toward me. “How do you feel about billiards and, and I quote, ‘the best cheese curds west of Milwaukee’?”
The bar’s logo is a cartoon rat with sunglasses and a shot glass. “I could eat cheese curds.”
“Perfect.” Layla tries to play it cool, but she’s grinning. “This place looks like such a dive. Nobody from work would go here. Nobody from anywhere probably goes there, except maybe construction workers and day drinkers, and the occasional lost soul. It’s a safe zone. No one will see us.”
She shoots off the change of location in a text to Serena and practically drags me out of the building.
The Chicago afternoon is cool, and I pull my coat tighter, letting Layla lead me. She’s talking about the FDA situation from the business side—investor calls she’s been fielding, the board’s anxiety about the timeline, a competitor who’s apparently been sniffing around our biocompatibility research team trying to poach talent.
“I had to talk my dad off a ledge yesterday,” she says, steering me around a puddle. “He wanted to call the FDA directly and explain that they’re wrong about the signal interference concerns. Just... call them. Like it’s a customer service complaint.”
“That sounds like Robert.”
“Bennett had to physically take his phone away.” She shakes her head. “I love my father, but sometimes I think he forgets that regulatory bodies aren’t impressed by his ‘visionary genius’ reputation.”
