Thursday morning came wrapped in the aftertaste of insomnia.  

Evan Reid looked like someone who’d stayed up arguing with invisible deadlines—and won on technicalities.  

The office was half-lit, still waking. He stood by the espresso machine, waiting for the miracle of caffeine, when a quiet voice behind him said, “You were right.”  

He turned. Clara Voss.  

No entourage, no agenda. Just a paper cup and an unreadable expression.  

“About?” he asked carefully.  

“Humanizing the brand,” she said. “The Zurich board approved the initiative. They want a pilot campaign in two weeks.”  

“That’s fast.”  

“They think speed equals innovation.” She took a sip. “I think it equals panic. But it’s a start.”  

He smiled faintly. “Congratulations. You just turned honesty into a budget line.”  

“Don’t make it sound small,” she said, but there was a softness there—something tired and genuine beneath her armor.  

He nodded toward the elevator. “Heading up?”  

“Heading down, actually. I have a press walkthrough in the lobby.”  

They both stepped in. Doors slid shut. The elevator hummed into motion.  

For twenty-two floors, silence. Not uncomfortable—more like two people aware that conversation here would echo.  

At floor sixteen, the lights flickered. Then the elevator stopped.  

A pause. The kind that sharpens everything.  

Evan exhaled. “Of course.”  

Clara pressed the button once. Twice. Nothing.  

He leaned against the wall. “So. How does the CEO of Voss International handle an unscheduled metaphor?”  

She gave him a look that could have calibrated satellites. “By not panicking.”  

“I wasn’t suggesting panic. I was suggesting we use the time productively.”  

“Productively?”  

“Sure,” he said. “Maybe clarify a few things.”  

“Such as?”  

“Why you keep calling me to late meetings when the rest of the company gets memos.”  

That made her pause. “Because memos don’t argue back.”  

“And you like arguments?”  

“I like friction,” she said evenly. “It reveals the real shape of things.”  

He smiled. “Then I’m just a very talkative piece of sandpaper.”  

For the first time that morning, she laughed—quiet, involuntary. The sound bounced off the steel walls and felt far too intimate for an elevator.  

“Don’t do that,” she said.  

“What?”  

“Make it easy to like you.”  

He didn’t move, didn’t speak, just met her eyes. The air between them shifted—heavier, slower. Somewhere below, machinery hummed back to life. The elevator jolted and resumed its descent.  

By the time the doors opened at the lobby, both of them had stepped backward into professionalism, like actors reentering a scene.  

The lobby was full of photographers and PR staff, prepping for a sustainability event. Nadia stood near the podium, tablet in hand, giving instructions with surgical calm. She spotted Clara and smiled.  

“Perfect timing,” Nadia said. “We’re ready for your talking points.”  

Clara nodded, mask back in place. “Evan, send me the updated copy after this.”  

He hesitated. “Sure.”  

She was already walking away, the rhythm of command returning to her every step.  

Nadia waited until Clara was out of range before saying, “You two have a very specific gravity.”  

“Meaning?”  

“Meaning she stops moving when you’re near. For Clara, that’s practically a confession.”  

He sighed. “You’re reading too much into an elevator malfunction.”  

“There’s no such thing,” Nadia said. “Machines break for symbolism.”  

Later that afternoon, Evan was back at his desk, trying not to replay every second of that trapped silence. Lena appeared, chewing on a pencil like it owed her money.  

“Big news,” she said. “Clara’s bringing you to the Zurich follow-up next month. You’re listed as Creative Lead.”  

He froze. “That has to be a mistake.”  

“She personally requested it.”  

“Still a mistake.”  

Lena grinned. “You’re not used to being chosen, huh?”  

“Not by people who know what they’re doing.”  

“Well,” she said, standing. “Welcome to the rumor of the week.”  

That evening, Clara’s message arrived:  

*Zurich confirmed. You’ll present the tone brief. Start building a team draft tomorrow.*  

He stared at it for a long moment before replying:  

*Understood. And for the record, I wasn’t trying to make it easy to like me.*  

Her answer came faster than he expected:  

*Then stop succeeding.*  

He closed the chat window and leaned back, realizing he was smiling like an idiot in an empty room.  

Somewhere between strategy and sarcasm, they had started speaking a language no one else in the company understood.  

And Evan wasn’t sure whether that meant progress—or disaster with excellent punctuation.