The week after the pitch was too quiet. Success had left an echo that faded too fast, replaced by the steady hum of routine. Samantha arrived at the office each morning with the same coffee, the same elevator ride, the same polite greetings—but everything felt slightly off, like a song replayed at half speed.  

Nathan was back to his usual rhythm—focused, unreadable, perfectly composed.  

And yet, something in the air had changed.  

When he passed her desk, she caught herself noticing the small things: the loosened tie, the way he tapped his pen twice before speaking, the faint pause before he said her name. None of it meant anything, she told herself. People noticed things. That was all.  

“Morning,” he said one day, eyes flicking toward her screen. “You’re early.”  

“So are you.”  

He nodded. “Old habit.”  

“From what?”  

He hesitated. “Trying to stay ahead of things.”  

She smiled lightly. “Does it work?”  

“Sometimes,” he said, and went back to his office.  

She stared at the doorway long after he disappeared. It wasn’t the words that stayed—it was how carefully he’d chosen them.  

The days blended into meetings, emails, and a low-grade exhaustion that felt almost comforting. Miles had stopped teasing her about Nathan, though she caught him watching her sometimes with that knowing look that said he was keeping score.  

On Thursday, Claire sent out an all-staff email: *Company dinner this Friday. Attendance encouraged, not optional.*  

Samantha sighed audibly. “Corporate code for mandatory fun.”  

Miles popped his head over the divider. “I’ll save you a seat next to the good wine.”  

“Is there bad wine?”  

“After the third glass, no one can tell.”  

She laughed, shaking her head. “You’re impossible.”  

“True, but I’m entertaining.”  

She didn’t respond, but her smile lingered.  

Friday night came faster than she expected. The restaurant was one of those places that tried too hard to look effortless—exposed brick, dim lighting, staff who smiled with precision. Samantha found herself seated across from Nathan, with Claire to her left and Miles diagonally across, already narrating the evening like a one-man podcast.  

She’d dressed simply: dark dress, hair tied back, minimal makeup. She hadn’t planned on impressing anyone, but when Nathan glanced up and paused for a second too long, she felt her pulse trip over itself.  

Conversation flowed around them—office gossip, client stories, jokes that circled and returned. Samantha tried to stay present, but every time Nathan spoke, the sound of his voice seemed to cut through the noise.  

When an intern accidentally spilled water on herself, panic flashing across her face, Nathan handed over his napkin without hesitation. “It’s fine,” he said, tone gentle. “Happens to everyone.”  

The girl nodded, grateful. Claire whispered something teasing, but Samantha barely heard. She was watching Nathan—the way his expression softened, just slightly, as he reassured the intern.  

It wasn’t the gesture itself that caught her. It was the ease of it.  

For a moment, he wasn’t the CEO everyone measured themselves against. He was just a man trying to make someone’s day less difficult.  

“Didn’t know he had that setting,” Miles murmured beside her.  

She glanced at him. “What setting?”  

“Empathy.”  

She gave him a look. “Don’t start.”  

“Too late,” he whispered, grinning.  

But her attention was already drifting back to Nathan, who was now listening politely to Claire’s story, his hand resting loosely on his glass. She forced herself to look away, to focus on the fork in front of her, the condensation ring on the table, anything that wasn’t him.  

After dinner, the team spilled into the night, laughter and city light mingling in the cool air. Samantha walked slower than the rest, her heels clicking softly against the pavement.  

“Heading home?” Miles asked.  

“Yeah. You?”  

“Rideshare. My liver’s filed for retirement.”  

She smiled faintly. “Goodnight, Miles.”  

“Night, Sam.” He paused, voice softer. “Hey—just be careful, okay?”  

She frowned. “Of what?”  

He shrugged. “Whatever this is becoming.”  

Before she could respond, he was already halfway down the block.  

The next evening, Gideon called. She hadn’t spoken to him properly in weeks.  

“Hey, stranger,” he said. “I was starting to think you joined a cult.”  

“In a way, I did. It’s called full-time employment.”  

“Cute,” he said. “You sound tired.”  

“I’m fine.”  

“Fine is code for not fine.”  

She sighed. “You’ve been talking to Miles.”  

“Maybe. But mostly I’ve been watching you disappear one message at a time.”  

“I haven’t disappeared. I’m just busy.”  

“Sam,” he said, quieter now. “You used to call me after bad days. Now I find out about them through your out-of-office reply.”  

That landed heavier than she expected. “I’m sorry,” she said.  

“I’m not asking for an apology,” he replied. “I’m asking what you’re chasing so hard that you don’t even stop to breathe.”  

She didn’t have an answer. Or maybe she did, but it wasn’t one she could admit.  

“Gid,” she said softly, “I’m okay. Really.”  

There was a long pause. “If you say so. Just don’t lose yourself trying to prove you can keep up with someone who doesn’t know how to slow down.”  

The line clicked, and the silence that followed felt personal.  

Monday came heavy. The office buzzed as usual, but everything felt like white noise. Samantha worked through the motions—emails, calls, reports—but her mind kept looping back to Gideon’s words.  

When Nathan appeared by her desk that afternoon, she almost jumped.  

“You’re spacing out,” he said.  

“Just thinking.”  

“About work?”  

“Always,” she lied.  

He nodded, unconvinced. “The client review moved to Wednesday. Can you update the deck?”  

“Sure.”  

He lingered a moment longer than necessary, as if wanting to say something else, then simply said, “Thanks,” and walked away.  

She watched him go, frustration and fondness twisted into one impossible knot.  

That Friday, another long day ended too late. The office emptied one by one until only she and Nathan remained.  

He leaned against the edge of her desk. “You’ve been quiet lately.”  

“So have you.”  

“I’m always quiet.”  

She smiled faintly. “True.”  

He looked at her, eyes softer than usual. “Something wrong?”  

“No.”  

He didn’t believe her, but didn’t press. “You did well this week.”  

“Thanks.”  

The air between them thickened with the kind of silence that said too much.  

Finally, she stood, gathering her things. “I should go.”  

“Yeah.”  

They walked toward the elevator together. Neither spoke.  

When the doors closed, the sound of the machinery filled the space between them. Nathan’s reflection stood beside hers in the mirrored wall—two outlines, side by side, not touching.  

Samantha’s heartbeat was loud enough to hear. She wanted to say something—anything—but every word felt dangerous.  

He glanced down, caught her looking, and for a second, the world narrowed to the sound of breathing and the faint hum of the elevator.  

When the doors opened, neither moved.  

“Goodnight,” she whispered.  

He nodded. “Goodnight.”  

She stepped out first, the click of her heels echoing down the hall.  

Nathan stayed inside until the doors closed again, the faint scent of her perfume fading with the sound.  

He exhaled, leaning against the wall.  

There were a thousand things he could have said.  

None of them safe.  

All of them true.  

Outside, the city waited—glowing, endless, full of noise that made silence feel bearable.