Maya’s next morning started slowly. She woke up with her face pressed into her pillow and her hair sticking out like she’d fought it in her sleep. She sat up, rubbed her eyes, and stared at her phone like it had answers.

No messages.

She told herself that was normal. The kind of normal she should want.

She got a cheap breakfast sandwich on her way to work and walked through Rivergate’s late-morning noise. The sky was gray but not the depressing kind—just the usual city filter. She pushed through the bar’s back door and tied her apron, half-ready, half-tired.

Zoe looked at her from behind the counter. “You look like you’re thinking.”

“I’m not,” Maya said.

“You look like it.”

“I’m really not.”

Zoe shrugged. “Okay.”

Maya wiped down the counter even though it was already clean. A few minutes later, her phone buzzed. She tried to ignore it, failed instantly, and checked it.

**Are you free after work? —E**

She stared at the message long enough that Zoe leaned over to look.

“Oh my god,” Zoe said. “He misses you.”

“He didn’t say that.”

“How else do you read that?”

“I don’t know. Maybe he needs something.”

Zoe smirked. “Yeah. You.”

Maya groaned. “Please stop.”

She typed back:

**maybe. why**

A moment later:

**Something came up at the office.

Not an emergency.

Just something I don’t want to decide alone.**

She frowned.

**why me**

**Because you’re not in my world.

And I need someone who’s not.**

Maya stared at that.

It wasn’t flirtation. It wasn’t a smooth line. It was just honest, which somehow made it hit harder.

**i get off at 10** she wrote.

**I’ll pick you up.

Unless you don’t want that.**

She typed:

**fine**

Zoe looked at her like she was reading subtitles. “You’re going.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You typed it.”

“I didn’t say it.”

Zoe rolled her eyes. “Okay. Enjoy pretending you’re not excited.”

Maya didn’t answer. She didn’t trust her tone.

By ten, the bar was still loud, still messy, still the same place it always was, but Maya wasn’t in her usual autopilot. Every few minutes, she looked toward the door without meaning to.

At 10:06, she stepped outside. Night air hit her face, cooler than she expected. A car pulled up—dark gray, clean, but not flashy. Evan got out on the driver’s side.

“You didn’t have to get out,” she said.

“I wanted to,” he said.

She rolled her eyes, but it didn’t mean much. “So what’s the thing?”

He opened the passenger door for her. “It’s easier to show you.”

“That’s suspicious.”

“It is.”

She got in anyway.

Sterling & Co.’s building looked different at night—lit up, quiet, the glass windows reflecting the downtown lights. He led her inside through a side entrance, then into an elevator.

“Why am I here?” she asked.

“You’ll see.”

“Why does everyone say that when something weird is happening?”

“I’m not everyone.”

“That’s debatable.”

He didn’t argue.

They reached the sixth floor. When the elevator doors opened, the hallway was empty and too clean, like someone had vacuumed minutes ago. Evan led her into a large room with white walls, bright lighting, and long tables lined with products.

It looked like a lab and a showroom smashed together.

“This is the testing room,” he said.

“I feel like I shouldn’t be here.”

“You’re fine.”

“That’s exactly what people say before something not fine happens.”

He ignored that. He walked to one of the tables and picked up a small folder.

“This is the thing,” he said, handing it to her.

She opened it. Inside were three printed mockups—ads for a new foundation line. Different taglines. Different images. All polished, professional, and kind of lifeless.

“You want me to… choose one?” she asked.

“No,” he said. “I want you to tell me why none of them work.”

She blinked. “That’s a trick.”

“It’s not.”

“How do you know none of them work?”

“Because everyone in the office said they all work.”

She snorted. “You hate that.”

“I do.”

She looked at the mockups again, slower this time.

“They look… fancy,” she said.

“That’s a start.”

“They also look like they’re trying too hard. Like they’re made for rich people who don’t blink.”

Evan laughed under his breath. “Not inaccurate.”

She pointed to the tagline on one. “‘Perfect skin starts here.’ Nobody has perfect skin.”

“That’s what I said.”

“So why’d they pitch it?”

“Because it sounds expensive.”

She made a face. “Yeah, but nobody wants to feel like they’re supposed to look perfect.”

He watched her, waiting.

She shifted the papers. “If you want normal people to buy it, you should say something normal.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. Something like… people’s skin is weird, here’s something that helps.”

He stared at her for a second.

“That’s… actually good,” he said.

“No it’s not. It sounds dumb.”

“It sounds honest.”

She felt her ears get warm. “Don’t say that.”

“Why?”

“Because you make it sound like a compliment.”

“It is.”

She exhaled, annoyed at how that felt.

“So that’s your problem? Ads?” she asked.

“That’s one part.”

“What’s the other part?”

He hesitated for the first time that night.

“It’s nothing big,” he said. “Just… noise.”

“What kind?”

“People wanting things. People pushing things. People making things complicated when they don’t have to be.”

“And you want my opinion because I don’t know anything?”

“Because you don’t get distracted by the noise.”

She looked at him.

“That’s not true,” she said.

“It is,” he said.

She didn’t have an answer for that.

The room hummed quietly with the ventilation system. Far away, something clicked—maybe a machine shutting off for the night.

He said, “You helped yesterday without trying. I thought maybe you could help again.”

She closed the folder softly.

“So you brought me here at night to tell you your ads are bad.”

“Yes.”

“And you couldn’t text me the pictures.”

“No.”

“Because…?”

He looked at her without trying to hide it.

“I wanted to talk to you,” he said.

Her breath caught a little.

“That’s dumb,” she said.

“Probably.”

“You keep agreeing with me.”

“I agree when you’re right.”

She hated how steady his voice was.

She looked down at the folder again so she didn’t have to look at him.

“Okay,” she said. “Then what now?”

“Now we fix it.”

“We?”

“You’re here.”

“That doesn’t make me qualified.”

“You already gave me the best note anyone has given me all week.”

“That’s a low bar.”

He smiled. “Still true.”

She looked around the room, at all the tables and samples and labels.

“This is weird,” she said.

“I know.”

“I don’t belong here.”

“I know that too,” he said. “But you’re here anyway.”

Maya put the folder down and crossed her arms. “Okay. Show me the rest.”

Evan raised an eyebrow. “The rest?”

“You clearly have more stuff you hate.”

He smiled. “That obvious?”

“Yes.”

He walked to another table and picked up a small bottle with a temporary label. “This is the new serum.”

She turned it over in her hand. “Looks normal.”

“That’s what I was afraid of.”

She looked up. “You want it to look weird?”

“I want it to look like it means something.”

She shrugged. “Then stop making everything look like it goes in a spa for rich people.”

He blinked. “That’s… direct.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

She set the bottle down. “So what’s wrong with it?”

“I can’t tell if it matches the rest of the line.”

“Then why make it?”

“Because it works,” he said simply. “But sometimes something can work and still not fit.”

She nodded slowly. “Yeah. I get that.”

He looked at her for a second, like he heard something in her tone, but he didn’t comment on it.

He walked to another table. “There’s one more thing.”

“Oh good,” she said. “A whole three-part stress tour.”

He didn’t smile this time. He lifted a small box—different from the others. Darker. Less polished.

“This is a concept someone pitched last week,” he said. “They want to make a separate line for younger buyers.”

“Like teenagers?”

“Early twenties.”

She opened the box. Inside was a product with neon lettering and an overly bright design.

“This looks… loud,” she said.

“That’s the problem.”

“It’s trying too hard to be cool.”

“Yes.”

“Like someone’s uncle designed it.”

He huffed a laugh. “Exactly.”

She handed the box back. “So tell them no.”

“I did.”

“Then what’s the issue?”

“They want me to reconsider.”

“Because they think you’ll cave?”

“They think I care about trends.”

She tilted her head. “Do you?”

“Not really.”

“So don’t make this line.”

“I probably won’t.”

“Then why am I looking at it?”

“Because I wanted to see how you react before I tell them no again.”

She gave him a look. “So I’m your test audience.”

“More reliable than my team,” he said.

She didn’t know how to answer that. Her throat felt tight again, the way it did when she didn’t understand why someone trusted her.

She rested her hand on the table. “Okay, so… you brought me here to tell you the obvious. Everything looks too perfect. Perfect people don’t exist. Fancy doesn’t mean good. And this neon thing is ugly.”

“That sums it up.”

“Great,” she said. “Now you know.”

He nodded once, quiet.

Maya’s voice softened without her meaning it to. “Why does this bother you so much?”

He exhaled, leaning on the table with both hands. “Because the bigger the company gets, the more people around me say yes to everything. I start doubting my own read on things. And sometimes it feels like I’m running a whole machine alone.”

She didn’t say anything.

He added, “It’s stupid. I know it is. But I needed to hear something from someone who doesn’t get paid to agree with me.”

She lifted a shoulder. “I mean… I’m good at not agreeing.”

“You’re excellent at it.”

She snorted. “Wow. Thanks.”

He looked at her. Really looked.

“I like talking to you,” he said.

Her heart did something uncomfortable. “Don’t say it like that.”

“It’s true.”

“Still.”

He didn’t take it back.

She rubbed her forehead. “So you’re done showing me things?”

“Almost.”

“Oh my god. Evan.”

“This one is actually different.”

He reached into a drawer and pulled out a small pamphlet draft. “We’re opening a small pop-up booth next month. A trial. I’m supposed to figure out how the booth should look.”

“And you want my opinion?”

“Yeah.”

She flipped through the pages. It showed layout sketches—tables, mirrors, placement of products. It all looked clean, coordinated, and safe.

“Looks fine,” she said.

He smiled. “There it is.”

“What?”

“You said ‘fine.’ That usually means you don’t like it.”

“That’s not what it means.”

“It is for you.”

She sighed. “Okay, then I don’t like it.”

“Why?”

“It looks like every other brand.”

He nodded. “That’s what I thought.”

“Why didn’t you say that?”

“Because I say it too much,” he said. “People think I don’t compromise.”

“Do you?”

“Not often.”

She laughed once. “Shocking.”

He didn’t react; he just kept watching her.

She set the pamphlet down. “So what should it be?”

He lifted an eyebrow. “You tell me.”

She pointed at a sketch. “This is too clean. Too empty. People will walk past it because it looks like a dentist office.”

He blinked. “A dentist office?”

“Yes. It needs something real.”

“Real.”

“Yeah. Something people actually touch or notice.”

He leaned a little closer. “Like what?”

“I don’t know. A mirror that doesn’t look perfect. A table that doesn’t look like you polished it five times. Something that doesn’t scream ‘expensive brand that never knows when to relax.’”

He stared at her with a slow, building expression. “You’re… very good at this.”

“I’m not. I’m talking nonsense.”

“No,” he said. “You’re saying something useful.”

She looked away. “Whatever.”

He didn’t push.

After a moment, he said, “I want to ask you something else.”

She looked up.

“What now?”

He hesitated, then asked, “Can you come with me when we test the booth next week?”

She blinked. “Why?”

“So you can tell me if it feels real.”

“I’m not a designer.”

“I know.”

“I’m not anything.”

“That’s not true.”

She swallowed. “You can’t just say stuff like that.”

“I can.”

“You shouldn’t.”

He didn’t answer that.

Maya looked around the room again. The bright lights, the samples, the quiet. Then she looked at him.

“You really want me there?” she asked.

“Yes.”

She let out a slow breath. “Okay.”

His shoulders dropped a little, like he’d been holding something tight.

“Okay?” he repeated.

“Yeah.”

He smiled at her—small, real, without the usual edges of humor or confidence.

“Thank you,” he said.

She didn’t know what to do with that, so she looked at the nearest table.

“This is really weird,” she said.

“I know.”

“Like… really weird.”

“I know.”

She crossed her arms. “You sure you’re not making a mistake?”

“I’m sure.”

“That’s dumb.”

“Probably.”

She rolled her eyes, but she didn’t leave.

He didn’t either.

The room stayed quiet for a while, and neither of them stepped away first.