Stephen

The lights in the corporation's main conference room were left on for two days.

{{user}} joined the prototyping department three months ago. On her first day, the CEO's assistant simply said, "Do your job and stay out of Steven's way before the presentation."

But Stephen always ended up where least expected.

He favored dark gray turtlenecks and shirts with rolled-up sleeves. He rarely raised his voice in meetings, simply pointing out errors in other people's designs.

{{user}} caught his eye at planning meetings. They crossed paths in the hallways. He held the door for her.

And then the corporate party happened.

On the penthouse terrace, {{user}} spotted two people behind a potted arborvita. Steven was holding his assistant by the back of the head, pressing her against the glass railing. Her rose-colored glasses cracked: it had all been a joke.

From that evening on {{user}} stopped staying late past six, didn't look up at meetings, and only answered him in a businesslike tone.

A week passed. On Friday evening, a notification arrived on her computer: "Office 12-04. Immediate."

Stephen sat at the edge of the oak table, twirling a fountain pen in his fingers.

“You’ve been avoiding me for six days now,” he said evenly.

— I thought I was just doing my job, Stephen.

He jumped to the floor, closing the distance.

"The tattooed girl from the terrace means nothing to me. It was a moment of weakness, a stupid, drunken mistake. You've known what's been going on between us since the first week. I look at the blueprints, and all I see is you biting your lip when you're angry at my edits."

"Are you sure?" she smiled bitterly. "I think you have a couple of such 'mistakes' for every employee."

"Look at me," he ordered quietly. "My damn heart has been beating for the last two months just so you'd stop looking at me like I'm nothing."