Chapter 2

Sarah was already sitting at the table, her laptop open, a fresh paint smudge on her cheek. This time it was green.

"You're early," I said, settling into the chair across from her.

"So are you." She didn't look up. "I wanted to rework the flow chart. Your way. Mostly."

"Mostly?"

She finally met my eyes. "I kept the emotion. Just... structured it. Like you said."

I leaned forward, curious despite myself. "Show me."

She turned her laptop around. The screen showed a clean, logical sequence—but each step had a small emotional cue, a color shift, a line of copy that felt human. It was actually good. Better than good.

"This works," I said, surprised.

"Don't sound so shocked."

"I'm not. I'm impressed."

She blinked, as if she hadn't expected that. "Really?"

"Really."

Mark appeared in the doorway, a bagel in his hand. "Am I interrupting something?"

"No," we said together, then looked at each other.

Mark's grin widened. "Sure. Anyway, the client moved the deadline up. We've got five weeks now."

Sarah groaned. "Five weeks? That's impossible."

"It's tight," I admitted. "But doable if we work together."

She studied me for a moment. "Together?"

"Yeah. I'll handle the backend structure, you do the creative. We meet every morning, compare notes, adjust."

"That actually sounds..." She paused. "Reasonable."

"Don't sound so shocked."

She laughed. It was a real laugh, warm and unexpected. "Okay. Deal."

We worked through lunch. Mark brought us sandwiches and watched us argue about button placement with the same amused expression he always wore. By 4 p.m., we had a draft that neither of us hated.

"We should celebrate," Sarah said, stretching her arms above her head. "Or at least take a break."

"Coffee?" I offered before I could think about it.

She raised an eyebrow. "Are you asking me out?"

"No. I mean—" I felt heat creep up my neck. "Just coffee. To talk about the campaign."

"Sure." She smiled, and I couldn't tell if she was amused or pleased. "Coffee."

We ended up at a small café two blocks from the office. Sarah ordered something complicated with oat milk and caramel, while I stuck with black coffee. We sat by the window, the late afternoon sun making her hair glow.

"So," she said, wrapping her hands around her cup. "Tell me something I don't know about you."

"Like what?"

"I don't know. Why do you care so much about this campaign? It's just a product launch."

I considered the question. "It's not just the product. It's the team. I've been here six years. I've seen good ideas die because nobody fought for them."

"And you think I'm fighting?"

"I know you are. That's why I argued with you. Because you actually care."

She was quiet for a moment. "My dad used to say that the people who argue with you are the ones who see your potential."

"Sounds like a smart guy."

"He was." Her voice dropped. "He passed away two years ago."

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay. He taught me to never back down from something I believe in." She looked at me, her eyes bright. "That's why I didn't let you steamroll me."

"I noticed."

We sat in comfortable silence. I wanted to tell her something real in return, something that would match what she'd just given me. But the words wouldn't come.

Instead, I said, "I have a secret."

She leaned forward. "What?"

"I've been watching you. Since you started. Not in a creepy way," I added quickly. "But I noticed how you handle the vendors, how you argue with everyone, how you never give up. I told myself it was professional curiosity."

"And now?"

I met her eyes. "Now I'm not sure what it is."

Her breath caught. "Joe..."

"I know. We're colleagues. It's complicated." I looked down at my coffee. "I just wanted you to know."

"I have a secret too," she said softly.

I looked up.

"I lied about that campaign design. The original one you called ridiculous."

"What do you mean?"

"It wasn't mine. I mean, I drew it, but the idea came from a conversation I overheard. You were on the phone with a client, explaining how people need to feel safe before they can connect. I wrote it down. I used your logic to build my design."

I stared at her. "You used my own argument against me?"

"I wanted you to notice me." Her cheeks flushed. "I thought if I challenged you, you'd finally see me."

"I see you," I said, my voice rough.

We held each other's gaze. The café noise faded. There was just her, and the way she bit her lip, and the paint smudge on her cheek that I suddenly wanted to wipe away.

"Same time tomorrow?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Yeah." I cleared my throat. "Same time."

She stood, gathering her bag. At the door, she turned back. "Joe?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm glad you argued with me."

She left before I could respond. I sat there, my coffee growing cold, replaying every word.

My phone buzzed. Mark: "How's the coffee date?"

I typed back: "It's complicated."

His reply came instantly: "Best kind."

I smiled despite myself. Tomorrow couldn't come soon enough.