The elevator dinged, halting at 38. Taking a breath, she shoved the lipstick back into her bad, straightened her spine, and stepped out. Down the hall, Conference Room A's door stood ajar, murmurs and rustling papers spilling out. She quickened her pace, only to collide with someone at the corner.
Files scattered like leaves. Emma cursed under her breath, crouching to gather them. Her fingers grazed a stiff card. Looking up, she locked eyes with ice-gray irises. He wore a charcoal suit, collar sharp enough to slice, tousled black hair grazing his frehead, contrasting pale skin. Her breath hitched.
"Sorry." She forced a smile, handing him the stack. He noddded, silent, and strode toward the conference room. Emma stood frozen. That gaze - familiar somehow. Shaking her head, she pushed inside.
The room buzzed with colleagues. Vivtoria stood by the projector, arms crossed, eyes narrowing at Emma's stained sleeve. Emma ignored her, sliding beside Samantha. Sam mouthed, "You're late."
"Everyone." Victoria began, cool as ever, "meet our new creative director, Lucas Whitely."
Emma followed the crowd's gaze. The man from the hallway stood by the projector, expressionless as a marble statue. Murmurs of admiration rippled - gorgeous, sure, she thought, but will he gut my team?
Lucas clicked the remote. A draft cover lit the screen. "What's wrong with this?" Silence. Emma's mind raced. She opened her mouth to speak -
"Too loud. Her breathing sounds like thunder."
Emma froze. She scanned the room - no one's lips had moved. "Her sleeve's stained, but she sits like a proud cat."
Her heart jackhammered. Was this his ... thoughts?
"You." Lucas throat went dry. The room hummed with AC static. Swallowing, she forced out, "The palette's too safe. Summer needs contrast - bold colors or -"
He cut her off, tilting his head as if listening. "Her voice is softer than I expected. Like fizz in lemonade."
Heat scorched her cheeks. Lucas merely nodded. "Continue."
Emma scrambled to finish her analysis. He turned, scribbling keywords on the whiteboard. She stared at his back, pulse roaring. She didn't know where this power came from - or how long it'd last - but her life had just derailed.
After the meeting, Victoria announced, "Emma and Lucas will lead the summer project. Others, support."
Colleagues filtered out. Emma gathered her papers, fingers trembling.
Lucas approached, pausing beside her. "Good analysis. Next time, five minutes earlier."
She looked up. Those grey eyes held a flicker of amusement. "Hope she doesn't hate me."
Her breath caught. Words failed her. Lucas turned, striding away, crisp and distant. Emma stood, fingers creasing her folder. Hearbteats thundered in her eyes.
Emma practically floated into the restroom. The cool marble countertop pressed against her overheated palms, offering a fleeting sense of clarity. Her reflection showed a pale face - chesnut curls frizzed from subway air and elevator humidity, emerald eyes still wide with shock, and ... yes, that stubborn coffee stain bloooming across her gray sleeve like an ugly badge of shame.
"I Hope she doesn't hate me."