By the end of the week, Amelia had gotten used to the pace of the office:
The soft hum of talk, the muted clack of typists, the subdued sense of purpose that clung. No one ever shouted here. No one ever pushed her around.
It was nearly unnerving how thoughtful ordinary was.
She spent her mornings reading proposals, her afternoons drafting reports. It was second nature — the numbers, the rationality, the small trends that shouted great things. She hadn't realized how much she'd missed thinking until this time.
"Mrs. Cross?"
Amelia looked up. One of the young analysts was in her doorway, balancing a stack of files. "Mr. Royce asked if you would have the revised draft in the conference room in ten."
She nodded. "Of course."
The conference had begun by the time she entered. Julian sat at the head of the long glass table, his tone smooth and even as he spoke on quarterly restructuring. Department managers stood behind him, their expressions guarded, weighing.
"Mrs. Cross," Julian said on noticing her. "Sit."
Heads turned ever so slightly. Amelia's heart faltered, but she approached, setting down the folder on his elbow.
"Thanks," he spoke softly and turned to the group. "I had Mrs. Cross review these figures because she sees this business from an angle most of you do not — outside looking in."
There was a commotion, quickly subdued. Julian continued.
"Something we all missed," she said. He opened the report, pointed to the page. "Seasonal variations aren't factored into estimated revenue on the DeMara contract. Her adjustment averted over-commitment to a third-quarter deficit."
Amelia's throat closed up. She hadn't realized he'd caught it.
Julian looked at her. "Well done."
Two words, professional and reserved — but they did more to make her feel valued than any praise she ever received. A couple of nods across the table, respectful. She smiled and sat down.
Julian lingered after the meeting. "You handled yourself well today," he told her when the others had gone.
"Thank you," she replied quietly. "I just—
"Your sensitivity to what mattered. Don't downplay it." His voice was firm but not biting. "Arrogance and confidence are not the same, Amelia. Confidence is definition."
She looked up at him, and for the first time, didn't look away.
She returned home one night to find Daniel in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with a glass of scotch. His expression was blank.
"You're late," he said.
"I told you I had a meeting."
He nodded slowly. "And how did the meeting go?"
"Good," she said cautiously. "Productive."
He looked at her, lips curling into a colorless, humorless smile. "You seem different."
She paused. "Different how?"
"Like someone who's started to believe her own fairy tale." He sipped, glass shining in the light. "Be careful, Amelia. Fairy tales don't have happy endings in the real world."
He put the half-full glass on the counter and left, the words trailing after him like smoke.
Amelia was alone, her heart racing though a shiver went up her spine. For the first time, his threats didn't quite quiet her.
Because for the first time, she had something he couldn't take.
Herself.