Fiona left the Obsidian Spire lobby and walked straight into the late-afternoon sun. The bay sparkled like someone had scattered diamonds across it, but she barely noticed. Her mind was still in that conference room replaying Carla's smile, the way the words "we'll be in touch very soon" had landed like a promise instead of a brush-off.
She felt good. Really good. Not the fake "I crushed it" kind of good, but the quiet kind where you know you showed up as yourself and it was enough.
She checked her phone no new emails yet. Of course not. It had only been twenty minutes since she walked out. CEOs didn't decide on the spot. She tucked the phone away and kept walking along the waterfront path, letting the salt breeze cool her cheeks.
The nausea had eased a little during the interview (adrenaline, probably), but now it was creeping back, mixing with a hollow ache in her stomach that wasn't just nerves.
Hunger. Real, sharp, stupid hunger.
She spotted a small café tucked between two high-rises: glass front, outdoor tables, chalkboard sign reading *Fresh Pressed Juices + Avocado Toast + Best Fish Tacos in the Bay.
Fish tacos. Salty. Crispy. Tangy.
Her mouth watered so hard she almost laughed at herself.
"Okay, little one," she muttered, rubbing her belly under the blazer. "You win."
She ordered two tacos, extra lime, a side of chips, and a ginger-lemon soda. Sat at one of the outdoor tables facing the water. First bite crunchy batter, flaky white fish, bright cilantro and lime hit like comfort and victory at the same time.
She ate slowly, savoring it, letting the moment stretch.
No rush to get home. No Marcus waiting with his polished excuses. Just her, the bay, the food truck smells mixing with sea air, and the tiny life inside her that apparently had very specific opinions about lunch.
Her phone stayed silent.
She finished the tacos, wiped her hands, leaned back in the chair and closed her eyes for a second. The sun felt warm on her face. For the first time in weeks, she let herself breathe without bracing for the next hit.
Maybe the job would come. Maybe it wouldn't. Either way, she'd done what she could.
She paid, left a good tip, and started the slow walk back toward Lunara Cove. No hurry. The sun was still high, the path was pretty, and her body felt… settled. Full. Almost calm.
Back in her apartment she kicked off her heels, changed into soft leggings and an oversized tee, and curled up on the couch with a cup of ginger tea. She opened her laptop —just to check email one more time.
Nothing.
She closed it again.
Tomorrow was Saturday. No news would come over the weekend. She'd wait.
She rested her hand on her stomach, feeling the faint warmth there.
"We're okay," she whispered. "We've got time."
Across the city, in the Obsidian Spire, Martin Mole stood at his office window on the 45th floor, staring at the same glittering bay.
He hadn't moved much since the interview ended.
Carla had texted him the recap: *Strong candidate. Passionate. Real fit for the team. Thoughts?*
He hadn't replied yet.
Instead he kept seeing her in fragments: the way she sat straight but not rigid, the spark in her eyes when she talked about inclusivity, the small unconscious way she tucked hair behind her ear when she was thinking.
The same woman who'd left him tangled in sheets and silence at Eclipse Lounge.
He still didn't know her name that night. Still didn't know why she'd walked out before dawn without a word.
But now he did.
Fiona Flare.
And she'd just walked into his building, sat in his conference room, and answered questions like she had no memory of him at all.
He exhaled slowly, jaw tight.
He wasn't angry not exactly. More… unsettled. Like something unfinished had just sat down across from him and pretended it had never happened.
He opened his laptop, pulled up her application again.
Portfolio. Cover letter. Headshot.
He stared at the photo longer than he needed to.
Then he typed a single line to Carla:
*Schedule her for final round. Monday. I'll run it personally.*
He hit send.
Closed the laptop.
And went back to the window.
The sun was starting to dip. The bay turned gold.
He smiled small, private, edged with something darker.
She thought she'd interviewed for a job.
She had no idea she'd just stepped into his orbit again.
And this time, he wasn't letting her slip away without answering for that night.
But he could wait.
He was good at waiting.
Monday would come soon enough.
And when it did?
He'd be ready.
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