But sleep had abandoned him somewhere around 3:00 a.m., replaced by a churning mix of anticipation and dread that made lying still impossible. He showered, shaved carefully, changed shirts three times. The blue one felt too formal. The gray one had a stain he hadn’t noticed before. He settled on a plain black henley that Emma had picked out last Christmas, telling him it made him look less tired.
Daddy, why are you being weird? He turned to find his daughter standing in the doorway, hair sticking up in every direction, clutching her stuffed triceratops. I’m not being weird. You changed your shirt like a hundred times. That’s weird. She climbed onto his bed, watching him with those two observant eyes. Is it because of the date lady? Her name is Victoria.
Are you seeing her again? Noah sat down beside her. Just for coffee before work. Emma grinned. You like her? I barely know her, sweetheart. But you like her. I can tell. You’re doing the thing where you touch your hair a lot. Noah dropped his hand from his hair immediately. I don’t do that. You totally do. You did it when Miss Rodriguez talked to you at parent teacher night, too. That was different.
She was telling me you Wait, we’re not talking about this. Emma giggled. It’s okay if you like her, Daddy. Mommy would want you to be happy. The words hit him sideways. Emma rarely mentioned Sarah directly anymore. When she did, it was usually matter of fact, the way kids processed grief in small doses without warning.
You think so? Noah’s voice came out rough. Uh-huh. She told me once that you were the best person she ever met, that I should always make sure you’re okay. Emma leaned against him. So, I’m making sure. Noah wrapped his arm around her, blinking back the unexpected sting in his eyes. When did you get so smart? I was always smart.
You just forget sometimes. He got her ready for school, made breakfast, packed her lunch. The routine was muscle memory by now, but today everything felt different, sharper, like he was waking up from a long sleep. Marcus called it 7. You’re really doing this? It’s just coffee, Marcus. With your boss, your billionaire boss.
The woman who could fire you with a phone call. She’s not going to fire me. You don’t know that. Rich people are crazy, man. Maybe this is how she gets her kicks. Messing with regular people’s heads. Noah locked his apartment door. Emma’s hand in his. She’s not like that. You talked to her for 2 hours. You don’t actually know what she’s like.
Neither do you. Marcus sighed. Look, I’m happy you’re putting yourself out there. I am. I just don’t want you getting hurt or fired. Preferably both. I’ll call you later. You better. And Noah, don’t do that thing where you get all self-deprecating and talk yourself out of good things. I don’t do that. You absolutely do that. Just try. Okay.
Actually, try. Noah dropped Emma at school, kissed her goodbye, watched her run toward her classroom without looking back. The confidence of six-year-olds. The assumption that the world would catch them. He wished he still had that. The coffee shop Victoria had chosen was small, tucked between a bookstore and a dry cleaner, not the kind of place CEOs usually frequented.
Noah arrived 10 minutes early, ordered a regular coffee he couldn’t really afford, and sat at a corner table trying not to watch the door. She walked in at exactly 7:30. No powersuit today, just jeans, a cream sweater, minimal makeup. Her hair was pulled back in a simple ponytail. She looked younger, more real.
She spotted him and smiled, and Noah felt something in his chest do a complicated flip. “You came,” she said, sliding into the seat across from him. “You sound surprised.” “I thought you might reconsider. Decide this was too weird.” “I did reconsider around 4:00 a.m. and then again at 6:00. But I’m here anyway.
” Victoria laughed, the sound less brittle than it had been at Russos’s. I didn’t sleep much either. A barista appeared at their table. Victoria ordered something complicated involving oat milk and vanilla. When the barista left, silence settled between them, but it felt different than at the restaurant. Less desperate, more uncertain.
So, Victoria said, “So, this is awkward little bit. I’m not good at this. The casual thing, the getting to know someone thing.” She wrapped her hands around her coffee cup, even though it hadn’t arrived yet. I’m usually either networking or negotiating. This is neither. And I don’t know the rules. There are no rules, Noah said. We’re just two people having coffee.
Are we though? Because you work for me. Technically, and there are about 50 HR violations happening right now. You want to leave? No. The word came fast. No, I don’t. But I think we should be honest about what this is. What is it? Victoria met his eyes. I don’t know. But I know I haven’t been able to stop thinking about Monday night, about how you didn’t treat me like the CEO, how you just saw me, and I want more of that.
Is that selfish? If it is, then I’m selfish, too, because I want the same thing. Her coffee arrived. She took a sip, made a face. Too sweet. I always forget to say light vanilla. You want mine? It’s just regular. You’d give me your coffee? It’s coffee, Victoria, not a kidney. She smiled and they traded cups, and the simple domesticity of it felt like crossing some invisible line.
