MY MAN

One

The morning light in the city always felt like a spotlight I hadn't asked for but knew exactly how to stand in. I adjusted my position at the corner table of L’Avenue, feeling the cool slide of my silk camisole against my skin. It was a champagne hue that played perfectly against the tan I’d picked up in Santorini last month. I wasn’t being vain; I was being observant. In my line of work, and in this city, your image was the first draft of your resume.

I checked my reflection in the darkened screen of my phone, smoothing a stray lock of dark hair back into my sleek blowout. I looked like the woman I had worked five years to become: independent, successful, and entirely in control of her own gravity.

​"You’re doing that thing again," Lucy said, her voice cutting through the hiss of the espresso machine. She slid a lemon tart across the marble tabletop toward me, her own rings clinking against the ceramic plate.

Lucy was my anchor, a woman who wore sarcasm like a protective shield and designer blazers like a uniform. "The 'I’m about to conquer the world' look. Relax, Selene. It’s just Saturday. It’s just brunch."

​I finally set the phone face down, giving her my full attention. "I have the Sterling pitch on Monday, Lucy. I’m not conquering. I’m just mentally rehearsing. There’s a difference."

​"The difference is about three mimosas," Lucy countered, waving a hand at the waiter. "You’ve been staring at your reflection for three minutes. You’re either checking your eyeliner or looking for a c***k in the armor. Which is it?"

​"Neither," I laughed, and for a moment, the tension in my shoulders actually dissipated. "I’m just happy. Is that allowed?"

​"It’s more than allowed. It’s captivating."

​The voice was soft, drifting from the chair to my left. I turned to look at Vivian. She had been sitting there for the last twenty minutes, mostly silent, her hands wrapped around a matcha latte that had long since gone cold. Vivian was a newer addition to our circle, a friend of a friend who had drifted into our orbit six months ago and simply stayed. She had this way of being present without being noticed, a quiet, delicate energy that made most people feel an instinctive need to protect her.

​But when I looked at her now, she wasn't looking at the menu or the street outside. She was looking at me. Not just looking, but studying. Her eyes traced the line of my jaw, the gold hoops in my ears, the way my watch sat on my wrist.

​"I was just telling Lucy," Vivian continued, her lips curving into a smile that felt a fraction of a second too late. "The way you hold court, Selene. It’s a gift. The way people just... gravitate. I was watching the waiter when he brought your coffee. He didn't even look at the rest of us. You have this light."

​I felt a small, uncomfortable heat rise in my chest. It was a compliment, surely. So why did it feel like she was taking inventory?

​"It’s just confidence, Viv," I said, trying to keep my tone light. "And trust me, half of it is fake. You just have to decide you belong in the room, and eventually, the room believes you."

​"I don't think I could ever fake that," Vivian whispered. She reached out, her fingers hovering just inches from the sleeve of my camisole. "This fabric is beautiful. Is it the one from that boutique on 5th? The one you mentioned in passing last week?"

​I paused. I had mentioned that boutique, but only once, and in the middle of a chaotic group dinner where three other people were talking. "It is. Good memory."

​"I remember everything you tell me," she said. The delivery was earnest, almost sweet, but it sent a tiny, inexplicable shiver down my spine. "You have such impeccable taste. Sometimes I find myself looking at my own closet and just wishing I could see things the way you do. I’d probably have a much better life if I did."

​"Don't be dramatic," Lucy chimed in, though she was busy texting someone under the table. "You’re doing fine, Viv. You just need to stop wearing so much beige. It washes you out."

​Vivian’s smile didn't falter, but her eyes flickered toward Lucy for a brief, sharp second before returning to me. "You’re right. I should try more color. Maybe I’ll go shopping this afternoon. Selene, which floor did you say you found this on?"

​"The third," I answered, already shifting my gaze back to the street. "But I think they were low on stock."

​"I'll find it," Vivian said softly.

​The rest of brunch was a blur of the usual social noise. We talked about the upcoming gallery opening, the latest gossip involving a mutual friend’s messy divorce, and the exhausting pace of the city. I tried to shake the feeling that Vivian was echoing my movements. When I took a sip of my water, she took a sip of her latte. When I crossed my legs, she adjusted her position.

​It was subtle. It was probably nothing. I was likely just high-strung from the pressure of the Sterling pitch.

​As we stood up to leave, I reached for my bag—a vintage leather piece I’d hunted down in a thrift shop in Paris. Vivian reached for her coat, but her hand brushed against mine. Her skin was strangely cold.

​"Oh, sorry!" she chirped, her voice jumping an octave. "I’m so clumsy today. Must be the caffeine."

​"It’s fine," I said, offering her a reassuring smile. I really did want to like her. She seemed lonely, and God knows this city could be a vacuum if you didn't have a tribe. "Are you coming to the rooftop thing on Tuesday?"

​"If you're going, I'm going," Vivian said.

​I walked toward the subway feeling the weight of the sun on my back, but I couldn't shake the sensation of being watched. I turned my head once, halfway down the block, and saw Vivian still standing in front of the restaurant. She wasn't walking toward her apartment. She was just standing there, silhouetted against the glass, watching me walk away.

​She didn't wave. She didn't move. She just stood perfectly still, a pale shadow in the middle of the golden Saturday rush.

​I forced myself to turn the corner. I had a pitch to prepare for. I had a life to lead. I didn't have time to wonder why a girl I barely knew was looking at me like I was a map she was trying to memorize.

​But as I stepped into the cool darkness of the subway station, I checked my wrist. My gold watch, the one I’d bought to celebrate my promotion, felt heavier than usual. I remembered the way Vivian’s eyes had lingered on it.

Captivating, she had called me.

​I didn't feel captivating.

For the first time in a long time, I felt hunted.