Strictly Professional

Emotional Crumbs

Lucy arrived at Hunter, Bell & Croft at 7:58 a.m.

This was not because she was eager. This was because she was responsible. Professional. Prepared. The kind of associate who showed up early when a senior partner asked her to stop by at 8:15. It had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that Madeleine Hunter had emailed her last night, or does it?

The elevator doors opened on the twenty-second floor, and Lucy stepped out with her tote bag on her shoulder, a coffee in one hand, and a carefully selected pale blue blouse that had survived an embarrassing amount of closet debate. The firm was quieter this early.

Softer. No phones ringing yet. No partners sweeping through the halls like expensive weather systems. Just the low hum of lights, the faint smell of coffee, and a few associates already at their desks pretending not to be exhausted.

Lucy passed the reception desk and headed toward Madeleine’s office.

Every step felt normal.

Every step was not normal.

Her heart was doing something dramatic again.

“Relax,” she whispered to herself.

A paralegal walking by gave her a curious glance, Lucy smiled politely. Great. Second day and she was already whispering to herself in hallways. Very promising.

Madeleine’s office door was open.

Lucy paused just outside.

Madeleine stood by the window, phone to her ear, looking out over the city. Her dark hair was down today, falling in soft waves over one shoulder instead of pinned back.

Lucy’s brain stopped.

That was new... and dangerous.

Madeleine turned slightly, saw Lucy, and lifted one finger.

Lucy nodded and stood in the doorway, trying not to stare at the hair.

She failed.

Of course she failed.

Madeleine with her hair pinned back looked severe and untouchable. Madeleine with her hair down looked like a secret.

“Yes,” Madeleine said into the phone. “Send it to me before the meeting. No, not by lunch. Before the meeting.”

A pause.

Her expression did not change.

“I understand what you prefer. I’m telling you what I need.”

Another pause.

“Thank you.”

She ended the call and set the phone on her desk.

“Good morning, Miss Hill.”

Lucy straightened. “Good morning.”

Madeleine looked at the coffee in Lucy’s hand. “Is that your breakfast?”

Lucy glanced down. “It’s coffee.”

“That wasn’t an answer.”

“It was the answer I was hoping you’d accept.”

Madeleine’s eyes narrowed slightly.

Lucy fought a smile.

“I’ll eat at the firm breakfast,” Lucy added.

“Good.”

There it was again.

Good.

Madeleine really had no idea what she was doing with that word.

Or maybe she did.

Madeleine gestured to the chair across from her desk. “Sit.”

Lucy sat.

This time, she tried not to think about the last time Madeleine had told her to sit. Or the time Madeleine had stood behind her. Or the way Madeleine’s sleeve had brushed her arm. Or the way Lucy had almost forgotten the English language.

She was doing a terrible job.

Madeleine picked up the summary Lucy had sent the night before. “I asked you here because your work was better than expected.”

Lucy blinked. “Is that a compliment or an insult?”

“Yes.”

Lucy smiled before she could stop herself.

Madeleine looked down at the paper, but Lucy saw it.

The almost-smile.

“It was clear,” Madeleine said. “Not perfect, but clear. You identified the practical issue quickly.”

“Thank you.”

“You still soften your conclusions.”

“I’m working on it.”

“You should.”

Lucy leaned back slightly. “Is this why you asked me to come in early? To tell me I use too many gentle verbs?”

“No.”

Madeleine opened a small folder and slid a document across the desk. “I want you in the client meeting this morning.”

Lucy looked down at the document, then back up.

“With you?”

“With the team.”

“But you’ll be there.”

“Yes.”

“So with you.”

Madeleine’s gaze lifted.

Lucy realized she had said that too quickly.

Her face warmed.

Madeleine watched her for one second too long.

Then she said, “Yes. With me.”

Lucy looked down at the document and pretended to read.

“What do you need me to do?” she asked.

“Listen. Take notes. Don’t speak unless I ask you to.”

Lucy nodded. “I can do that.”

Madeleine’s brow rose.

Lucy sighed. “I can try to do that.”

“Better.”

Lucy smiled.

Madeleine leaned back in her chair. “This client is particular. He likes confidence but dislikes arrogance. He asks questions he already knows the answers to. He respects people who can be concise.”

“So basically, he likes you.”

Madeleine paused.

Lucy immediately regretted it.

But Madeleine only looked at her, calm and unreadable.

“Was that your attempt at flattery again?”

“No. Context.”

“That word is becoming suspicious.”

“It’s a useful word.”

“So is restraint.”

Lucy pressed her lips together.

Madeleine’s gaze dropped briefly to her mouth.

Lucy’s pulse jumped.

Then Madeleine looked back at the document like nothing had happened.

“Read this before the meeting,” Madeleine said. “And Miss Hill?”

“Yes?”

“You look prepared.”

Lucy froze. It was not much. But from Madeleine, it felt like being handed a small glowing thing. Lucy glanced down at her blouse. “Thank you.”

Madeleine’s expression remained calm.

“The blue suits you.”

Lucy stopped breathing.

Madeleine seemed to realize what she had said at the exact same moment Lucy did.

The air shifted.

Madeleine looked away first, reaching for the pen on her desk though she did not use it.

“For the meeting,” she added.

Lucy nodded slowly. “Right. Professional blue.”

Madeleine’s eyes returned to hers.

For one dangerous second, Lucy thought Madeleine might smile.

Instead, there was a knock on the open door. A woman in a sleek black dress and red lipstick appeared. “Madeleine, conference room is ready.” The woman looked at Lucy, then back at Madeleine. Something about her smile sharpened.

“Oh,” she said. “You must be the new associate.”

Lucy stood. “Lucy Hill.”

“Vivian Cross.” The woman extended her hand. “Corporate team. I hope Madeleine hasn’t scared you off yet.”

Lucy shook her hand. “Not yet.”

Vivian laughed lightly. “Impressive. Most people last at least a week before developing a complex.”

Madeleine stood. “Vivian.”

“What? I’m being friendly.”

“You’re being Vivian.”

“Same thing.”

Lucy looked between them.

Vivian was beautiful in a polished, effortless way. Dark skin, glossy black hair, expensive perfume, confident smile. She also spoke to Madeleine like someone who had known her long enough not to be afraid of her.

Lucy did not like how quickly she noticed that.

She had no claim on Madeleine.

She did not even know if Madeleine liked women.

She barely knew if Madeleine liked people.

Vivian’s gaze moved back to Lucy. “Careful with this one.” She nodded toward Madeleine. “She pretends she’s made of stone, but she’s very sensitive.”

Madeleine picked up her folder. “I’m standing right here.”

“I know. That’s what makes it fun.”

Lucy tried not to smile, Madeleine looked at her. Lucy failed. The corner of Madeleine’s mouth moved. Vivian noticed. Her eyebrows lifted.

Oh no.

Lucy looked away immediately.

“Meeting,” Madeleine said.

“Of course,” Vivian said, still smiling.

They walked toward the conference room together.

Lucy followed half a step behind, trying very hard not to feel like she had just been dropped into a game where everyone knew the rules except her.

The conference room was already full when they arrived. Three partners, two associates, one client on the screen. A tray of pastries on the side table that immediately caught Lucy’s attention because she had not eaten breakfast.

Muffins.

Madeleine had been right.

Lucy took a seat near the end of the table, opened her notebook, and prepared to be invisible.

That lasted exactly six minutes.

The client, Mr. Whitaker, was an older man with silver hair, sharp glasses, and the warm personality of a locked drawer. He asked three questions in rapid succession, all directed at Madeleine.

Madeleine answered each one with effortless precision.

Lucy tried not to be impressed, but failed.

Madeleine was different in meetings, still controlled, still composed, but brighter somehow. Sharper. Not loud, she did not need to be. People leaned in when she spoke. Somehow, Lucy understood why people feared her. Worse, she understood why people followed her.

Then Mr. Whitaker asked, “And who prepared the initial summary?”

The room went quiet.

Lucy’s pen stopped.

Madeleine glanced at her.

Lucy’s stomach dropped.

“My associate,” Madeleine said. “Lucy Hill.”

My associate.

Lucy knew it was normal. Professional. Nothing.

Still.

Her heart heard it and behaved irresponsibly.

Mr. Whitaker looked at her through the screen. “Fresh associate?”

Lucy sat straighter. “Yes.”

“Fresh associates usually overcomplicate things.”

Lucy smiled politely. “I tried not to.”

A few people at the table glanced at her. Madeleine’s expression did not change, but Lucy felt her attention shift.

Mr. Whitaker leaned back. “Did you understand the main issue?”

Lucy glanced at Madeleine.

Madeleine gave one small nod.

Permission.

Lucy turned back to the screen.

“Yes,” she said. “You don’t need more noise. You need a clearer timeline, fewer assumptions, and a strategy that makes the other side look like they’re the ones overcomplicating a simple problem.”

Silence.

Lucy’s pulse roared in her ears.

That was probably too much.

Then Vivian coughed into her hand, like she was hiding a laugh.

Mr. Whitaker stared at Lucy for a moment.

Then he nodded. “Good.”

Lucy’s eyes flicked to Madeleine before she could stop herself, Madeleine was looking at her. Not smiling, but close. Dangerously close. After the meeting, Lucy escaped to the pastry table while everyone else discussed follow-up items. She picked up a blueberry muffin and took a bite before remembering she was in a professional setting and not alone in her kitchen.

“You earned that.”

Lucy turned.

Madeleine stood beside her, holding a coffee.

Lucy swallowed quickly. “The muffin or the client not hating me?”

“Both.”

Lucy tried not to glow.

She failed.

“Thank you,” she said.

Madeleine looked at the tray. “Blueberry?”

“Yes.”

“The chocolate ones are better.”

Lucy blinked. “You eat chocolate muffins?”

“I eat food, Miss Hill.”

“Sorry. I just assumed you survived on black coffee and restrained judgment.”

Madeleine’s gaze settled on her.

Then, very slowly, she picked up a chocolate muffin.

Lucy stared.

Madeleine took one small bite, eyes never leaving hers.

Lucy’s brain short-circuited.

Vivian passed behind them and murmured, “Interesting.”

Madeleine set her coffee down. “You did well in there.”

Lucy smiled. “You sound surprised.”

“I’m adjusting.”

“To what?”

Madeleine looked at her for a moment.

“To you.”

Lucy’s heart did one clean, impossible flip. Then Madeleine picked up her folder and stepped back.

“Come to my office after lunch,” she said. “We’ll discuss your next assignment.”

Lucy nodded, trying to sound normal. “Of course.”

Madeleine walked away.

Lucy watched her go, then immediately told herself to stop watching her go.

Vivian appeared beside her, selecting a pastry with the calm of someone entering a crime scene after the murder had already happened.

“She likes you,” Vivian said.

Lucy nearly dropped her muffin. “What?”

Vivian smiled. “Professionally, of course.”

“Right.”

“Madeleine doesn’t invite new associates into client meetings on day two.”

Lucy glanced toward the hallway where Madeleine had disappeared.

“Oh.”

Vivian took a bite of her croissant. “And she definitely doesn’t recommend muffins.”

Lucy’s face warmed.

“She was being nice.”

“That’s my point.”

Lucy looked at Vivian.

Vivian’s smile softened, losing some of its teasing edge.

“Careful, Lucy.”

The warning was gentle.

That made it worse.

Lucy forced a small laugh. “There’s nothing to be careful about.”

Vivian’s eyes said she did not believe her. Honestly, Lucy did not believe herself either. Because Madeleine Hunter was probably straight. Definitely off-limits.

But when Lucy returned to her office, there was a black firm-branded mug sitting on her desk.

Inside it was a sticky note.

No balloons.

For morale.

—M.H.

Lucy stared at it.

Then she laughed.

For the first time all morning, Lucy allowed herself to believe one dangerous thing.

Maybe she had not imagined everything.