Dreams Whispers

2

Emma blinked. Slowly, the words registered. She stared at him, mouth slightly open. "Mr. Collins…asked for me? The CEO?"

"Yes," Ray said, watching her reaction with mild amusement. Her mind struggled to process it. The CEO. Not just a client. Not just a colleague. Mr. Collins—the person who rarely asked for anything—had requested her.

Her chest tightened, a mix of pride and disbelief. She felt a blush creeping across her cheeks. It was one thing to be noticed by her manager, respected for her work, but to be singled out by the CEO, "What does he want?"

"He didn't elaborate, but his assistant arranged a meeting between you two to discuss it, tomorrow at 2 p.m." Ray explained, "Don't be late."

Emma blinked, still trying to process the weight of Ray’s words. Collins himself had requested her. Her fingers lingered on the edge of her chair, mind buzzing with ideas, colors, and layouts. For a brief moment, the world narrowed to the tangible—the clean lines, the textures, the confidence of a project that would bear her name.

And then the quiet tug returned.

Her phone vibrated against the desk, but the screen remained blank when she checked it. No message. No sign of him.

Emma’s stomach tightened. She pressed her lips together, forcing herself to focus on the project folder in front of her, on the smooth weight of the pen in her hand. She arranged the swatches again, perfectly aligned, as though the act could anchor her. The project—requested by the CEO—was thrilling and terrifying all at once. She didn’t even know what it was yet, and the unknown made her stomach tighten.

Maya appeared almost instantly, leaning casually against the partition, one arm draped over the top. "Whoa," she said, tilting her head as she studied Emma’s face. "You look… stunned. Are you okay? What happened?"

Emma blinked, unsure how to start. "It’s a new project. A big one. Ray told me the CEO had requested me personally."

Maya’s eyebrows shot up. "Wait. The CEO? Riley Collins?"

"Yes," Emma said slowly, still processing it. "I… I don’t know what the project is yet. They scheduled a meeting tomorrow at 2 p.m. to discuss it. That’s all I know."

Maya’s expression softened, steady and grounding. "Okay… wow. That’s huge. And nerve-wracking. But, honestly? You’ll be fine. You always figure these things out."

Emma let out a small laugh, though it was tight with nerves. "Thanks… I just—It’s a lot to take in, you know? I don’t even know what I’m walking into."

Maya reached over and gave her shoulder a reassuring tap. "I get it. But that’s exactly why Ray picked you. You’re smart. You’ll handle it. And if you need a sounding board, I’m right here."

Emma smiled, feeling some of the tension ease. "Thanks, Maya. Seriously."

Maya smirked lightly. “That’s what I’m here for. You keep the brilliance flowing, I’ll keep you from spinning out.” They both smiled at each other.

Her astonishment at being chosen by the CEO clashed sharply with the ache of waiting for a message that might never come. One side of her chest soared with pride and certainty; the other tightened with anticipation she couldn’t control.

Emma exhaled slowly and leaned back in her chair, letting the tension settle—not gone, but held at bay by the structure of her work, the quiet support of Maya, and the steady assurance of Ray’s confidence.

Emma exhaled sharply after immersing herself for the past two hours, trying to get work done as soon as possible, just so she could get her schedule free for tomorrow's meeting.

"Emma!" She looked up and saw Adam strolling toward her desk, coffee in hand, completely at ease. His tall, lean frame moved with fluid confidence, shoulders relaxed, the faint tousle of his dark hair catching the light. The hazel of his eyes, warm and attentive, flicked over her for a moment, lingering just enough to make her pulse quicken.

Emma jumped slightly as he leaned casually against the partition, one hand in his pocket, the other holding the coffee cup, and gave her that easy, infuriatingly charming smile, "Staring at those colors like they’re going to answer your questions for you?"

"I’m… thinking," she said carefully, trying not to sound flustered.

“Uh-huh,” he said, raising one brow. “Sure you are. You have that very ‘intense designer thinking’ look. Scary, actually.”

Emma rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress a small smile. “Scary? Really?”

“Deadly,” he said with mock gravity. “The kind that makes printers spontaneously jam in fear.”

“I see,” Emma said, smirking. “So you’re blaming the office chaos on me now?”

“Not blaming,” he said smoothly, tilting his head. “Just… observing cause and effect.”

Emma shook her head, returning her attention to the swatches. She chose a muted beige for the floor and laid it beside the richer navy she had planned for accents. “I need to see how this flows. Balance is important.”

Adam leaned slightly closer, peering at the layout. “Balance, huh? Sounds serious. You sure you’re not just picking colors you secretly like and calling it ‘balance’?”

Emma glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. “You don’t think I’m capable of actual design reasoning?”

"Not saying that," he said quickly, waving a hand. "I just… enjoy seeing the process. And maybe enjoying the view of the designer at work."

Emma froze just a fraction, blinking at him. He caught her look and smirked, entirely casual, as if he hadn’t just shifted something in the air between them. "Don’t overthink it. I’m just here for moral support."

“Uh-huh,” she muttered, forcing herself back to her swatches. Her pulse ticked a little faster than it should have. She could focus… she had to focus.

Adam leaned back against the partition, sipping his coffee. "You’re amazing when you get in the zone. I swear, everyone else in this office has no idea what’s coming."

Emma allowed herself a small smile, still adjusting the color placement. "I just hope it’s good enough.”

Adam’s eyes lingered on her for a beat, easy, unassuming, and she felt that subtle tug of attention—the one that made her fingers pause, the one she could never quite define. Then he shrugged. "Well, I’m sure you’ll nail it. You always do." Adam eventually pushed off the partition with a lazy stretch. "I’ll let you get back to saving the office from itself," he said lightly. "Try not to terrify anyone else today."

"I’ll do my best," Emma replied, not looking up.

She heard his footsteps retreat down the corridor—unhurried, unburdened—until they faded into the low, constant hum of the office. Only then did she realize how still she’d gone. Emma exhaled, slow and deliberate, as if releasing something she hadn’t meant to hold. The space beside her desk felt oddly quieter without him there, the air settling back into its usual rhythm.

She realigned the swatches with careful precision. Navy. Beige. Clean lines. Order. Her fingers moved confidently, practiced, grounding her in the tangible. Work had always been reliable that way—it asked for clarity and gave it back in return.

But her mind lagged, replaying fragments she hadn’t invited in: the tilt of his head, the casual warmth in his voice, the way he made presence feel effortless. Nothing overt. Nothing reckless. And yet, it lingered.

Emma straightened in her chair, refocusing. She opened a fresh document, naming it with exacting care. The cursor blinked at her, waiting. Patient. Neutral. She liked that about her work. It waited for her to decide.

Her phone buzzed once on the desk. She glanced at it without thinking—then stilled when it wasn’t the name she hadn’t realized she was expecting. Just an email notification. Another task. Another certainty. She turned the screen face down.

Outside her cubicle, the office moved on—chairs rolling, voices murmuring, printers humming back to life. Everything continued as it should. Emma leaned back slightly and closed her eyes for a brief moment, letting the echo fade. She didn’t chase it. She never did.

Some things were meant to be held at a distance.

Some things were easier not to name.

She leaned forward again, hands steady as she returned to her work—building something solid, intentional, and certain—while somewhere beneath it all, the quiet tension remained, unresolved and waiting.