PATTERNS
742 Words
The office was exactly how I liked it. Controlled. Clean. Mine.
Floor-to-ceiling windows revealed the city below — a view I'd earned. My desk held only what belonged. Here, control was unquestioned.
Diane knocked twice before stepping in, tablet in hand. "You have the Harlow Group at eleven, the Sinclair revision needs sign-off before noon, site inspection at three, and Marcus called again about the Westfield pitch."
"Tell Marcus I'll call him after lunch."
"He said it's urgent."
"It always is." I reached for my pen. "What else?"
She set the tablet on my desk, face up. "A contract request. Came in this morning. Flagged as priority."
I already knew who it was.
Cole & Vance. Xavier's firm.
The letterhead alone felt like a hand on my shoulder, familiar, unwelcome, impossible to shake off cleanly.
"Should I draft a response?"
"Not yet."
She nodded the way she always did when she understood more than I was saying. She'd learned the language of my silences.
I set the tablet face down. "Close the door on your way out."
The room settled back into quiet. The good kind — the kind I controlled.
I moved to the window, hands loosely clasped behind me. Below, the city moved without asking permission. I used to be like that. Invincible. Unstoppable.
But nothing is free. I understood the price now.
My phone lit up. Not Xavier this time Vanessa, her name appearing like a small rescue.
"Tell me you had breakfast," she said before I could speak.
"I did."
"You're lying."
"I haven't decided yet."
She laughed, short and sharp. "I'm downstairs. The café beside your building. Twenty minutes."
"I have the Sinclair revision."
"Catherine." Her voice shifted, softer, the tone she used when she was done playing. "Twenty minutes. I'll order your coffee."
The line clicked before I could argue.
I stood a moment longer, the city still moving below, indifferent to the fact that I was standing still.
I picked up my jacket.
Xavier's contract sat face down on my desk as I walked out.
I told myself it didn't matter.
I was lying to myself. As usual.
The café sat just off the corner of my office building.
Not hidden.
Just… familiar.
The kind of place you don’t discover, you return to. Over and over again.
I opened the door, the chime above signalling my arrival. The scent of coffee greeted me, warm and grounding, providing a sense of stability.
Vanessa was already there.
Of course she was.
She sat by the window, sunglasses on, one leg crossed, exuding confidence. Her phone rested untouched on the table, indicating the importance of our conversation.
That alone made me cautious.
“Late,” she said, not looking up.
“I’m five minutes late.”
“Seven.” Now she looked up.
I slid into the seat across from her. “You timed me?”
“Your hesitation,” she said.
I exhaled, reaching for the coffee already waiting for me. “That’s concerning.”
She smiled. “You love me.”
I just sipped.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
In the silence, I sensed her usual quiet assessment. Vanessa had a way of observing that made you feel she understood what remained unspoken.
I held her gaze.
Steady.
Unbothered.
Or at least, that is the impression I gave her.
She leaned back slightly, satisfied enough. “You look good.”
“I always look good.”
“That is true,” she admitted. “But today feels controlled.”
“Everything about me is controlled.”
“Exactly my point.”
I chose not to respond.
“So,” I said, setting my cup down. “What’s the emergency?”
Her eyes lit up instantly.
“There it is.”
“My fashion line launches in two months.”
I paused.
“Officially?” I asked.
“Runway. Campaign. Press. Everything.”
“That’s huge, Nessa, I'm so happy for you,” I said as I reached across the table to grab her hands.
“I know,” she said, unapologetic. “And because I am generous, brilliant, and clearly your favorite person,”
“Debatable.”
“I want you to model for me.”
I schooled my expression, heartbeat suddenly taut with surprise.
“No.”
She stared at me. “You didn’t even think about it.”
“I did,” I replied calmly. “The answer is still no.”
- Writer
