Episode Ten
1373 Words
**Chapter 10: The 5-Minute Delay**
Daniel’s board call did not take five minutes.
It took twenty-seven.
Claire knew because she counted. She sat on the edge of his desk, feet not quite touching the floor, and watched the second hand on the wall clock go around twenty-seven times.
His office was aggressively Daniel. Clean. Organized. No personal photos. The only thing out of place was her. And the *PROS AND CONS* list folded eight times in her pocket, burning a hole through her dress.
She was not snooping. She was *auditing*.
His laptop was open. Locked. His phone was face down on the desk. The only thing unlocked was the top drawer.
She opened it.
Inside: pens. All black. All identical. A ruler. A stapler. And a single printed sheet of paper, face down.
She turned it over.
*Title: RISK MITIGATION: CLAIRE REID*
*Date: Day 30*
*Author: D. Hart*
Underneath, a table. Three columns. *Risk. Probability. Mitigation.*
The table was empty.
Except for one line, typed in the center of the page.
*Risk: Total.*
*Probability: 100%*
*Mitigation: None.*
*Recommendation: Proceed anyway.*
Claire stared at it.
Then she folded it. Once. Twice. Slid it into her pocket with the other one.
The door opened at 9:32 a.m.
Daniel walked in. He looked like a man who had been in a fight with twelve people and won, but it had cost him. His suit jacket was off. His sleeves were rolled up. His hair was a mess. Like he’d run his hands through it seventeen times.
He stopped when he saw her.
On his desk.
Holding his stupid, honest, terrifying spreadsheet.
“You said five minutes,” Claire said.
“I lied,” Daniel said. “For business.”
“You’re bad at business today.”
“I’m bad at everything today.”
He closed the door. Didn’t lock it. But the click sounded like a lock.
He walked to the desk. Stopped on the other side. The desk was between them. Again. Always the desk.
“You read it,” he said. Not a question.
“I did.”
“Say something.”
“You use Times New Roman,” Claire said. “For a risk assessment. That’s a choice.”
A corner of his mouth twitched. “It’s standard.”
“It’s boring.”
“It’s reliable.”
“So am I,” Claire said. “And you still listed me as *Risk: Total*.”
Daniel braced his hands on the desk. Leaned forward. Not close enough to touch. Close enough that she could see the gold in his eyes. The kind of gold that only showed up when he wasn’t being a CEO.
“You are,” he said. “You’re the total risk. You’re the entire portfolio. And there’s no mitigation. There’s no hedge. If this goes wrong, I lose everything.”
“Define everything.”
He didn’t answer with words.
He reached across the desk. Took her hand. The one without the hair tie. The one that had been bleeding 35 days ago.
He turned it over. Ran his thumb across her palm. Where the scar was. Small. White. Almost gone.
“Everything,” he said, quiet.
Claire’s breath stopped.
“Daniel.”
“I told them I’d call back,” he said. “The board. I told them I had a personal emergency.”
“You hate that word.”
“I know.”
“What’s the emergency.”
He looked up. Met her eyes.
“You,” he said. “You’re the emergency. You’ve been the emergency since you walked into my car with your hand bleeding and told me you didn’t need help.”
Claire’s throat closed.
He was still holding her hand. Still not touching anything else. Still being careful. Like she was glass. Like she was the most important thing in the room.
“I don’t have a protocol for this,” he said. “I don’t have a spreadsheet. I don’t have a clause. I just have you. Sitting on my desk. With my terrible risk assessment in your pocket.”
Claire used her free hand. Pulled the two papers out. The *PROS AND CONS* list. The *RISK MITIGATION* page.
She set them on the desk between them.
Then she picked up his red pen.
She drew a line through *Risk: Total*.
Wrote above it: *Accepted.*
She drew a line through *Probability: 100%*.
Wrote above it: *Certain.*
She drew a line through *Mitigation: None*.
Wrote above it: *Not needed.*
She looked up at him.
“Update your data,” she said.
Daniel stared at the paper. Then at her.
He let go of her hand. Walked around the desk.
Claire’s heart was in her throat.
He stopped in front of her. Not touching. Still not touching.
“Clause 4,” he said. “Subsection E.”
“We admitted it,” Claire said. “Yesterday. In this office.”
“I know. But I need to hear it again.”
She could have made a joke. She was good at jokes. Jokes were safe.
But he was standing there in a rumpled shirt with his hair a mess and his eyes honest and his heart in his throat too.
So she told the truth. Again.
“I want you,” she said. “Not the contract. Not the 55 days. You. With your stupid ruler and your tea and your hands and your terrible, honest spreadsheets.”
Daniel exhaled. Like he’d been holding his breath for 35 days.
“Good,” he said. “Because I want you too. Not the truce. Not the post-its. You. With your lemon shampoo and your lists and your mouth that never stops running unless I—”
He stopped.
Claire waited.
“Unless you what,” she said.
He didn’t answer with words.
He stepped forward. Between her knees. His hands came up. Not to her face. To the desk. On either side of her hips. Caging her in. Not trapping. Just… there. Solid.
“Unless I do this,” he said.
And then he kissed her.
It was not a board meeting. It was not a contract negotiation. It was not careful.
It was slow. Like they had time. Like they’d been waiting 35 days and could wait three more seconds.
His mouth was warm. Careful. Then not careful.
Claire’s hands came up. Into his hair. The hair she’d wanted to mess up since Day 1.
He made a sound. Low. Surprised. Like he hadn’t expected to feel it that much.
The kiss broke Clause 4. It broke Clause 2. It broke every stupid rule they’d made to keep themselves safe.
And it was the safest thing Claire had ever felt.
They pulled back. Not far. Foreheads resting together. Breathing like they’d run a marathon.
“Noted,” Daniel said. His voice was wrecked.
“Noted,” Claire said. Her lips were swollen.
His phone buzzed on the desk. The board. Again.
He ignored it.
He looked at her. Really looked. “We have 55 days.”
“No,” Claire said. “We don’t.”
He frowned. “The contract—”
“Screw the contract,” Claire said. “We haven’t followed it since Day 7. We’re not going to start now.”
A slow, real smile spread across his face. The one from the laundry room. The one she’d been chasing for 35 days.
“What do you propose,” he said.
Claire picked up the red pen. Took his hand. Wrote on his palm.
Three words.
*No more clauses.*
He looked down at it. Closed his hand around the words. Like he was keeping them.
“Deal,” he said.
His phone buzzed again.
He picked it up. Powered it off. Set it back on the desk.
“Day 35,” he said. “New agenda.”
“What’s on it,” Claire asked.
He leaned in. Kissed her again. Slower this time. Deeper. Like he had all the time in the world.
“You,” he said against her mouth. “Just you.”
The board could wait.
The spreadsheet could wait.
Everything could wait.
For the first time in his life, Daniel Hart was late.
And he didn’t care.
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- Writer
