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⚠️ Content Warning: Sexually Explicit

The next day, Nicole’s watch read 8:10 when she hurried toward the front entrance, coffee sloshing in her travel mug. She swiped her badge.

Red.

She frowned and swiped again.

Red.

The door stayed locked.

She tugged the handle anyway.

Nothing.

Her pulse picked up. It wasn’t like her to miss her alarm, yet this morning she’d woken slowly, body heavy, mouth parched, the air in her room thick against her lungs. Even sitting up had taken effort.

Nicole looked around. The only people outside of Quad 2 were the women who usually jogged around at this time. She thought briefly of flagging one down. She tried once more, pressing the card flatter this time.

Red.

“Come on,” she muttered. “Fuck.”

She stepped aside, pulling out her phone. Peter’s name hovered at the top of her new contacts. She sent a quick message.

Footsteps approached behind her.

“Trouble?”

She turned.

Adrian.

“It’s not scanning.”

He didn’t look surprised. He stepped forward. His badge flashed.

Green.

The door unlocked with a soft click.

“Stay with me,” he said lightly, holding it open.

She stepped inside beside him, heat rising to her face.

“They deactivate them sometimes,” he added as they walked. “Glitches. Or updates. Or whatever they call it.”

“Why wouldn’t they tell me?”

He glanced at her. “They don’t always. Most of the time, you find out like this.”

They stopped near the front desk.

“I know where you can get a temporary badge,” he said. “Security desk on the mezzanine. It helps to have a backup, just in case. Don’t wait outside.”

The way he said it — don’t wait outside — felt less like advice and more like directions.

“Thanks,” she said.

He studied her face for a second, then smiled.

“I’m grabbing coffee in a bit,” he added. “You want something?”

She should have said no. She was already behind. She still had a dashboard to learn that she barely understood.

“Yeah,” she said. “Sure.”

“Lincoln’s. What do you drink?”

She told him.

He nodded, like he was filing it away.

As he walked off, she realized something had shifted. He hadn’t teased her for being late. Hadn’t made a joke about the badge. He’d just solved it, quickly and quietly.

Her phone buzzed in her hand.

She looked down.

No message from Peter.

She slid the phone back into her bag and headed toward the elevators, aware of the way warmth lingered at her side where Adrian had been.

He paid attention. He anticipated problems. He stepped in without hesitation.

She told herself that mattered.

And for the first time, she let herself think it might be easier to stop resisting him.

That afternoon stretched longer than usual.

Adrian stopped by midmorning with her coffee exactly how she’d ordered it.

Their fingers brushed when she took it.

At lunch, he waited outside for her.

They walked shoulder to shoulder, their arms grazing occasionally. Neither of them moved away.

By 5:45, the building had thinned out. The lobby lights dimmed to a low level, shifting from their daytime brightness to a muted glow.

Nicole packed up when he rounded the corner.

“You’re still here.”

She turned. “Trying to get ahead.”

He stepped closer, the sleeves of his shirt rolled just enough to reveal the strong line of his forearms.

“Or trying to catch up?” he asked lightly.

She didn’t answer.

He leaned one hand against the edge of her desk.

“Give yourself a break.”

The building felt different after five. The machinery hum was louder, the space between her desk and his office shorter.

She shut her laptop.

They walked out together.

Outside, the sky had changed to deep indigo, the kind of shade that comes just before nightfall. The lot was mostly empty now, save for their cars.

She stopped beside hers.

He stood there close enough for her to feel the warmth coming off him in the cooling air.

“You looked nervous this morning,” he said quietly.

“I was late.”

“That wasn’t what I meant.”

The space between them thinned on its own.

His hand came to her waist slowly, pulling her closer.

His mouth was warmer than the evening air, and it fit against hers with a rightness that made her knees feel loose. The kiss deepened by increments like a slow-turning wheel. A soft sound rose from her throat, a tiny surrendering sigh that vibrated from her throat into his.

They parted slowly. Their foreheads rested together. Nicole’s eyes remained closed. She could feel the impression of his lips on hers.

When she opened her eyes, his were so close. Deep brown. Curiosity moved low in her stomach, tired of waiting.

His thumb stroked her cheek.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said.

Tomorrow.

As she got into her car and drove off, her lips still tingled. She could still feel the ghost of his hands on her skin all the way home.

The next morning, the calendar notification popped up on Nicole’s screen.

The sterile block of text sent a jolt through her entire body.

Meeting: 5:45 PM. Wellness Consultation Room B7. A. Vega.

Her mouth went dry. Officially, the “wellness consultation room” was just another branded perk. A soundproof room where employees could meet with health advisors for “optimization.” Supplement stacks. Hormone panels. Brain formulas. Sleep recalibration.

But unofficially…

Adrian’s voice carried across the open office from a conference room.

It felt like a live wire against her skin.

Every time he passed her desk, she felt it before she looked up.

At 5:40, she stood outside B7. The only sound in the hall was the muffled noise of the building’s HVAC. She knocked once, softly.

“Come in.”

His voice was a low command through the door.

She stepped inside.

“Keep the lights off.”

A narrow treatment table, covered in fresh white linens, was next to two padded chairs. Bloomwell bottles, labels out, lined the shelf over it. A fake philodendron sat in the corner.

Adrian stood by the window, the late afternoon light cutting across his silhouette in a faint glow. His sleeves sat higher than usual, his hair faintly disturbed. The light cut along his shoulders and jaw, catching in his dark eyes as he turned toward her.

Heat shot up her spine.

The scent of his cologne reached her, citrus sharpened by something metallic. The small room seemed to contract around it.

“I’m surprised you came,” he said.

“You booked it,” she replied. “I assumed it was important.”

He took a single step toward her, closing the short distance.

“It is.”

He lifted one hand, fingertips grazing the side of her throat, then sliding up to cup the back of her neck. The touch was firm enough to steady her, but light enough to remind her she could pull away if she wanted. She didn’t.

“Take off your clothes.”

The words landed matter-of-fact, like he was giving directions to the printer. The instruction settled low in her pelvis.

Nicole’s fingers, clumsy with urgency, went to the side zipper of her dress. The metallic rasp was loud in the quiet room. She pushed the straps from her shoulders, letting the plum fabric slither down her body to pool at her feet. She stood in just her ivory lace bra and matching panties, the cool air creating goosebumps on her skin. Her nipples tightened into aching points in the sheer cups.

He reached out, the pad of his thumb tracing the lace over the swell of one breast.

“All of it.”

Her fingers trembled slightly as they reached behind her back, searching for the small clasp of her bra. The room was so quiet she could hear her own breathing in it.

The delicate garment joined her dress on the floor.

He tugged her panties off himself, not waiting. The whisper of silk fell down her thighs, leaving a slow drag of wet with it.

He didn’t undress slowly. He unbuttoned his shirt in quick movements, shrugging it off to reveal a torso of all defined muscle and smooth, tawny skin. His belt buckle clinked, the sound final. He shoved his pants and briefs down just enough. His cock sprang free, thick, hard, and already glistening at the tip. The sight made something clench low in her belly.

He kissed her, slowly at first, then deeper when her lips parted. Stubble rubbed against her chin. Coffee, mint, and that faint metallic undertone lingered on his breath.

He backed her toward the treatment table. The padded edge met the backs of her thighs. He turned her with a gentle but insistent pressure on her hips.

“Bend over,” he murmured against her ear.

Her chest lowered until her breasts brushed the cool fabric. Her back arched instinctively.

The sound of a foil packet tearing open was unmistakable. He didn’t rush it. She listened to the crinkle, the faint stretch of latex, the small wet sound as he rolled it down his length. Her pulse beat hard in her throat.

One hand splayed possessively on the small of her back, holding her in place. The other she felt, not saw—a blunt, hot pressure nudging against her wet opening.

He entered her in one smooth stroke.

A choked cry tore from her lips and onto the treatment linens. He held there for a moment, both of them trembling. She felt the muscles in his thighs pressing against the backs of hers, the harsh gust of his breath against her shoulder.

“Fuck, Nicole,” he moaned, his voice strained.

Then he moved.

The table creaked softly, rocking with their motion. The air filled with the raw, wet sound, the rhythmic slap of skin on skin. His fist tightened in her hair. He tugged just enough to keep her arched, throat exposed.

Her fingers curled into the linen.

His palm smoothed over the curve of her ass once, almost gently, then lifted and came down in a single, sharp slap. She gasped, pushed back harder onto him in reflex.

Pleasure began to build low in her belly, winding tighter with every deep push. He leaned over her, his chest hot against her back, his mouth finding her neck. He didn’t kiss, he bit—a hard, claiming pressure that made her cry out again.

She could feel the focused intensity in him, the way he used her body for his own gratification, and the shocking truth was, it thrilled her. The coil snapped.

She clamped around him in frantic, fluttering pulses. A high, thin sound escaped her lips, the only noise she could manage as the world dissolved into pure, white sensation.

He groaned. His fingers dug into her hip, holding her steady as he drove into her with a final, shuddering intensity. Finishing.

His grip in her hair loosened, fingers sliding free to stroke down the back of her neck instead.

He eased out with careful slowness. The sudden emptiness made her inner muscles flutter weakly.

She felt his hands on her waist, guiding her upright.

The room tilted for a second; her legs felt far away, unreliable, as though they belonged to someone else. She leaned back on him long enough for the dizziness to pass, for the faint tremor in her legs to quiet.

She looked at the rumpled linen, the faint damp spot where her palms had pressed, where her waist had met the table.

“Clean up,” he said, nodding toward the stack of sanitizing wipes on the counter.

She stepped into her panties, then her bra, fabric rubbing against skin that felt too sensitive. Behind her, she heard the faint thud of the condom landing in the waste bin.

She reached for the stack of sanitizing wipes.

When she turned, he was already dressed, his shirt tucked neatly, and his hair smoothed back into place. Only the slight flush on his cheekbones betrayed anything at all.

He stepped close again. His thumb brushed the corner of her mouth, a light pass that made her lips part on instinct.

“Six tomorrow?” he asked, eyes steady on hers.

She met his gaze.

“Maybe,” she said.

He reached past her to unlock the door and held it open.

She stepped into the hallway first.

Her heels clicked softly with each step away from B7, the faint throb between her legs, and the persistent warmth on her skin following her on her long drive home.

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The next morning, something stood at the foot of Nicole’s bed.

Tall and dense, its body black in a way that swallowed the light from the overhead lamp. Two white points sat on a face where eyes should have been. She heard her drawer opening slowly, and the sound of hands rifling through her things. Like it knew what it was looking for.

Nicole jolted up in her bed.

The thing turned its head toward her. Then it thinned. Almost dissolved. Its body flattened into shadow, blending with the dark until there was no shape left to mark where it’d stood.

Nicole’s jaw clenched so tight her molars ached.

She sat upright in bed. Her heart hammered so hard she thought that she might pass out. Early morning light leaked through her blinds.

She steadied her breathing. A waking dream.

The magnesium bottle sat on her nightstand, cap off. Chalky tablets inside, pale and harmless-looking. “For relaxation,” the label promised in black letters.

The thing in the dream had been touching her desk drawer. The only thing in there was the Bloomwell welcome kit: the canvas tote, the notebook, and her ID badge. In the dream, its fingers had hovered over the badge like it was deciding whether or not to take it.

Nicole swallowed.

The nightmares had started the same week she’d begun the supplements. She had googled “Bloomwell magnesium ” at three in the morning two nights ago and found an online forum. One woman had written, It felt like something was in the room with me.

She stood on legs that felt rubbery, the floor unsteady under bare feet, and crossed into the bathroom. The mirror showed her a version of herself that looked slightly possessed. Hair wild at the crown. Eyes fevered. She looked like someone who had been running.

She flipped on the light.

Nothing moved behind her in the reflection.

She opened the trash can and tossed the supplement.

She paused for a moment, looking at her jaw in the mirror.

A large scratch ran from her ear to her mouth.

Adrian appeared at Nicole’s cubicle wall midmorning, leaning over it with a sly smile.

“You still waiting on access for the operational view?” he asked.

“I emailed,” she said.

“You don’t need to email,” he said. “I can get you in.”

He stepped around her chair before she could answer.

“Okay.”

His arm passed near her collarbone as he reached for the keyboard. He started clicking around.

She watched him. The curve of his mouth, the heat of his body close enough to touch. Her thoughts scattered.

She’d been avoiding him since the kiss; keeping conversations short and leaving rooms first. Not because she didn’t feel anything, but because she hadn’t decided if it were appetite or attachment.

“So, what do you actually want here?” he asked after a while.

She glanced up at him. “What?”

“Long-term. You planning on sitting in A12 forever?”

The question made her sit up straighter.

“I just started,” she fumbled.

“So?” he shrugged. “Experience is baseline at Bloomwell. What they’re really watching for is alignment.”

Another click. A quick message to someone.

“They want people who believe in the mission. Who don’t treat this like a stepping stone.”

The dashboard refreshed.

Full access.

“There,” he said softly.

“Thanks.”

He looked at her. “I started on this floor five years ago,” he said. “It’s not hard to move up, depending on how hard you work for it.”

“If you’re serious,” he added, “I can introduce you to Katrina.”

The screen changed, and something inside Nicole changed with it. A sudden expansion. The intoxicating feeling of being seen as capable of more.

“I could help you,” he said. “If you need a recommendation in the future.”

“I’d like that,” she said. “I want to do well.”

“You will,” he replied. “With the right leverage.”

His hand rested briefly on the back of her chair before he stepped away.

Nicole watched him go.

She’d been pulling away from someone who was actively offering her something.

Maybe she didn’t need to overthink whether it went deeper.

Maybe it was enough that he wanted her. And that he wanted her to succeed, to live up to her true potential. Maybe even believed in her.

The expanded dashboard glowed in front of her.

Relief washed over her first.

Then desire.

The email arrived an hour later.

SUBJECT: Team Update: Lila Thompson

Dear Team,

We want to share that Lila Thompson has decided to pursue another opportunity and will no longer be with Bloomwell, effective immediately.

We are grateful for the contributions she made during her time here and appreciate the dedication she brought to her role.

In the meantime, we will share additional details regarding coverage and transition plans as they are finalized.

Best,
Human Resources @ Bloomwell

That was all.

Nicole blinked at it.

Lila left no goodbye message. No email saying “today is my last day.” The HR notice landed with the stiff politeness of a templated letter, as if Lila had been gone longer than anyone realized.

Then, the embarrassment overpowered the confusion. Nicole had thought they were building a work friendship. They’d shared lunches and jokes. Lila always made sure to include her in happy hours and work events.

Still, she left without saying a word to her.

Maybe Nicole had imagined the closeness.

She got up and started asking around. First, at Lauren’s cubicle, knocking on the fabric-lined panel.

“Do you know when Lila quit?”

A shrug. “Not sure.”

And at Adrian’s office: “Did she tell you she was leaving?”

“I dunno. These things happen fast.”

No one seemed shocked or bothered. The indifference hit Nicole harder than the actual news. Bloomwell felt suddenly cold in a way she hadn’t prepared for.

At lunch, Nicole stepped outside and scanned the benches along the courtyard wall.

She told herself she wasn’t looking for anyone in particular. Her eyes still moved straight to Peter.

He sat near the far end, one foot hooked around the bench leg, his container balanced loosely in one hand. The space next to him was open.

Nicole crossed the courtyard before she could overthink it and sat down.

He glanced at her, smiled. “Hey.”

“Hey. Did you see that email?” she asked.

“ Lila?” His jaw tightened slightly. “Didn’t see that one coming.”

He didn’t elaborate.

Nicole waited.

Peter scraped his fork through his food. “That’s the third ‘chosen to pursue another opportunity’ this quarter.”

She looked at him. “You’re counting?”

“I pay attention.”

The wind shifted across the courtyard, lifting a strands of his hair across his face. He pushed it away from his face.

“High turnover?” she asked.

He shrugged. “They make it sound voluntary,” he said. “Maybe it is. Maybe it isn’t. Either way, it’s convenient.”

Convenient?

“Mara’s taking it hard,” he said.

Nicole’s eyes drifted to the woman sitting on the bench a few yards away from them. Mara sat on a bench with her shoulders rounded, her sandwich still wrapped in plastic. She slid it into her lunch bag, then stood without looking up.

“I was thinking,” Peter added after a moment, “maybe we invite her to sit with us next time.”

Nicole nodded. “Yeah. We should.”

Mara vanished into the building.

Nicole looked at Peter.

He was still watching the doors.

A quiet stretched. The air felt different without Lila around.

Nicole reached for her phone. “I’ll text her.”

“You think she’ll respond?”

“I don’t know,” she said.

Her thumb hovered for a second before she typed.

Hey. I just saw the email. Are you okay?

She hit send.

Peter watched her.

“We should keep each other’s numbers. Outside of Bloomwell.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know, in case HR decides you don’t exist anymore.”

The comment sat between them, matter-of-fact.

She told him.

He saved it to his phone. A second later her phone buzzed with a new contact.

Peter.

She tried not to let that register too loudly inside her chest.

“If Lila answers,” he added, “let me know.”

She nodded.

When he finally stood, he didn’t look toward the building immediately. He looked at her.

“Be careful,” he said quietly.

“About what?”

“Just… pay attention.”

They walked back toward Quad 2 together. Inside, the air felt cooler.

She stopped with Peter by his office when her phone buzzed.

A Slack notification from #announcements.

Reminder: As part of our transition process, please refrain from contacting former employees directly. All communication should be routed through HR.

Nicole stared at it.

The timestamp read one minute ago.

The office around her hummed. Keyboards typed. Voices murmured low. The regular rhythm of a workday at Bloomwell.

Her stomach lurched.

She glanced toward Peter’s desk.

He was already looking at her.

He didn’t smile.

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Nicole didn’t know when she started to notice it.

Peter had started hanging around Lauren’s desk more often, enough that Nicole began to recognize the cadence of his voice before she saw him. Lauren sat a few cubicles down, on the other side of the row.

Nicole told herself it meant nothing. People asked each other for help all the time. Still, every time she heard them laugh, she held her breath. Her stomach dipped with an accumulating dread that she couldn’t quite shake.

She angled her monitor a few degrees, as if that could block out the sound. She tried to focus on her inbox. She read the same email until the words started to blur.

She’d caught herself thinking about the courtyard back at her old high school in Robinswood. The brick benches that burned through your jeans in the summer. And the oak tree everyone carved initials into even though they weren’t supposed to.

Peter would’ve sat there too. Different year. Under the same tree shade.

She wondered what he’d been like then. Confident already, or maybe quieter?

She imagined walking into his office, leaning on the doorframe, saying, Do you remember when—?

But…

Peter’s voice carried over from Lauren’s desk. They were talking about someone from his college who had just made partner at a firm in New York. Lauren knew the firm and the name of the managing director.

Nicole thought about how mentioning the oak tree behind the science wing at Robinswood would land—

—-Like she was still standing under it.

Like she was an adult still clinging to childhood nostalgia.

She watched him disappear into his office then come back out.

He passed her cubicle and slowed, one hand braced lightly against the partition. “Morning,” he said.

“Morning.”

Then he moved on.

Nicole stared at her screen as she heard him approach Lauren’s desk again. Then, the scrape of Lauren’s chair. The low hum of Peter chuckling. A shared pause. She looked up just as them walked together to the stairwell.

Her stomach tightened. I guess he has someone already. The dull ache spread, like she was slowly drowning.

She kept typing.

Monday, at the vending machines on Floor B, Nicole spotted Mara and Lila ahead of her. Their steps matched, heels clicking, laughter soft between them.

Nicole lifted her hand. “Hey,” she called.

Neither turned. If anything, it seemed like they walked faster. Click-click-click.

The two women slipped through the door of the wellness consultation room. Mara paused in the threshold, her eyes scanning the hallway before pulling the door shut behind them.

Nicole stilled. She had seen others disappear into those rooms before, mostly in pairs, sometimes trios, doors closing with the same quiet click, the building swallowing them without comment.

Nicole turned and started back to the stairwell, telling herself it was nothing personal, only a quirk of a place she hadn’t learned to move inside yet.

Still, the jealousy settled low anyway. Not because Mara and Lila were in there together, but because there seemed to be an entire private current running through Bloomwell, and she kept standing on the bank, dry.

Somewhere behind her, the lock clicked into place.

By the time Nicole reached her desk, Adrian was already there, standing with one hip leaned against the divider as if he’d paused mid-route and decided she was worth an extra thirty seconds.

“Morning,” he said.

“Morning,” she answered, sitting. She opened the granola bar that she’d gotten at the vending machine.

He looked at her computer screen, then at her face, taking in both quickly. “So you survived week two?”

“Barely,” Nicole said. It came out half joking and half true. “My computer’s working now, at least.”

His lips curved. “Well, they only pick people who can handle it.”

Nicole felt that small pull in her stomach, the sensation of being evaluated and approved at the same time. He didn’t stay long. He nodded and kept moving down the hallway.

Nicole watched him until he disappeared around the corner.

“Careful.”

Nicole turned and saw Lauren walking up from the other end of the hallway.

Nicole flushed. “What?”

“He’s trouble.”

“In what way?”

“Wouldn’t you like to find out?” Lauren smiled without elaborating. “You’ll see.”

Lauren tapped Nicole’s desk as she passed. “By the way, Rhinehart needs to reschedule his 12 o’clock.”

Nicole forced a small laugh and returned her eyes to the calendar grid.

Later, Nicole saw Adrian again near the break area, leaning over someone’s shoulder to glance at a printout. He had that same thin smile he usually saved for business exchanges. He stood near a poster of Katrina Whittle, her ice blue eyes hoovering over the pair like a sentinel.

Adrian looked up as Nicole passed and lifted his coffee cup in greeting. It felt small and secret, like they shared something no one else in the office did.

She liked that.

By late morning, Nicole went to refill her water bottle and ended up in the break room with a woman she didn’t recognize. Early thirties, hair in a neat bob, a cardigan that looked pricey and brandname. The woman stood at the counter stirring something in a mug, slow and unhurried.

Nicole gave a polite hello and turned to the fridge.

The woman’s eyes moved to Nicole’s badge. “New?”

“Third week,” Nicole said.

“Mm.” The woman sipped her drink, watching Nicole over the rim.

Nicole reached for the water dispenser and hesitated. Katrina Whittle’s face flicked on the TV screen above the microwave. Another announcement about the second campus building project.

The thought came before Nicole could edit it.

“She’s everywhere, huh?” Nicole said.

The woman smiled, small and strange, as if Nicole had asked a question everyone asked once and then learned to stop.

Nicole kept her tone light. “I mean, the videos, the posters, the TVs. She’s on every welcome screen. I just realized I haven’t seen her in person.”

The woman’s smile stayed. She stirred her mug again. “There is no boss,” she said, and laughed softly, like it was a private joke.

Nicole felt her hand go still on the fridge door. “What?”

“There is no boss.” The woman’s laugh faded into something pleasant. “People like seeing a face,” she said. “It makes them feel better about what they’re doing.” She took another sip. “You’ll get used to it.”

Nicole waited for more. The woman didn’t offer it. She tossed a tea bag into the trash and walked out, her cream-colored cardigan swinging behind her.

The words sat in Nicole’s mind like a pebble in a shoe.

No boss?

Back at her desk, she opened her inbox and tried to work. Intake forms. Scheduling. A request from someone in another quad that needed a quick response.

Everything looked fine.

But everything didn’t feel fine.

Adrian stopped by again around noon.

“You’re doing lunch?” he asked, like it was a given.

Nicole looked up. “With who?”

“With me.” He grinned. “Come on.”

She hesitated and then stood, smoothing her skirt.

His car sat near the front, dark and low, and out-of-place in the Bloomwell parking lot. It was the kind of car she’d only seen in movies and TV ads. She was suddenly aware of the dirt under her shoes. Adrian clicked the key to unlock it. The lights blinked once.

Nicole kept her expression neutral as she slid into the passenger seat. The interior smelled faintly like leather and cologne that probably cost two paychecks.

Adrian started the engine and pulled out smoothly. The car moved like it was an extension of his body, as if he’d never driven anything that rattled.

She watched the road, then his hands on the wheel. The watch on his wrist glowed in the afternoon light. The band looked heavy.

It didn’t make sense with client operations. Not even in Robinswood, a city where money stretched farther than most places.

But, she didn’t ask.

Still, Adrian glanced at her, as if he’d caught the question anyway.

“My parents left me money,” he said simply.

“Oh.” Nicole turned her head. “They did?”

“Yeah.” He said it casually, like it was the same as saying he had a dog. “Trusts. Investments. That kinda thing.”

He looked at her. “Never had to worry about much.”

The admission didn’t come with pride or an apology.

“Then why Bloomwell?”

Adrian shook his head. “You can only coast on family money for so long before people stop taking you seriously.”

Nicole nodded slowly, eyes forward again.

He parked outside a small restaurant tucked between a boutique and a salon. The storefront was red brick with a chalkboard sign out front.

They went inside and took a table near the window. Adrian ordered for himself without looking at the menu. Nicole tried to keep her posture relaxed.

Nicole watched him as he spoke. The way he held his fork. How he placed his napkin on his lap. How he looked at her without blinking too much. It felt overwhelming and flattering at once.

“It’s funny,” he said, “how fast people here forget what they’re lucky to have.”

“Do you really think they’re ungrateful?”

“Some of them,” Adrian said. “They complain like the world owes them Bloomwell. Like it’s normal to be here.”

Nicole thought of the break room woman, that soft laugh. There is no boss. She kept the thought to herself.

Lunch passed quickly. Adrian asked about her family, her mom’s work, how long they’d lived in Robinswood. The questions felt specific without being invasive. She realized halfway through that she’d been talking for several minutes.

“You look different outside of the building,” he said at one point, glancing at her across the table.

She wiped her fingers on a napkin. “Different how?”

“Less careful.”

The word settled somewhere she didn’t expect.

She felt herself smile, though she hadn’t meant to.

When they exited the restaurant, it was barely past one. The afternoon still sprawled ahead of them.

Adrian didn’t start the engine or drive off right away. He stayed parked, one hand resting lightly on the wheel, the other on his thigh.

He turned his head toward her.

“Is there anything with that white guy?” he asked.

“Hmmm?”

“Peter.”

“He isn’t white.”

“You’re not answering the question.”

Nicole’s stomach tightened. “No.”

Adrian studied her face for a moment, but he didn’t look jealous. He seemed more curious, like he was trying to figure out what kind of person she was when someone else paid attention to her.

“You sure?” he asked.

“Yes,” Nicole said, and felt her irritation rise. “He helped me with a login issue, that’s all.”

Adrian’s mouth curved slightly. “Okay.”

The car was quiet except for the sounds of the road in front of them. A truck pulled into the parking space next to theirs.

Sweat gathered between her breasts. She could feel the dampness through the fabric. Nerves. Neither of them moved.

“You’re thinking,” he said.

She turned toward him fully then, her shoulder brushing the side of her seat. His eyes looked darker in this light, the brown compressed by shadow until they were two dark wells.

They were beautiful and fixed on her face.

The air inside the car turned heavier.

“You shouldn’t look at me like that,” she said, though her voice had no real resistance.

“Like what?”

She didn’t answer.

The distance between them narrowed gradually, the console pressing against her hips as she moved toward him. He leaned in slowly. The truck door closed next to them, the afternoon continuing outside the windshield unbothered by the growing heat between them.

Their mouths met lightly, like he was testing the shape of her lips.

Then his hand moved. It left the wheel and came up, his palm cradling the side of her jaw. His fingers threaded lightly into the hair behind her ear, tilting her head just enough. Her lips parted on a silent exhale.

She felt the slow slide of his tongue over hers. Warm and sure, he tasted like mint and the chocolate they’d shared earlier. And something warmer, a flavor that was uniquely his. Her breath hitched against his lips.

Every small shift pressed them closer, the console biting into her hip, the seatbelt strap brushing her shoulder, the leather creaking faintly when she leaned toward him.

His tongue traced the curve of her lower lip, then drew it gently into his mouth. A soft whimper vibrated in her throat. His fingers brushed the line of her neck, feeling the rapid flutter of her pulse there.

Moisture gathered under her skirt, a slick awareness between her legs that made her thighs press together.

His grip tightened slightly in her hair, not pulling, but holding her exactly where he wanted her. The possessiveness of the gesture made her toes curl inside her flats.

When they parted, they stayed close enough that her breath moved against his.

His eyes held hers. “That okay?” he said.

The question came quietly, without apology.

“Yes.”

Her nipples stood taut under her blouse.

Adrian smiled faintly, as if he liked what he saw.

“That’s all,” he said softly, and the words felt like a line drawn. “For now.”

Nicole didn’t answer. She couldn’t.

He shifted the car into drive and pulled onto the road.

By the time Bloomwell’s buildings came back into view, she had already straightened her skirt and adjusted her badge.

The day slid back into place around them.

Table of Contents

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Table of Contents

Monday, on her way back from lunch, Nicole walked with Lila across the courtyard instead of the main path.

The campus lay spread in clean sections. Quad 1 with its cafeteria and smoothie bar. Quad 2, with its all-glass front and coworkers lounging on picnic blankets. Quad 4, farther down, for R&D and training, with its windows tinted just slightly darker than the rest.

And then there was Quad 3.

Nicole could see it across the green.

It wasn’t really a quad. It sat lower than the others, a wide, nearly windowless building tucked behind a thin spray of trees as if it hadn’t been invited to the brochure photos. The siding was matte black. There were no benches or walking paths, just a set of heavy doors, a keypad, and a sign mounted beside it saying: AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY.

During orientation, a guide had driven past it in a golf cart. They mentioned in-house manufacturing, vertical integration, and quality control. The words had floated past Nicole like every other catchphrase had that day.

Nicole slowed her pace.

The lot outside Quad 3 held a handful of white, unmarked delivery trucks. But the loading bay door was shut. And no one was there.

Nicole tried to remember if she had ever seen someone badge in.

She hadn’t.

“Can I ask you something?” Nicole said to Lila, her eyes still on the building.

“Hmmm?” Lila turned to her. The woman wore her red hair in a high bun. A spray of freckles coated her arms.

“Have you ever been inside Quad 3?” Nicole asked.

Lila’s brows lifted. “Manufacturing?”

“Yeah.”

Lila laughed softly. “I like my job.”

Nicole couldn’t tell if that was a joke. “It’s that serious?”

“I mean, it is shift-based,” Lila said. “Different hours than us. I don’t think they want Marketing wandering around heavy equipment.”

“Do they really make all of the supplements in-house?”

“Well, American-made is one of our selling points, but… ”

“It’s not?”

Lila hesitated just long enough for Nicole to notice.

“I mean, it depends on how strict you want to be with definitions,” Lila said. “The casing, the plastic, some of the compounds… the raw material comes from wherever it’s cheapest. Global supply chain. That’s normal.”

Nicole watched her face as she spoke. Neutral. Like this wasn’t some conspiracy, just the practicalities of doing business.

“And, don’t tell anyone I said this, but we make half the store brands too.”

“Really?”

“You didn’t think this was all us, did you? Look around,” Lila said, gesturing to the campus. “ It has a way higher volume than our own line too.”

Nicole thought about it.

“You noticed it during orientation, didn’t you?” Lila asked. “You’re not the first person to get curious about it.”

“Why wouldn’t they just show it?” Nicole asked. “If it’s such a big selling point?”

“It doesn’t match the campus vibe.”

Nicole pictured the yoga mats of Quad 2. The pressed juices of Quad 1. Quad 3 didn’t fit.

“Quad 3 is like the sugar daddy you keep out of photos,” Lila said, smirking. “Ugly, but pays for everything.”

Nicole laughed.

Lila pulled open the door to their building.

A production update banner scrolled across monitors inside Quad 2.

QUAD 3 OUTPUT EXCEEDS WEEKLY TARGET.

The numbers beneath it updated in real time, ticking upward.

Nicole stared at the live feed.

Had they shown production updates before? She racked her brain, trying to remember.

“See?” Lila said lightly. “Very real.”

Nicole watched the digits climb steadily.

Maybe it had always been there, and she’d missed it. She’d only been there a week.

“You okay?” Lila asked.

“Yeah,” Nicole said quickly. “I’m fine.”

Lila headed to her office. “Don’t let it get to your head,” she said. “Marketing is just a creative way of telling the truth.”

The office manager stopped at Nicole’s desk late Thursday afternoon with a clipboard tucked under one arm. He had neat locs pulled back at the nape of his neck.

“Nicole, right?” he asked.

She looked up from her screen. “Yeah.”

“I’m Kurt.” His smile came slow and sure. “You settling in okay?”

“I think so.”

He tipped his head. “That sounded polite, not true.”

Nicole laughed softly. “Maybe I’m still figuring it out.”

“Fair enough.” He leaned one arm on the cubicle wall. “If you need anything, I’m actually useful. Which already puts me above half this building.”

She smiled. “Good to know.”

His eyes moved over her face, long enough to make her aware of herself. “Yeah,” he said. “I thought you should.”

When he walked away, she caught herself smiling at her screen.

There’s a lot of cute guys here.

The next morning, Nicole crossed the quad with her badge tapping lightly against her sternum.

Two women jogged along the path near the fountain. On the lawn by the wellness pavilion, a row of employees held yoga poses on mats while an instructor paced slowly between them.

The glass front of Quad 2 caught the morning light. For a second Nicole saw herself layered over the reflection of the building in front of her: pastel top, tote bag, her hair in long, layered extensions. She looked like she belonged here.

Across the courtyard, Adrian stood next to a man in a tucked collared shirt and khaki pants. Probably a client.

Even from a distance Adrian looked expensive, the kind of man who bought basics that cost three times more because the seam sat differently on the shoulder. His attention stayed on the man, then turned and landed on Nicole. Almost as if he sensed her there.

Adrian gave a small nod.

Nicole waved.

Quad 2’s lobby opened into the main corridor, today, the screens cycled through company updates and glossy photos of wellness retreats. Nicole walked past a planter of ferns and a wall of framed employee portraits.

She found her section, A12, and slid into her chair.

She entered her login information and waited.

The spinning icon rotated. Then the screen refreshed and bounced her to a dashboard she had only seen during training, sparse and blank, as if someone had erased her day before it could start.

Access permissions under review.

Nicole tried again.

Same result.

Great. Heat climbed her neck. Her fingers hovered over the keys, then she forced herself to stop and think.

She tried the steps Lauren had mentioned offhand last week. Close everything. Restart. Re-enter. Try again.

Access permissions under review.

Nine-thirty came and went. Her manager sent her a text message asking if she was online. Nicole watched her coworkers glide into their systems without effort. She heard the soft percussion of typing on keyboards and the chirps of Slack notifications. It wasn’t a system-wide issue.

She opened her phone, pulled up her ticket to IT, and saw the automated reply she’d gotten the first time.

We’ve received your request. Estimated response time: 24–48 hours.

Two full days of sitting at a desk like decoration while her manager sent her texts every hour. Most of her tasks lived behind the intranet. Training modules. Intake forms. Internal docs. Without access she had no work and no way to at least pretend otherwise.

Her manager sent her another text message.

Nicole’s stomach tightened.

She pulled up the directory on her phone and searched his name. A little profile tile appeared. Peter. Operations Systems Analyst. Quad 2. Office A14.

Not far.

She found the placard with his name beside a half-open door and knocked lightly.

Peter looked up. Wired headphones sat in his ears. His hair was down today, dark curls falling past his shoulders and tucked behind one ear. He wore a gray Henley with the sleeves pushed up.

Surprise crossed his face. “Hey,” he said, pulling one headphone out.

“Sorry to just show up,” Nicole said. “My login keeps timing out. IT hasn’t responded, and I remembered you said you used to be in software before you moved to ops.”

Peter’s chair rolled back slightly as he stood. “Yeah. I can take a look.”

Relief moved through her so quickly that it almost felt like dizziness. “Thank you.”

He grabbed his badge, his phone, and followed her out. That alone eased something in her chest, that she didn’t have to explain anything. People who made you justify help always made it feel like a transaction.

At her desk, Nicole slid her chair back so he could sit. He sat and leaned toward her laptop.

“Okay,” he said. “Show me what it’s doing.”

Nicole typed her password. The screen blinked, then kicked her back to the dashboard.

“How many times did this show up?”

“Three,” she said. “Before nine-thirty.”

He clicked around. “You’re locked out,” he said. “That’s different.”

Nicole watched his hands. They were large. Veins ran along the front of them, faint but visible as his fingers flexed over the keys. His arms filled the sleeves of his shirt in a way that suggested the fabric had given up arguing with muscle. When he reached forward, the movement pulled across his shoulders. Clearly, he worked out.

The cords of his headphones hung at his collarbone, the wire crossing over the fabric of his shirt.

No ring.

She forced her eyes on the screen.

He clicked again. A permissions panel opened.

Her name appeared in black text. Her title: Administrative Coordinator beneath it. A bright yellow triangle sat beside her access level.

Peter went still for a second.

Nicole tried to keep her face calm. “Is that normal?”

“For a new hire, sometimes.” He clicked again. “For admin, less often.”

The screen flashed something behind the panel for a split second, a log window with timestamp rows. Nicole caught a glimpse of her name and a word before he minimized it.

Escalated.

Peter leaned back slightly. “I can mirror my access to you for today,” he said. “It’ll let you work while IT sorts it out.”

“You can do that?” Nicole asked.

He shrugged. “I used to build systems like this. A lot of it runs on shortcuts dressed up as security.”

He tapped his badge against a small device connected to her laptop and typed quickly. His fingers brushed her wrist as he reached for the mouse. The contact registered sharply.

Peter’s closeness felt practical. And still her stomach flipped.

“Try now,” he said.

Nicole typed her password again.

This time the intranet opened fully. Folders populated. Her task queue appeared. Everything looked the way it was supposed to.

Peter’s mouth curved. “And there you go.”

She turned toward him, closer than she meant to. “Thank you. Seriously.”

He met her eyes. “No problem,” he said.

Nicole’s skin felt warm. She looked away first, pretending to scan her inbox. Her stomach was doing that small fluttering thing again.

“So,” Peter said, still seated, still half turned toward her laptop. “You grew up here?”

“Robinswood,” she said. “Yeah.”

He glanced up. “You’re from Robinswood too.”

“Most people here aren’t,” Nicole said. “Everyone keeps mentioning how they moved for the cost of living, or the campus, or the growth.” She kept her tone neutral, but her words carried the small sting she always felt when people talked about her town like it was a bargain bin.

Peter nodded. “Transplants.”

“Where’d you go to school?” Nicole asked.

“Robinswood High.”

Nicole felt her eyebrows lift. “Stop.”

He smiled. “Graduated. Moved to Des Moines for a while, then came back.”

“What year?”

“Probably a few years before you.” His gaze moved briefly to her badge, and the new-hire ribbon. “You’re what, twenty-two?”

Nicole’s face warmed again. “Twenty-one.”

“Then yeah.” He leaned back slightly. “Class of ‘09.”

“‘13,” she said. “Do you ever go to alumni events?”

“Hell no,” Peter laughed. “I hated high school.”

“I think everyone does.”

“Who was your English teacher? Mrs. Harlowe?”

Nicole’s eyes widened. “You had her?”

“Everybody had her,” he said. “She gave us those grammar drills every morning, then would scream at us if we got something wrong.”

Nicole smiled. A picture came, instantly, of Mrs. Harlowe’s tight bun and red pen and morning drills. The memory felt too specific to be shared with someone she’d met two weeks ago. And yet—

“Her classroom smelled like old food and that weird perfume she always wore,” Nicole said.

Peter’s smile widened. “The perfume was called Poison. I remember because she told us it was French and we all pretended we could tell.”

Nicole laughed, feeling her shoulders relax. A shadow fell across the edge of her desk.

She looked up.

Adrian stood there, hands in his pockets, as if he’d wandered by on a whim. His gaze moved from Peter in her chair to Nicole’s open laptop, then back to her face. His expression carried amusement, like he’d stumbled upon something mildly entertaining.

Nicole felt caught. She didn’t know why, which made it worse. She sat a little straighter. “Adrian—”

“Morning,” Adrian said. “Sounds like fun over here.” He leaned over her cubicle wall.

“Hey,” Nicole managed.

Peter looked up. “Hey.”

Adrian turned to Nicole. “I heard you were having computer issues?”

Nicole’s brow furrowed. It took a moment for it to register, mostly because she wasn’t sure how he’d know that.

Peter answered for her. “Nicole’s login got locked. I’m mirroring access for the day.”

Adrian’s eyebrows rose. “Heroic.”

Peter’s mouth tightened slightly. “Just here to help.”

“Helping can still be heroic around here.”

Nicole felt a small pulse of irritation. But, she also felt the tug of his attention, the fact that he was looking at her now, not the laptop, and not Peter. That same appraisal she’d felt in the parking lot returned, faint but present.

“It’s fine. Peter handled it,” Nicole said quietly.

Peter glanced at her, a small look that held something like relief.

Adrian’s smile stayed. “Good.” He tipped his head toward Peter. “Thanks for taking care of her.”

The phrasing landed strangely in Nicole’s body. She disliked the flush it brought to her face.

Adrian’s eyes flicked back to Nicole. “See you in the meeting later?” he asked, and then he was already moving on, drifting down the corridor.

Nicole watched him go until she forced herself to look back at her screen.

“Is he always like that?” Peter asked, tone curious.

“Like what?”

“Like he’s watching a show,” Peter said, and then his mouth twitched slightly. “Only he doesn’t know he’s a part of it.”

Nicole let out a breath. “That’s… exactly it.”

“Weird guy.”

Peter’s gaze held hers for a second, and there it was again. That flutter. The sense of being noticed by someone who wasn’t performing.

He stood. “You should be good for the day. If it kicks you out again, come find me.”

“Thanks” Nicole said.

“No problem.”

When he walked away, Nicole sat at her desk with her system open and her skin warm, her thoughts moving too fast.

She worked through the morning, grateful for the simple rhythm of tasks. Intake forms. Scheduling. Internal requests. Each completed item steadied her.

That afternoon’s meeting was held in Summit: Conference Room A35.

The Director of Client Operations, Marissa York, stood near the screen with a clicker in hand. Her dark hair fell loosely over her shoulders with silver running through it in a way that only made her more striking. The woman wore a sleeveless navy sheath and a thin gold bracelet that caught the light each time she gestured toward the numbers.

Nicole followed the flow chart on the slide. Intake started with a client submission form. Then an admin reviewed it for completeness. Then eligibility verification. Then supervisor approval before assignment. Each step had its own timestamp.

“Average time from submission to supervisor sign-off is now seventy-two hours,” Marissa said. “Our target is twenty-four.”

A loud murmur traveled around the table. Someone mentioned staffing.

Nicole flipped back a page in her notebook where she had mapped the sequence earlier in that week. The bottleneck started because files sat in a digital queue waiting for supervisor review. Meanwhile, admins were rechecking forms that had already passed eligibility.

She spoke up. “What if we reroute the documentation review to happen after provisional supervisor sign-off,” she said. “Let supervisors approve based on eligibility and risk flags first. Then, admin can finalize formatting and nonessential documentation after the case is already assigned.”

A pause. A few people glanced at the slide again.

Marissa tilted her head. “So you’re suggesting supervisor review moves before documentation completeness?”

“Just for non-flagged cases,” Nicole clarified. “The system already tags high-risk submissions. Those can stay in the current route. But for standard cases, we’re double-handling.”

Marissa nodded, noncommital. “Interesting.”

Nicole shrank in her seat.

She became aware of the glass walls, the soft chairs, the way the overhead lights skimmed across everyone’s hair and skin. She was the darkest face at the table. The only one.

She’d raised her hand in her second week, and suggested a structural change. Stepped into the center of the table instead of staying at its edge. Now the idea sounded naïve in her own head, overeager.

Too green.

The meeting moved on.

Twenty minutes later, when the screen displayed a pie chart of intake categories, a coworker across from Nicole leaned forward.

“What if,” he began smoothly, “we let supervisors sign off before the documentation review for low-risk cases? That way we’re not stacking the queues.”

The room shifted toward him. Heads nodded.

“Yes,” someone said. “That would streamline the path.”

Marissa smiled. “That could significantly reduce lag.”

Nicole kept her face composed. The taste on her tongue metallic. She lowered her gaze to her notebook and underlined the words provisional sign-off as if the ink could anchor the idea back to her.

Then Adrian’s voice cut in.

“I think that was Nicole’s suggestion,” he said, leaning back in his chair.

Light laughter flickered around the table, as if the moment were harmless. The coworker turned, his smile stiff and immediate.

“Oh, yes,” he said. “Sorry, Nicole. That’s what you were saying.”

Adrian didn’t look at the coworker. He looked at Nicole.

“Nicole,” he said, giving her a small deferential nod. “Walk us through it again?”

Nicole lifted her eyes. Adrian held her gaze steady and expectant.

She straightened in her chair and explained it again.

Afterward, she caught Adrian in the corridor.

“Hey,” she said.

He turned, attention landing on her immediately. “Yeah?”

“Thanks,” Nicole said. “For earlier.”

Adrian’s expression softened “No problem.” He looked at her for a second, then added, “This is a woman-run company, you think they would know better.”

Nicole nodded.

“ Don’t be afraid to speak up,” he said.

Nicole felt her face heat again, and this time she didn’t know which part of her he was looking at. Her work. Her. The space between.

She nodded. “I appreciate it.”

Adrian’s smile held. “See you around, Nicole.”

He moved on, unhurried.

Nicole stood for a moment with her notebook pressed to her chest. She walked back to her desk with her access restored for the day, her tasks waiting, her mind awake.

Bloomwell felt beautiful again in the late afternoon light. Glass walls glowing. People moving in calm lines. A sense of order that promised she had made the right choice.

Something in her still itched where the Quad 3 conversation had been.

She kept her hands on the keyboard and kept working anyway.

Table of Contents

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Table of Contents

Nicole woke before her alarm, her body already alert in a way that didn’t feel natural.

Her muscles felt loose, almost boneless, as if she’d been stretched end to end in her sleep. She lay still for a moment, taking inventory of it. Her shoulders felt pinned to the bed. Her hips ached as though she’d walked miles the day before.

Her sleep had been thick and immersive. In the dream, someone stood behind her. Close, then closer, until warm breath touched her neck. Hands gripped her hips and drew her back, then forward, guiding her into a deep arch. Fingers gripped her waist, adjusting her angle until her spine curved and held. She found herself leaning into the way fingernails bit her skin. It felt like desire. It also felt like instruction. Her body moved with it either way.

Nicole kicked off the blankets tangled between her legs and rolled onto her side. She glanced at the nightstand. The Bloomwell magnesium bottle sat beside her lamp, the cap lazily screwed back on. She vaguely remembered swallowing two capsules before bed, more out of curiosity and insomnia than commitment.

It’s just the magnesium, she told herself. She read online that it could give you crazy dreams.

She got out of bed.

In the shower, the water felt hotter than usual. Her skin seemed newly aware of itself, sensitive. Fabric brushed against her thighs like needles as she dressed, the waistband of her skirt pressing more heavily into her side than it had yesterday.

There was one long scratch running along the side of her waist.

By the time she reached Quad 2 at Bloomwell, the weirdness of the dream had dulled to something more manageable. The building smelled faintly of citrus and something metallic, clean and ascerbic like bleach.

She’d noticed the smell before in The Greenhouse. Now she couldn’t stop noticing it.

The Adminstrative Team Lead she was shadowing, Lauren, was already at her desk when Nicole arrived. She had long blonde hair in tight, glossy curls, the kind you’d see in pageant shows. Bright red lipstick and a pink blazer finished her look.

Lauren barely glanced at Nicole before handing her a stack of intake forms.

“Just watch how I do the calendar blocks,” Lauren said. “It’s easier than it looks.”

Nicole nodded and slid into the chair beside her.

Around mid-morning, a shadow fell across the low wall of the cubicle.

“Well,” a man’s voice said lightly, “I guess this is where the magic happens?”

Lauren didn’t look up. “If by magic you mean rescheduling people who forgot their own meetings, then yes.”

A beat.

“Including you.” Lauren finally turned her chair, eyes narrowing. “Don’t you have clients to charm?”

“I do,” he said. “But I prefer you.”

Nicole glanced up before she meant to.

He leaned one forearm against the cubicle wall, weight settled, posture unhurried. Dark curls were pulled back loosely from his face, the kind that would slip forward if he moved too fast. His shirt fit him cleanly, smooth across his shoulders, sleeves rolled with deliberate care. A watch with a gold face rested against his wrist, catching the light when he shifted. His skin held a deep olive tone that looked warmer up close.

Recognition moved through Nicole.

She’d seen him before.

In her kitchen, on the television, walking beside Katrina Whittle through glass hallways that looked more like showrooms than offices.

He was shorter than she’d imagined, and older too, maybe early thirties? His badge read Adrian Vega.

His gaze shifted from Lauren to Nicole. His mouth curved slightly.

He nodded once. “New shadow?”

Her stomach dipped before she had time to place why.

“Like it so far?” he asked.

His eyes held hers a fraction longer than courtesy required.

“Yeah,” she said.

“Good.”

He looked back at Lauren as if Nicole had been properly catalogued.

“You’re in the commercial,” Nicole said, before she could stop herself.

Lauren laughed.

Adrian looked at Nicole, his expression shifting into something cooler, appraising. “They put a lot of people in those,” he said flatly.

The tone was light, but dismissive, like she’d referenced something outdated or irrelevant. Nicole blushed. He shifted his weight back from the cubicle wall.

“Anyway,” he added, already turning to Lauren, “don’t let her break anything.

Lauren laughed again. “No promises.”

He smiled at that and moved on, the moment closing behind him as neatly as a door.

Nicole stared at the calendar on the screen, suddenly aware of the heat in her face.

That was stupid, she thought. She’d sounded younger than she meant to. Like someone who watched too much TV. Like someone who didn’t yet know how things worked.

“Senior Manager,” Lauren said. “Client Operations.”

Lauren leaned closer, lowering her voice. “Don’t worry about it,” she said. “He hates being reminded that those commercials exist.”

“Oh,” Nicole said.

“Seriously,” Lauren went on. “We give him shit about it all the time. You saw his haircut back then?”

Nicole smiled, grateful, but the feeling didn’t fully lift, like she’d stepped into a current without seeing the water move.

Had she sounded naïve? Had she crossed some invisible line?

She focused back on the screen, but her body hadn’t caught up yet, still humming faintly from the proximity, the look, the easy way he’d closed the interaction.

He was just a guy. Attractive. Confident. Older. The kind of man who’d learned to exist comfortably in rooms like this.

Her pulse took longer than it should have to settle.

At lunch, Nicole carried her container toward the benches of Quad 2 and paused when she realized most of the seats were already full. People gathered into familiar clusters, sitting close, their conversations drifting easily.

Peter sat alone near the end of one of the benches, his bag tucked beneath his feet. He looked up when she hesitated.

“Hey,” he said. “You can sit here.”

“Thanks,” she said, and did.

Nicole popped open her lunch. Rice and beans with stewed chicken.

“Looks good,” he remarked.

“What’s yours?” she asked.

“Tinga,” he said, glancing down at his Tupperware. “Chicken.”

“You made that?”

“Yeah.” He nodded. “My grandmother’s Mexican. I’m like, third-generation, technically, on my dad’s side. She taught me how to cook.”

“Oh,” Nicole said, a little surprised.

“I know,” he smiled. “Most people wouldn’t guess.”

Nicole noticed movement along the path. Mara and Lila passed with a small group, heading toward the cafeteria in Quad 1. Lila glanced over, her expression pausing for half a second when she saw Nicole sitting with Peter. Nicole lifted her hand and waved. Lila hesitated, then waved back, already turning away.

“You ever go to the cafeteria here?”

“Nah.”

“Hmmm?”

“I like knowing who cooked my food,” he said. “And I have it on good authority that the cafeteria had a rash of food poisoning last year.”

“Really?” Nicole laughed. “Good authority?”

“Lauren,” he said, laughing too. “Might’ve been the whole ‘green’ thing they try to do around here. Hard to say.”

Nicole seemed to consider that.

“How’s she, by the way? Lauren,” Peter asked. “How’s Quad 2 treating you?”

There was a note of attention in his voice she hadn’t heard before.

“It’s quieter,” Nicole said. “I like it.”

“Most people do, once they finally get out here.”

“Out where?”

“Out of orientation,” he said. “Out of the showcase spaces.”

“That’s one way to put it.”

“Quad 4’s built to impress,” he went on. “Quad 2’s built to function.”

That distinction settled somewhere she didn’t quite name.

She picked at her food, then looked up. “You really think it’s all planned like that?”

“They don’t do anything halfway,” he said. “Maybe I’ll show you one of these days.”

The wind lifted briefly, rattling the leaves along the path and carrying the smell of food from the open-front food counters.

Peter wiped his hands and neatly folded the napkin. “If something seems off,” he said casually, “it’s usually worth asking someone who’s been around a little longer.”

“About what?”

“About anything.”

“Okay,” she said, though she wasn’t sure what she was agreeing to.

He nodded, like he’d filed that away. “You seem like someone who notices things.”

They walked back toward the building together, their pace matching without effort.

At the entrance to Quad 2, he stopped.

“I usually eat out here,” he said. “If you ever want company.”

“I might take you up on that,” Nicole said.

He nodded once and went inside.

Nicole lingered for a moment before following. The steadiness from lunch stayed with her, but something else had threaded through it now. A sense that there were ways to move through this place she hadn’t learned yet. That some doors opened quietly, if you knew when to try them.

5 pm. Nicole was halfway across the green when she heard her name.

“Hey. Nicole.”

She turned.

Adrian stood a few yards away, hands in his pockets, watching her like he’d been there the whole time and only just decided to speak. Up close, he looked even more at ease than he had in the office. Looser. His black curls of hair caught the dying afternoon light.

“Yeah?” she said.

“Have you been shown around yet?” he asked.

“No,” she said. “Not really.”

He smiled. “Come on.”

He didn’t wait for her to agree. Just turned and started walking, confident she’d follow.

Inside, Quad 2 felt simpler than Quad 4, less glass, more carpet. His voice dropped as they walked, instinctively, as though the building required it.

He showed her a small room with low lighting and padded chairs.

“Meditation,” he said. “Or naps. Depends on who you ask. Occasionally, a couch if someone’s wife kicked them out.”

“People sleep over here?” Nicole asked.

“You’d be surprised.”

She held his gaze a second longer than necessary. He held it back.

A hallway led to a room with frosted doors.

“Massage therapists twice a week. Sign-up fills fast.”

A kitchenette stocked with pastel bottles and neatly labeled jars.

“Everything’s free,” he added. “But don’t overdo it. People pretend they don’t care, but they do.”

Nicole nodded, taking it in. She was aware of how close he walked beside her, the way his arm brushed hers once, briefly, as they turned a corner.

They stopped near a door that looked no different from the others.

“And this,” he said, “is technically a wellness consultation room.”

“Technically?” she repeated.

He glanced at her, amused. “You’ll figure it out.”

Something moved low in her stomach. She nodded as if she understood.

They moved on. The tour felt unhurried and unstructured, like he was killing time rather than performing a favor. By the time they looped back toward the entrance, her earlier embarrassment returned, sharp and inconvenient.

“Hey,” she said. “About earlier. With the commercial.”

He looked at her, eyebrows lifting slightly. “What about it?”

“I didn’t mean to—” She stopped, thinking. “I wasn’t trying to be weird.”

He laughed, the sound easy and genuine. “It’s fine. Really.” He shrugged. “Sometimes I don’t love being reminded how old I am.”

“You’re not that old,” she said.

“Careful,” he said. “Flattery already?”

She smiled despite herself.

“Thirty-two,” he said. “In case you were wondering.”

She hadn’t been. She had.

As they stepped outside, she gestured back toward the building. “It’s just… a lot.”

“Yeah,” he said, without missing a beat. “It can feel like that at first.”

He tilted his head. “You get used to it.”

They walked toward the parking lot together. The afternoon sun had shifted, lower now, warmer. He matched her pace without effort.

When they reached her car, he stopped close enough that she had to tilt her chin up slightly to meet his eyes.

“Well,” he said.

The word hung there, unfinished.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

His lashes were thick and cast a slight shadow over his eyes, making the irises look darker than they were and almost bottomless.

“Tomorrow,” she echoed.

He smiled once more, then turned and headed back toward the building.

Nicole watched him go, then got into her car. As she pulled out of the lot, she caught a glimpse of Quad 2 in her rearview mirror, quiet and unassuming.

She drove home with the windows cracked, the day still sitting in her body, rearranged but not unsettled.

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Day two of orientation, Nicole was back in The Greenhouse.

Katrina Whittle appeared on the screen at the front of the room. Her hair was pulled back immaculately, her blouse a neutral color that didn’t compete with the Bloomwell logo hovering in the corner. The pre-recorded video talked about the importance of team bonding and how proud she was of everyone for choosing to be here.

Nicole watched from her seat, her notebook open and mostly full. Katrina was the reason she’d chosen Bloomwell. She’d grown up rural, like Nicole had, in Iowa. The story went that Katrina had clawed her way out of it, piece by piece, building something of her own after struggling with her body following a pregnancy. Supplements first, then a company. Discipline became philosophy, and hard work became branding.

On the screen, TV Katrina thanked them for their time, then the video went dark. People shifted in their chairs as the lights flickered on.

As they stood for a break, Nicole caught herself looking back at the blank screen, half-expecting Katrina to reappear and wave again, maybe say something unscripted.

She didn’t.

Nicole found herself near the coffee urn with Mara and two others from yoga class. Someone mentioned the video and how reassuring it was to hear from leadership directly.

“I like her,” one of the women said. “She feels… present.”

Nicole nodded. “Do you know where she’s based?” she asked. “Is she in the office today?”

There was a pause.

“She travels a lot with her wife,” Mara said. “But I think she’s in New York.”

“Yeah,” the other woman added. “She works remotely mostly. So she’s everywhere and nowhere.”

The pair laughed at that; Nicole did too.

The question slid away, absorbed into the larger conversation about schedules and team assignments.

Present or not, Katrina was everywhere in the Iowa office. In the elevator. By the stairwells. Along the glass walkways connecting buildings. Always the same photo, slightly retouched, Katrina’s face frozen in approachable confidence on each poster. The captions under her photo always used the same phrase: Leading with purpose. The company slogan.

The words started to feel less like statements and more like the weather, always present, easy to step through.

At lunch, Nicole sat outside with a woman she met in Quad 4. Lila. She had long, wavy red hair and a way of smiling that suggested she found most things mildly amusing.

They ate salads from compostable bowls, perched on a low concrete wall overlooking a strip of manicured green space.

“Adjusting okay?” Lila asked. She’d already been working at Bloomwell for four years.

“Yeah,” Nicole said. “It’s… a lot. But in a good way.”

Lila hummed in agreement. “It’s intense at first. They really want you to feel it.”

“Feel what?”

“Bloomwell,” Lila said, lifting her fork. “The whole thing.”

Nicole smiled. “Have you ever met Katrina?”

“The CEO?”

“Yeah.”

Lila nodded. “The last time she visited was two years ago.”

Two years?

“But…” Lila said. “I’ve heard she pops in sometimes. Unannounced.”

“Really?”

“Allegedly,” Lila added. “I think it adds to the mystique.” She squinted her eyes and pointed her fork at Nicole. “So always be on your best behavior.”

They both laughed. It felt conspiratorial without being serious, the way people joke about celebrities they have never met.

“She seems… busy.”

“Well,” Lila said, “that tracks.”

“Does it?”

Lila shrugged. “I mean, she’s running a big company like this. She has a family. I don’t expect her to sit at a desk all day.”

“Yeah,” Nicole said, shrugging. “Makes sense. I was hoping to meet her. Another Iowa native.”

“It’s funny,” Lila said after a while. “She feels very close for someone who’s never around.”

Nicole forked through her salad. “That’s a good way of putting it.”

Lila added quickly, like she was correcting herself. “I just mean… the branding.”

“Right,” Nicole said.

They ate in companionable silence for a moment, watching people pass by with their lanyards swinging. Peter waved at Nicole from across the green. Nicole waved back.

Lila followed her line of sight. “You know him?”

“Kind of,” Nicole said. “I mean, I met him yesterday. He’s one of the orientation leads.”

Lila hummed, picking at the edge of her container. “Just… be careful with him.”

Nicole glanced at her. “Why?”

Lila shrugged and made a face. “He’s a little weird.”

“Weird how?”

Someone laughed nearby. Peter had already turned back to whoever he was with.

“He came from somewhere bigger, I think. Acts like he’s slumming it here,” Lila said. “Like this place is beneath him.”

“Oh?”

“And all this orientation stuff,” Lila said. “I honestly think he just wants the promotion. It’s starting to feel obvious.”

Nicole watched Peter disappear into Quad 4 with a cluster of orientation trainees, then kept her eyes on the entrance a second longer before looking away.

“Anyway,” Lila said, already shrugging it off. “Ready to head back?”

After lunch, Lila and Nicole walked back to Quad 4 together, matching their pace without thinking. The afternoon passed in a blur of screens, introductions, and new systems to learn. Every so often, Katrina’s face appeared again, embedded in a slide deck or looping silently on a monitor in the hallway.

By the time Nicole left for the day, her head felt pleasantly full; she’d learned a lot about Bloomwell and was officially given her placement. Quad 2. Section A12.

Tomorrow, she would start on-the-job training and shadowing.

But Nicole couldn’t help but think about Katrina Whittle. Two years was a long time to go without visiting a company.

At home that night, she kicked off her shoes and sat on the edge of her bed, phone in hand. She considered searching the woman’s social profiles, then didn’t. Everything she needed to know seemed to already be at Bloomwell, printed, projected, and repeated ad nauseam. Besides, there wouldn’t be anything there she hadn’t seen before.

Still, as she brushed her teeth, the question returned, quieter this time. Where is she?

The answer, when it came, sounded like all the others. Somewhere. Everywhere. Doing important work.

Nicole grabbed the Bloomwell welcome bag she’d dropped by her bedroom door, its weight more than she remembered.

She dumped it on her bed and watched the contents spill. A notebook. A water bottle made of recycled bamboo. Stickers. A folded T-shirt sealed in plastic. Typical new hire gear.

At the bottom of the bag was a small box of supplements.

She picked it up, turned it over in her hands. Magnesium. Bloomwell’s blend.

She’d mentioned magnesium the night before, but only to the other girls at boozy yoga. All new hires. No one who would’ve been handling welcome kits today.

Maybe everyone got the same thing.

She lay back and stared at the ceiling, the room quiet except for the hum of the air conditioner, the day settling into her body, and fell asleep.

The next day, Nicole found herself sitting with Lila again, this time in a small meeting room with glass walls in Quad 2. They shared a look when the CEO’s video appeared at the start of the session.

“She’s really committed to consistency,” Lila murmured.

It felt like a small thing, the comment. A simple observation, and nothing more. They both turned their attention back to the screen as the woman began to speak again, her voice warm and steady, as if she were just down the hallway.

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Monday morning, Nicole stood in her bedroom, carefully dressing, smoothing the fabric of her skirt over her hips. She caught her reflection in the mirror and paused.

She wore a soft gray skirt tucked into a cream blouse. She smoothed the collar with her hands until it lay flat. Her low black flats were scuffed, but not terribly so. She finished the look with simple stud earrings. Safe. Conservative.

She sighed.

After a forty-five-minute drive, she could finally see the tops of the buildings rise above the horizon. Glass and steel where cornfields used to be.

The sign at the entrance read BLOOMWELL in pale lettering. Below it, a hibiscus symbol unfurled.

The office park sat over Nicole’s dashboard like a small city. Four quads across a sprawling campus, connected by walkways and pockets of greenery. Flower gardens dotted across the grass. A row of open-front food counters built into one side of the campus, each with its own sign and narrow window. A small convenience store sat in the middle of them.

Nicole slowed the car and parked.

She sat for a moment with her hands on the steering wheel, heart beating too fast. Part of her still couldn’t believe it. Bloomwell.

People walked past her car, laughing softly, badges swinging at their chests, dressed in soft pastel colors. Women wore their hair in long, loose waves down their backs in shades of blonde and brunette. They carried paper cups with plastic lids, the sleeves printed with the company’s hibiscus logo. A few men, but not many. Everyone looked college-aged to early thirties—at most.

Nicole checked her reflection in her car’s mirror. She smoothed her braided ponytail down. Put on lip gloss. Perfect.

She stepped out and followed the group inside.

Quad 4. Orientation took place in a glass building set slightly apart from the rest of the quad.

A long welcome table had been set up outside its entrance, staffed by people in matching Bloomwell polos, handing out lanyards, welcome brochures, and small branded tote bags as names were checked off a list.

Nicole followed the stream of people through the doors. The plastic from her lanyard caught on her blouse when she leaned forward to tap herself in. The reader flashed red, then green, and the door opened.

The brochure’s map called it The Greenhouse.

The room had pale green walls with light diffusing from the windows. Tall plants stood in cream planters along the perimeter. The seating was modern and white, arranged in gentle curves that suggested comfort rather than work. A long table ran through the center of the room, set with bowls of cut fruit, neatly stacked granola bars, and bottles of sparkling water. Along one wall, a vending machine hummed quietly, stocked only with pressed juices.

The room smelled faintly of citrus and metal.

She chose a seat near the middle, close enough to the front to look engaged, yet far enough away not to feel exposed.

People settled in around her, chairs scraping softly against the floor. Legs crossed, bags dropped at feet, and conversations picked up lightly.

Most of the women there had the same kind of polish. Not identical, but nearly. Hair smoothed into buns or artfully done, probably by a stylist. Clothes that looked comfortable without being casual or sloppy.

She’d overdressed.

She listened in on a little of their conversations:

“…just moved here last year.”

“…my roommate works in Tanner.”

“…I can’t do another winter up here.”

Out-of-towners. People who had chosen this place. Nicole had been born in Robinswood.

Bloomwell had spent years under scrutiny for favoring people outside of the city in their hiring practices. News segments, panels, and op-eds discussed how they flew people in while Robinswood stayed poor and invisible. When the company announced plans for a second office park in a nearby location, a percentage of local hires became part of the deal. Nicole had watched it all happen. So when the offer came, she didn’t act confused about why. She was qualified, yes. But she was also useful.

She tried not to think about all the times her application was ignored before. An opportunity was an opportunity, especially at Bloomwell.

A woman slid into the chair beside her, close enough that their elbows brushed. “Sorry,” the woman said.

“It’s fine,” Nicole said.

“I’m Mara.” The woman adjusted her badge, then glanced at Nicole’s. “And you’re Nicole.”

“Nice to meet you,” Nicole said, smiling.

Mara leaned back, stretching her legs out in front of her. She looked relaxed in a way Nicole wasn’t sure she ever managed, even at home.

Mara’s dark hair was pulled loosely back in a low ponytail. She wore jeans and a pink blouse paired with delicate white flat shoes and what looked like a Tiffany bracelet.

Mara raised an eyebrow at Nicole. “You’re nervous?”

Nicole realized how stiffly she held her shoulders. She relaxed them. “A little,” Nicole admitted.

Mara smiled like that was the right answer. “I think we all are.”

The facilitator started talking while a slideshow clicked overhead. Bloomwell values. Bloomwell culture. Bloomwell perks.

Nicole wrote things down that she already knew she wouldn’t need to remember. Around her, pens moved less often. People listened with their bodies angled forward.

During the first break, Nicole stood near the coffee urn, waiting for it to finish dripping.

Across the room, someone laughed loudly. Nicole looked up and noticed a man standing near the windows, his back half-turned, his long, brown hair pulled into a low bun at the nape of his neck. He wasn’t laughing. His eyes were lowered, listening to the woman next to him. He looked like a training lead.

Nicole caught herself watching the small things, the way his fingers adjusted the band at the back of his ponytail, the way he smiled with one side of his mouth before smoothing it away.

When he turned, their eyes met; his were brown and slightly downturned. After a moment, he looked away.

Nicole felt heat rise in her face and turned back to her coffee, annoyed at herself.

In the corners, a few people paired off, standing closer than was necessary for conversation.

Mara appeared again, as if summoned.

“So,” Mara said quietly, “they don’t usually say this part out loud, but you’ll figure it out fast enough.”

Nicole glanced at her. “Figure what out?”

Mara tilted her head toward the long-haired man and woman across the room. “People hook up here. A lot.”

Nicole blinked, then laughed under her breath. “Here?”

“It’s technically against policy.” Mara shrugged. “But, everyone kinda looks the other way. A couple of people even ended up engaged. Long-term stuff.”

“That’s not crazy to you?” Nicole said.

“At my college, they called it Bloom & Bang,” Mara laughed.

Nicole said nothing. Bloomwell hadn’t even scouted any schools in Robinswood.

But she tried to picture it. Desks, meeting areas, and break rooms turned into something else entirely. The idea felt distant, and a little unreal.

By the end of the day, they were gathering their things, chairs scraping softly as people stood and slipped bags over their shoulders. Mara nudged Nicole with her elbow. “A few of us are going to this wellness thing later. Yoga, but with wine. Wanna come?”

One of the other girls laughed. “They call it mindful hydration now.”

Mara rolled her eyes. “It’s actually fun. I know the instructor. There’s a small sign-up fee.”

Nicole hesitated, the word fee catching slightly. She nodded anyway, the decision settling into her before she’d fully thought it through. “Sure. Thanks.”

She’d have to find a way to discreetly check her bank account.

“Room for one more?”

The long-haired guy from earlier drifted over, badge still on, a grin on his face.

Mara smiled sweetly. “No way.”

“Girls’ night,” someone said. “You’d ruin it.”

He laughed and stepped back, hands up. “Had to ask.”

Up close, his skin looked sun-touched, almost olive. His eyes stayed steady on whoever was talking, direct without being intense. He wore a watch on one wrist, a slim stainless-steel piece with a dark face, scuffed lightly at the clasp, as if it were something he put on every morning without thinking.

He tapped his badge when he caught Nicole’s glance. “Peter.”

“Nicole,” she said.

His eyes stayed on her a moment longer than the exchange required, curious and unembarrassed. She held it, then looked away as Mara started talking again. By the time they reached the doors, he had already slipped back into the room.

The yoga studio lights were even and flattering, the music set just high enough to keep voices buoyant. The instructor talked over the music as people settled in, laughing, tugging off their shoes. Mats lined the floor in tidy rows, wine glasses already waiting for them near the walls.

Boozy yoga.

Nicole unrolled her mat near the edge and sat back on her heels, glass in hand. The Bloomwell girls clustered in their own corner. Conversation drifted easily around her, overlapping and looping.

“I swear I wake up bloated every day,” one of the women said, twisting at the waist. “Before I even eat anything.”

“It’s cortisol,” another said immediately. “They talked about it during onboarding.”

“Yeah,” someone else added. “Once I switched over to Bloomwell, it stopped.”

Nicole followed the exchange for a beat, then said, “I’ve been taking PureHarvest magnesium for years. It’s cheap, but it works for me.”

The moment shifted. Someone paused mid-stretch. Another woman glanced at Mara, then back at Nicole.

“Oh,” the woman said, smiling. “I used to take that. Before.”

“It’s mostly filler,” another added. “The actual magnesium content is pretty low.”

“And the sourcing,” someone else said. “You never really know what you’re getting, or from where.”

“Once you see the breakdown, it’s kind of hard to unsee,” one of the girls said, rolling up her mat. “Like… it works, but you don’t know what else it’s doing to your body.”

Mara leaned over and touched Nicole’s arm, quick and warm. “Bloomwell’s blend is cleaner,” she said, like it were a small kindness. “You’ll probably like it better.”

The conversation moved on without waiting for her response. Favorite yoga instructors. Which poses felt the most effective. Who had already ordered the starter kit.

Nicole nodded along, listening, aware of the quiet recalibration, the way her comment had been absorbed and corrected without argument.

By the end, they lay back on their mats, lights dimmed, glasses rested carefully at their sides. The room hummed softly, bodies stretched long and loose.

Outside, the air felt cooler. Everyone headed to their own cars, still talking, doors unlocking in quick succession. Nicole stood for a moment with her keys in her hand, then got in.

On the drive home, the campus lights slid past. She loosened her grip on the wheel.

The day replayed itself not as scenes, but as sensations. Ease. Alignment. The low pull of wanting to fit cleanly into what had already decided itself.

She reached her driveway and sat for a moment before getting out, the quiet settling differently than it had that morning.

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Hi everyone ✨

I am starting up a new serialized horror novel, Dream Job, (18+ Mature Content) with the first chapter being released today and every chapter release will be weekly on Tuesdays at 7:00PM ET.

If you are curious of what the novel is about, I have the blurb listed in the Table of Contents below. Hope you enjoy ☺️

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The television flickered in the half-light of the kitchen, reflecting on Nicole’s face in a wash of blue and white.

The volume was hardly louder than the hum of the refrigerator, but she stood there anyway, frozen in her sleep shirt, one sock on, one foot bare against the cold linoleum.

The woman on the screen smiled in the same way she always did; her lips thin, pink, and pressed together.

“People think wellness is about perfection,” the woman said. “But it’s really about alignment, and choosing yourself without shame.”

Nicole leaned her hip against the counter and watched the way the light caught in the woman’s hair. Blonde, loose waves that were chopped in a deliberate bob. She wore a pale cream blouse tucked into tailored trousers. Nothing tugged or wrinkled when she moved.

The woman sat in a low chair, slightly angled toward the interviewer, her hands loosely folded in her lap. One leg crossed over the other, her red-bottom heel hovering just above the floor. The set around her looked more like a living room than a studio: a glass coffee table, books, and a tall plant in the corner. Daylight filtered in through the windows behind her.

Founder. CEO. Katrina Whittle.

“Our best results come from people who really commit,” TV Katrina continued. “Who let us see the full picture, not just the parts they’re proud of.”

The Bloomwell logo glowed faintly in the corner of the screen, a pink hibiscus flower blooming and receding like a pulse.

Nicole found herself nodding.

She’d watched Katrina Whittle for years: morning shows, panels, and interview clips that always ran during the evening news. Bloomwell always felt like it belonged to another planet, but it lived in the same city as the rest of them: Robinswood. The campus sat far enough away from downtown to feel separate. The building lay silver and conspicuous on the rural side of town, like a shiny coin dropped into a field of grass.

“You’re watching that lady again?”

Nicole startled slightly and turned. Her mom stood in the doorway, already dressed for work, keys in hand. She wore an old Tweety Bird CNA scrub top, the collar faded from years of washing, paired with white tennis shoes that squeaked when she walked. Her hair was pulled into the tight, practical braided beehive she usually wore under wigs. She tugged a cap down over it with one hand.

“She was on,” Nicole said, like that explained everything.

Her mom walked into the kitchen and poured coffee into a travel mug. The kitchen counter was cluttered with unopened mail and coupons. A chipped ceramic bowl held loose change collected over the years.

Her mom glanced at the screen, then back at Nicole. She raised an eyebrow. “She always talks like that?”

Nicole nodded. “Pretty much.”

Her mother snorted softly. “Must be nice to be so rich.”

On the TV, Katrina Whittle laughed at something the interviewer said. Nicole watched the way Katrina’s eyes crinkled. Nicole had read about that detail once in an online article: “How to smile without tension.” Real smiles showed up around the eyes–not just the lips.

Nicole had stood in front of her bathroom mirror, trying it on herself. She’d lift the corners of her mouth, then try to soften the rest of her face. Much harder than it looked. She started interviewing with Bloomwell a month ago.

“If you ever get in there, you won’t have to bust your ass like this,” her mom said, gesturing to her nurse’s outfit.

“I know,” Nicole said.

It wasn’t easy to get that kind of job with a two-year degree. Nicole knew that, but she also knew what she’d learned through watching Katrina over the years: how to sit still under bright lights, how to sound sure without being sure, how to make something feel possible just by talking about it long enough.

The TV shifted to a Bloomwell commercial: Katrina walked through a glassy space that looked part laboratory, part showroom. White shelves stacked with pastel-colored supplement bottles sat like museum art behind her.

The scene changed. New Wave music picked up. This time, Katrina strolled through an office, greeting employees.

She stopped at the desk of a man with a clipboard in front of him. Dark curls of hair framed his face. His sleeves were rolled up and his forearms exposed.

On the kitchen counter, Nicole’s phone buzzed. A notification.

She didn’t reach for it. She leaned forward the way she always did when this part of the commercial came on. When he came on.

TV Katrina said something to the man and rested her hand briefly on his shoulder before moving on. He smiled after her, then looked back down at his work.

The man faded into the background as the logo appeared again. Punchy music crowded out a voiceover announcing Bloomwell’s plans to build a second campus.

Live well. Bloomwell.

The commercial ended.

Nicole felt something settle low in her chest. She switched the TV off.

She couldn’t count how many times she’d sat at the small desk in her room, rewriting the same essay prompt for her Bloomwell application, trying to sound like herself but better.

Tell us why Bloomwell matters to you.

That had been the only application question. They hadn’t even asked about past jobs, which was good, because she didn’t have any.

She applied for the Administrative Coordinator position, an entry-level role where experience shouldn’t matter in theory (in practice, it was a different story). Anyway, her essay had at least landed her an interview.

Her phone buzzed again. Nicole picked it up.

“Who’s that?” her mom said.

“I don’t know,” Nicole said quickly. She swiped to unlock her phone.

An email from Bloomwell sat there, unopened.

SUBJECT LINE: Thank you for your job application…

Probably another rejection.

Her mother watched her face change. “What is it?”

Nicole didn’t answer. Her heart pounded. Swallowing, she opened it.

Following our recent conversations, we’re happy to extend an offer for the Administrative Coordinator role at Bloomwell.

“Oh my god,” Nicole said. “Oh my god.”

“What is it?” her mom asked again.

“Ma, look!”

Her mom stepped closer, leaning in to see the screen in Nicole’s hand. She let out a sound, half laugh, half gasp. “Nicole.”

Nicole laughed too, breathless. Disbelieving. “They chose me.”

Her mom squeezed her arm. “You did it,” she said. “I told you that you would.”

Nicole thought about the questions they’d asked her during her interview last month. She hadn’t been prepared for any of them. They didn’t ask her anything about spreadsheets, software, or certifications. They asked her where she saw herself in five years. What she looked for in a long-term role. How she handled receiving feedback.

She’d answered honestly… and also what they wanted to hear.

The screen glowed in her palm, warm against her brown fingertips. The kitchen seemed to close around them, the refrigerator hummed, and her mom’s hand was still on her arm.

Bloomwell had picked her.

Nicole closed her eyes for a second, smiling. The TV glow was gone now, but she could still feel Bloomwell’s presence, like an afterimage.

When Nicole opened her eyes, her thumb was already hovering over Reply.

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