The building had a different energy in the morning. Sophie noticed it as soon as she stepped through the glass doors on the ground floor—the hush of a city that had not yet fully woken, the muted rhythm of heels and polished shoes against marble, the way sunlight filtered through the tall windows and threw long, golden bars across the lobby. It was too early for the usual storm of executives and assistants, which was precisely why Sophie had chosen this hour.

Preparedness had always been her shield. When nerves pressed close, when she felt the tremor of uncertainty beneath her skin, she relied on routine. Arrive early, set her space in order, breathe before the storm.

The elevator was quiet as it rose, the soft hum of machinery the only sound. She glanced at her reflection in the polished chrome doors: hair pulled into a neat bun, blouse tucked smoothly into a slate skirt, a jacket that made her look slightly more confident than she felt. Her lipstick was the same shade as yesterday—a color she usually saved for evenings, but now found herself wearing with strange conviction.

Her office, directly adjacent to the CEO's, already felt less foreign than it had last night. The glass partition framed her desk like a stage, visible from Margo's own workspace through ribbed glass panels. She'd spent time arranging her pens, setting her laptop at the right angle, aligning the empty notepad at the center of the desk. It was a small ritual of control in a world that had shifted beneath her feet.

She powered on the laptop and opened the company's scheduling system. Blocks of color filled the calendar: meetings, calls, presentations. She began refining the system she'd started yesterday, merging redundant entries, flagging time zones, leaving careful notes for herself in the margins.

The task steadied her. Until the sound of a door opening pulled her head up.

"Ms. O'Neill."

The voice was calm, rich—instantly recognizable.

Margo Banks stood in the doorway between their two offices. The morning light caught her dark suit, tailored with impossible precision, and drew faint glimmers from the watch on her wrist. Her hair was smooth, pulled back from her face to reveal the sharp lines of her jaw. She looked as though she belonged not just to the building, but to the city itself, as if the skyline had been drawn to fit her.

Sophie rose at once. "Good morning, Ms. Banks."

"You're early," Margo observed, stepping further into the room. She carried a slim folder, though she hadn't opened it.

"I like to be prepared," Sophie said, hoping the steadiness of her tone masked the quickening of her pulse.

"Preparedness," Margo repeated softly, as if savoring the word. She studied Sophie in a way that felt deliberate, like an inspection—or perhaps like recognition. "Yes. I remember that about you."

The words struck Sophie like an unexpected chord. She managed a careful breath, though her heart stuttered. I remember that about you. The sentence was heavy with implication, bridging years she had thought buried.

She forced a professional smile. "Would you like me to review your morning meetings?"

Margo placed the folder on Sophie's desk. Instead of answering, she let the silence stretch. Her eyes traced the lines of Sophie's face with unnerving precision, as if each detail was a fact she intended to catalog.

"Two board calls," she said at last. "One at ten, one at eleven-thirty. Cancel the smaller of the two, consolidate the talking points into a single briefing. If they resist, remind them they're not the only ones with limited time."

"Of course." Sophie opened a notepad and began writing. Her hand was steady, though the intensity of Margo's gaze made her hyper-aware of every stroke of the pen.

"Do you mind," Margo asked after a pause, "if I ask you something less professional?"

Sophie glanced up, surprised. "Of course not."

Margo tilted her head slightly, her expression unreadable. "When you saw my name on your assignment yesterday... did you remember me?"

The question dropped between them like a stone into water. Sophie's first instinct was denial—the safe, professional answer. But the look in Margo's eyes made denial impossible. This wasn't a casual inquiry. It was a demand for truth.

"Yes," Sophie admitted, her voice quiet but firm. "I remembered."

Margo's lips curved faintly, the ghost of a smile. "Good. I would have been... disappointed otherwise."

Sophie's pulse leapt. She looked back down at her notes, forcing herself to continue writing as if the conversation had not cracked open something dangerous.

"I'll take care of the meetings," she said briskly, the steadiness in her voice hard-won.

Margo didn't leave right away. Sophie felt her lingering presence, the subtle charge of air in the space between them. Finally, Margo spoke again, her tone quieter, more deliberate.

"Dinner last night was pleasant."

Sophie froze for a fraction of a second, then resumed her writing. "Yes. It was."

"We'll do it again," Margo said, not as a suggestion but as a certainty. She turned smoothly, walking back toward her own office. The door closed behind her with a soft whisper, leaving Sophie alone with the knowledge that this was not simply professional. It never had been.

⸻

The morning unfolded with the precision of a machine. Sophie canceled the smaller board call, drafting a concise email that disguised dismissal as courtesy. She rearranged the agenda for the larger meeting, condensing bullet points into a structure that Margo could scan in minutes. She moved between tasks with the careful efficiency that had always been her strength, but underneath the surface her thoughts ran restless.

She remembered the way Margo had looked at her across the table last night, the deliberate cadence of her voice, the rare softness that had slipped through when she had said, a beginning.

The phone on her desk buzzed. A new message.

Bring the briefing in fifteen minutes. We'll review together.

—M.

The text was formal, efficient. And yet Sophie felt a tremor at the simple fact of it: Margo had chosen to message her directly rather than relay the request through anyone else. A direct line. A thread pulled tight.

She gathered her notes, smoothed the edges of the folder, and crossed the small distance to the CEO's office.

The door opened with a soft click. Margo's office was a study in controlled power: pale wood, sleek lines, a wall of windows pouring light across the floor. Margo herself sat at the desk, reviewing a document with the same focus she had once turned on professors in lecture halls.

"Ms. Banks," Sophie said gently.

Margo looked up at once. Her expression shifted—not surprise, not even welcome, but something heavier, as if Sophie's presence was both expected and desired. "Come in."

Sophie crossed the room and set the folder neatly on the desk. Margo gestured for her to sit, and for a moment Sophie felt the strange intimacy of being the only other person in this space that looked out over the entire city.

They reviewed the agenda together, page by page. Sophie spoke clearly, outlining the merged talking points, emphasizing efficiency. Margo listened with the same focus she had once commanded in university debates, her pen tapping lightly against the desk as Sophie explained her reasoning.

At one point, their eyes met across the papers. Neither looked away.

"You've always had a talent for clarity," Margo said softly.

Sophie's breath caught. The word always echoed with meaning. "I try to make things simple," she replied.

"Simple," Margo repeated. "And sharp. You don't waste words."

The compliment lingered between them like a touch not yet made. Sophie lowered her eyes to the document, though her heart raced.

When the review ended, Margo closed the folder and leaned back in her chair. "You'll accompany me to the call," she said. "I want you to take notes. Not just what they say, but how they say it."

"Of course," Sophie agreed.

"And Sophie," Margo added, her tone softening just slightly, "I trust your judgment. Don't hesitate to cut through the noise."

The word trust landed heavier than any order. Sophie nodded, her throat tighter than she wanted to admit.

⸻

The board call was held in a conference room on the opposite side of the executive floor. Margo entered first, Sophie a step behind, carrying her notepad. The board members' faces appeared in tidy grids across the large screen. They spoke in confident tones, trading updates and requests, but Sophie quickly saw what Margo had meant: half of the words were posturing, the other half filler.

She wrote quickly, noting not just the content but the hesitations, the overlaps, the subtle defensiveness when one member was pressed about numbers. Margo rarely interrupted, but when she did, her words were scalpel-sharp, cutting through pages of fluff in a single sentence.

At one point, Margo leaned slightly toward Sophie, her voice low enough that only she could hear. "See how he avoids direct percentages? Write that down."

The closeness of her voice at Sophie's ear sent an unexpected warmth down her spine. She wrote the note exactly as instructed, forcing her hand not to tremble.

When the call ended, Margo stood smoothly and closed the laptop. "Thank you, everyone. We'll reconvene with actionable steps, not summaries."

The screen went dark. Silence reclaimed the room.

Margo turned to Sophie. "Well?"

"They're stalling," Sophie said immediately. "Especially Mr. Langford. His department's numbers don't hold, and he knows it. That's why he leans on vague language."

Margo's eyes lit briefly with approval. "Exactly."

Sophie swallowed, the praise filling her with an unexpected heat.

"You see what others miss," Margo said. "That's rare."

"It's just observation," Sophie murmured.

"No," Margo corrected, stepping closer. "It's more than that."

The proximity made Sophie's breath shallow. She could feel the weight of Margo's presence, the subtle claim in her stance.

For a long moment, neither spoke. Then Margo's phone buzzed, breaking the spell. She glanced at the screen and straightened. "I have another meeting. We'll continue this later."

Sophie nodded quickly, gathering her notes. "Of course."

As she left the conference room, she felt Margo's gaze on her back. It wasn't her imagination. It was the same gaze she had felt years ago on the campus lawn, the same gaze across the dinner table last night. Possessive. Certain.

By the time Sophie returned to her desk, her pulse was still uneven. She set down her notepad and pressed her fingers lightly against her temple.

This was more than a job. Margo had remembered her. Chosen her. And now she was being pulled into something far larger than she had planned for.

She opened her laptop and began typing her meeting summary, though her mind replayed Margo's words over and over:

I would have been disappointed otherwise.
I trust your judgment.
We'll do it again.

Sophie exhaled slowly, steadying herself. She had agreed to this role. She had agreed to be useful. But beneath that, she knew the truth she could no longer deny:

She had remembered too.