sn't a project deadline, it was an end date. My end date. After eight years, I was finally
ver my cubicle wall, a skeptical smile on her face.
firm than I felt. "Two weeks.
ve been saying you're going to leave for the la
had poured everything into this firm, into architecture. I told mys
dence. I gave up a scholarship to study art history in Florence for this job, for a chance to work near him. I worked grueling hours, took
was walking down the aisle. His face was a mask of stoicism, but his eyes, sharp and critical, swep
"The schematics for the waterfront project
ghtening. "I'm just making final adjustmen
. The interaction was typical, a stark reminder of m
t who had joined only six months ago, walked up to Mr. Henderson. She hel
again, so I brought you a black coffee, just how
touched Mr. Henderson' s lips. "Than
e showed her was something I had craved for years. It wasn't Mr. Henderson I wanted it from, b
been warm, but he had been protective, shutting the man down with a few precise, cutting words. "Miller's design is sound. Don't was
hing at something Emily was showing him on her computer screen. He looked at her with an unguarded warmth I had never received, a look that wasn't fo
in and tight. Two weeks. Fourteen days u
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