The conference room door clicked shut behind Martin, and the air in the room seemed to release all at once—like everyone had been holding their breath without realizing it.
Riley was the first to break the silence. She leaned back in her chair, arms crossed, a slow, wicked grin spreading across her face as she turned to Fiona.
"Okay, spill," she said, voice low but delighted. "What was *that*?"
Fiona kept her eyes on her notebook, suddenly very interested in straightening the pages that didn't need straightening. "What was what?"
Riley snorted. "Don't play dumb. The way he kept looking at you like you hung the moon. And you—girl, you were staring back like he was a math problem you couldn't solve. The tension in here was thick enough to spread on toast."
Maya laughed quietly from the other side of the table. "She's not wrong. I thought the AC broke for a second."
Fiona felt heat crawl up her neck. She forced a small laugh, kept her tone light. "He was just… giving feedback. That's his job."
Riley arched a brow. "Feedback doesn't usually come with bedroom eyes and loaded pauses. I swear I saw him glance at your mouth like he remembered what it tasted like."
Fiona's pen slipped. She caught it before it rolled off the table, cheeks burning. "Riley."
Riley grinned wider, leaning closer. "Come on. I've worked here three years. Martin Mole doesn't drop into random team huddles. He doesn't ask new hires to 'walk us through their thoughts' while staring like that. And he *definitely* doesn't say 'I'm counting on it' in that voice unless there's history."
Fiona swallowed. Kept her voice even. "There's no history."
Riley tilted her head. "Sure. And I'm the queen of England."
Lena, who'd been quietly packing her things, looked up with a smirk. "I mean… the man literally said your name like it was foreplay. 'Fiona.' Slow. Low. I got chills and I'm not even the one he was looking at."
Maya held up both hands. "Okay, okay, let's not traumatize the new girl on day three. But Riley's right—the vibe was… intense."
Fiona forced another laugh, this one a little weaker. "You guys are reading way too much into it. He's just… direct."
Riley studied her for a second, grin softening into something more curious than teasing. "Maybe. But if there *is* something there… be careful. Martin Mole doesn't do casual. He does *possession*."
Fiona met her eyes. "I'm here for the job. That's it."
Riley nodded slowly. "Okay. Just saying—if he starts showing up in more meetings, or pulling you into one-on-ones… don't say I didn't warn you."
The group started gathering their things. Fiona packed slower than the others, letting the conversation drift away. She felt Riley's gaze linger a second longer before she left.
Alone in the conference room for a moment, Fiona let out a long breath. Pressed her palm to her stomach under the table. The baby fluttered—gentle, steady, like it was trying to calm her down.
She closed her eyes.
Remembered the way Martin's voice had dropped when he said her name.
Remembered the heat of his body behind her chair.
Remembered the night—the mirrors, the velvet, the way he'd made her feel like the only thing in the world that mattered.
She opened her eyes.
She stood, gathered her notebook, walked back to her desk.
The rest of the morning passed in a blur of emails and small tasks. She answered a few Slack messages, revised one of her sketches, drank more ginger tea than was probably reasonable. The baby fluttered every so often—small reminders that she wasn't alone in this ...