A week later I buy muffins.
Caramel. From that new bakery on 5th that has a two-hour line on weekends but is empty on Tuesday afternoons. I get six. I figure I'll bring them up, surprise him, maybe have lunch in his office.
I use the executive elevator. My name's still on the building. Nobody stops me.
I knock on his office door.
"I said no interruptions. Get out."
I've never heard that voice before. Not from him. Not directed at anyone.
"Nathan. It's me."
A pause. Then the door clicks open — he hit the remote from across the room.
The curtains are drawn. The room is dim. He's backlit, standing behind his desk, and I can't read his face.
I stop a few feet inside the door.
"You okay?" I ask.
He smiles. It doesn't reach his eyes. "Mia Bear. What are you doing here?"
"Brought you something." I hold up the bag. "You haven't been eating."
"I'm fine." He moves toward me. "Just tired. Big week."
I feed him a piece of muffin like I've done a hundred times. He chews. His jaw is tight.
"It's good," he says. Like he's reading off a card.
"Who were you on with?" I nod toward his laptop. "Didn't know you had a call."
"Finished up just now." He takes the bag from me and puts it on the desk. "You should head home, babe. I'll be late. Don't wait up."
I look at him for a second too long.
"Okay," I say. "Don't overdo it."
I turn around. Walk out.
I'm twenty feet down the hall, waiting for the elevator, when I hear his office door open again.
I don't turn around. I look at the elevator button.
Footsteps. A woman's heels. Click click click.
I look.
Vanessa.
Her hair has a strand loose. Her blouse is slightly — just slightly — untucked on one side. She walks past me without making eye contact and disappears around the corner.
The elevator opens.
I stand there.
I don't get in.
I think about his office. His desk. How big it is. How dim the room was. How he told me to go home.
The elevator closes again without me.
* * *
