A Daydream

The air in the department pitch meeting was sharp, snapping like a soda fizzing open. I had just reached the third slide when my hand slipped. With a sharp smack, the screen went black. It wasn't me. The computer had disconnected on its own.

At the head of the table, Yoel Gilmore looked up, frowning as if the world owed him millions. Three taps of his fingers on the table, and each one felt like a hammer pounding my skull.

"Three minutes left," he said coldly, like a knife pulled straight from the freezer. "If we don't start now, the meeting is over."

I didn't dare look up. When I first set up the projector, I had accidentally connected to the wrong Wi-Fi, and now the giant screen displayed his desktop wallpaper—my cat.

It had once been an ugly little mess that could scare neighborhood kids, but I had edited it into a fluffy, bright-eyed little prince, perched on the windowsill and posing cutely for the camera.

I had spent three hours editing it to perfection and stored it in a private album that even my mom hadn't seen. Yet now, it sat on Yoel's screen, gazing innocently at the whole company.

My legs went weak.

That night, he had been teasing me on voice chat. "Darling, show me your cat. I haven't seen it yet."

I replied, "Okay, close your eyes. I'll send you a surprise."

He got so excited that his voice shifted. "Really? Wait, I'll record my heartbeat to use as background music!"

Now that I thought about it, that heartbeat had sounded a lot like him tapping his fingers on the table during meetings.

I ground my teeth and told myself to stay grounded.

A man like Yoel wouldn't be texting "Darling, are you asleep?" at midnight. He wasn't the type to say things like, "Did you skip sugar today?"

He was the type to frown even when a colleague took an extra sip of milk tea, saying, "Too much sugar affects efficiency."

I couldn't connect the dots. How could he be the same man who sang off-key love songs on the phone, coaxed me to sleep, and sent me five hundred dollars so I could take a taxi instead of the subway?

"Nova Grayson, you look like a dead goldfish. Take it easy this afternoon and lie down," Jeremiah Stone said, trying to pat my head.

I recoiled instinctively, glancing past him to see Yoel standing there like a living ice sculpture, whose gaze held me frozen in place.

"Jerry, I still need to revise the plan. Mr. Gilmore hasn't finished giving his feedback," I said, struggling through the dryness in my throat.

Jeremiah didn't pick up on it.

"You're always complaining about the cafeteria food. I'm taking you out for barbecue tonight to cheer you up!"

Jeremiah snapped to attention, forgetting even to breathe.

Smiling like a judge who had just signed a death sentence, Yoel said, "Is the cafeteria food really that awful? No wonder Ms. Grayson can't deliver a proper plan."

Yoel didn't glance at me again. He simply turned and walked away, leaving behind a single command. "Bring it to my office once it's revised."

"Yes, Mr. Gilmore," I whispered.

Back at my desk, my phone wouldn't stop buzzing. Mr. Y's texts flooded in, one after another, like a relentless drumbeat I couldn't escape.

"Darling, the forecast says it's going to rain tonight. Come home early."

He then sent me 500 dollars. "Use it for a taxi. Don't squeeze into the subway."

"I learned a new song. I'll sing it for you tonight."