The elevator opened onto the 17th floor. Sarah stepped out, her canvas tote slung over her shoulder, trying not to trip on the oversized planter that looked like a modern art sculpture. The office was open-concept — all glass walls, curated chaos, and fashionably stressed people typing like the world was ending in five minutes.
Chloe's voice floated down the corridor before Sarah saw her.
"No. Tell Mariah she cannot wear a sheer bodysuit to a charity gala — unless it's ironic. And please remind her ironic doesn't mean naked."
Sarah spotted her at last — in motion, a tablet under one arm, One hand held a phone to her ear, the other typed furiously across her laptop. A pair of tortoiseshell sunglasses sat forgotten in her hair, heels clicking like punctuation marks as she spun from one crisis to the next.
She hadn't noticed Sarah yet. Which was fine. Because watching Chloe work was its own kind of theater.
Sarah slid into one of the sleek, low lounge chairs near the window, crossed her legs, and quietly set her tote down at her feet. From where she sit, she had a clear view of Chloe's domain. No need to interrupt the performance.
Chloe paced with purpose, gesturing mid-air as she pivoted into a different tone — now calmer, coaxing, but still razor-sharp beneath the sugar.
"Yes, I love the energy. But if your statement has the word spiritual, raw, or relatable in it one more time, I'm legally required to quit."
Sarah smiled, folding her hands in her lap. The backdrop of clicking keyboards and soft ringtone stutters faded into white noise. Her eyes followed Chloe's path — the way she deflected chaos like it was second nature, how people moved around her like orbiting moons, never colliding but always close.
Chloe ended one call, flicked through her tablet, started another.
"I need updated mockups in the drive by three. And tell Devin if he edits out the freckles again, I will Photoshop him into a potato in every team photo."
Sarah stifled a laugh and leaned back in the chair, content to wait.
She'd come with good news — news that could wait five minutes longer.
Especially when the person she was telling was busy saving a brand's reputation and threatening a coworker with vegetable-based revenge.
Chloe's phone beeped again. She blinked once, sighed, and switched lines.
"No, Tanya. We don't post wine shots on Mondays. It screams hangover, not aspirational. Yes, even if the label is vintage."
Chloe spun mid-call, spotted the figure in the corner, and froze mid-step like she'd just seen a ghost in vintage denim.
She ended the call with a muttered threat about lighting someone's branding board on fire, then marched straight toward Sarah.
"You," she declared, pointing. "What are you doing here? Wait—do not tell me it's something emotionally loaded. I haven't eaten, and I'm seconds from cannibalism."
Sarah smiled, slow and knowing.
"Actually... I did bring something."
"Food?" Chloe blinked, hopeful. "Please tell me you brought food."
"Your favorite," Sarah said, reaching calmly into her tote like it was a designer Mary Poppins bag. "From that place in Midtown you keep pretending to boycott because their CEO is problematic."
Chloe gasped theatrically, snatching the warm paper bag with both hands like it was sacred.
"You did not just walk into my workplace with truffle-parmesan fries and emotional support carbs."
Sarah shrugged. "I did."
"God, I love you," Chloe moaned, already tearing into it. "You're an angel. A blessed creature. I'm going to personally launch your brand just for this."
Another assistant skidded in, holding a garment bag and looking seconds from tears. Chloe didn't flinch.
"Three things," she said, grabbing the bag and the moment in one breath. "One — breathe. Two — I'll fix it. Three — someone bring me coffee before I commit a crime."
The assistant nodded and vanished.
Sarah arched a brow. "You just diffused a meltdown with a one-liner and threat of caffeine violence."
"Please. That was barely a three on the crisis scale. I once talked a model off a rooftop because she didn't like her bangs."
She took a fry, sighed like she was tasting salvation, and flopped into the seat beside Sarah with the grace of a woman who hadn't stopped moving since 6 a.m.
"Okay, I take it back. You can tell me something emotionally loaded. Just… let me eat while you do it."
Sarah laughed softly, watching her. "It's not that dramatic."
"You brought truffle fries. I'm emotionally ready for anything now."
Sarah leaned back slightly, hands resting in her lap. Calm. Grounded. But her eyes gleamed.
"They picked me."
Chloe, mid-fry, froze. Blinked. Then blinked again, like buffering.
"Wait—what?"
"The boutique," Sarah said, voice even but warm. "They chose my muslin. I'm officially on the bridal design team."
Then she shrieked. Loudly. Entirely unprofessional. Gloriously Chloe.
"Oh my God, I told you! I told you they'd be idiots not to! Come here—"
She pulled Sarah into a hug that was half-celebration, half-headlock.
"This is huge. This is everything. This is your soft-launch into greatness. We need champagne. No. Confetti. No. Press. Can I leak this yet? No? Ugh, fine."
Sarah laughed, flushed and warm and a little overwhelmed.
Chloe watched her for a moment — really watched her — and saw past the clean lines and cool tone. She saw late nights folded into fabric samples, the hush of a stylus scratching at three in the morning, the quiet panic that came with rent deadlines and self-doubt. The things no résumé ever listed.
She remembered the job that ghosted Sarah after she completed the full pattern, the client who "forgot" to pay, the days when she came home with a brave face and cracked knuckles from pinning muslin straight into the night.
And yet, she'd kept going. With grace. With humility. With a discipline Chloe had never seen in anyone else.
Her chest felt full and fragile all at once.
"I just wanted to tell you first," she said quietly.
Chloe stepped back, misty-eyed but hiding it under a dramatic sniff.
"Of course you did. I'm your emotionally unstable fairy godmother. I demand early access to milestones."
They both laughed.
Sarah reached for a fry, finally letting herself enjoy it.
Chloe smiled, softer now.
"You really brought me fries and good news. I don't deserve you."
"No," Sarah said, cool and dry. "But you got lucky anyway."
Chloe burst into laughter.
"And now you're funny? This glow-up is illegal."
Just as Chloe reached for another fry, the rhythm of the room shifted slightly — not loud, just enough for Sarah to notice a presence at the edge of the glass divider.
"Didn't expect to see you here today."
Noah. Tall, understated, sharp-eyed. His voice held that casual lilt people used when they weren't sure if they were interrupting, but kind of hoped they were.
Sarah looked up, and so did Chloe — though with very different expressions.
Noah's tie was slightly loosened, coffee in one hand, tablet in the other like he'd just escaped a branding pitch. He smiled — not wide, not cocky. But real. Like seeing Sarah made something in his day shift direction.
"Hey," she said, smile gentle. "It's been a while."
"A week, maybe?" he teased, leaning one shoulder lightly against the glass partition. "Or longer. Time slows down when you're not around to share snacks with Chloe."
Chloe snorted. "Please. You come here to steal my sparkling water and flirt like it's a wellness practice."
Noah ignored her, his eyes flicking back to Sarah.
"How's work? Still surviving the boutique schedule?"
Chloe perked up, brows raised. "You knew she's working with a boutique?"
He blinked. "Wait—actually? I was kidding. That wasn't real?"
Sarah smiled. "It's real now."
Something in his posture straightened.
"No way. Which boutique?"
"That one," Chloe answered for her, smug. "Yes, the one your ex couldn't even get a callback from."
Noah blinked — just once — but it was enough.
His smile twitched, then steadied. "Ouch."
He leaned back a little in his chair, gaze flicking between Chloe and Sarah like he was trying to decide whether to laugh or defend himself.
"Seriously," Noah said, his tone dipping smoother than necessary, "it's impressive, Sarah. You've always had this... quiet kind of brilliance."
Before Sarah could answer, Chloe didn't even look up as she cut in—
"Careful, Noah. That line might've worked on Melissa — right before she launched her eco-punk sock line and cried over bad cotton blends."
Noah paused, blinking. "Wow. You're really not over that breakup, huh?"
Chloe finally looked up, all teeth and fake-sweet smile.
"Oh, I'm very over it. I'm just committed to preserving her legacy... as a cautionary tale."
He gave a little laugh, shifting awkwardly. "I was just paying her a compliment."
"No, you were circling like a vulture in Prada. Let's not pretend this is a Hallmark moment."
Noah held up both hands. "Alright, alright. Didn't mean to ruffle the matriarch."
Chloe arched a brow.
"Good. Because if I hear one more breathy compliment that sounds like it was recycled from Melissa's brand launch video—'a woman of understated genius, threading light into silence'—I might hurl this aioli across the room."
Sarah covered her mouth, eyes wide with laughter.
"That was poetic," Noah said with a grin.
"That was tragic," Chloe shot back. "Like your couple's joint podcast. What was it called again? Two Minds, One Blender?"
He groaned. "It was Beyond the Blend."
"Exactly. Beyond salvaging."
Noah laughed, defeated, as he stood.
"Okay, I know when I'm outnumbered. I'll leave you two to your fries and your emotional stability."
"And please send our regards to Melissa's hemp-based accessory line," Chloe called after him sweetly. "Still waiting on that chakra-friendly belt bag I pre-ordered in 2021."
As Noah disappeared around the corner, muttering something about revenge and fashion PR. Sarah turned slowly toward Chloe, one brow raised, a half-smile tugging at her lips.
"Do I need to get you a security badge? Or just a shirt that says Emotional Bouncer?"
Chloe didn't even blink. "Honey, I screen your emotional guest list like it's Fashion Week at the Met. No entry without approval and matching energy."
Sarah laughed, shaking her head. "You basically just frisked him with sarcasm."
"He's lucky I didn't check his pockets for recycled pickup lines," Chloe muttered, wiping her fingers on a napkin like she'd just cleaned off residual ex energy.
"You're unreal."
"No. I'm necessary," she said, straightening like it was a job title. "You're too polite. You'd let someone waltz in with a bouquet of red flags and still offer them tea."
Sarah tried not to smile, but failed.
"I do not."
"You do. You're nice in that 'I'll just quietly suffer while sketching brilliance' kind of way. Which is why you need me. I'm the pre-screen. The velvet rope. The keeper of peace and fries."
She popped the last truffle fry into her mouth with ceremonial flair.
"And until someone shows up who doesn't remind me of Melissa's tragic linen jumpsuit era, they don't get past me."
Sarah leaned back, eyes still gleaming.
"So you're my bodyguard now?"
Chloe smirked. "Please. I'm your publicist, your guard dog, your personal scandal shield—and your stylist when you finally become too successful to dress yourself in neutral tones and understatements."
A flustered assistant appeared at her side like a summoned spell — two coffees in hand, both still steaming.
He didn't say a word. Just placed them neatly on the table beside her, nodded like he was exiting a war room, and vanished down the hall before either of them could blink.
Sarah blinked instead. "Was that the same assistant from earlier?"
Chloe picked up the coffee, inspecting it like a sommelier assessing vintage.
"Yes. He knows if he forgets oat milk, I'll start throwing buzzwords until his soul leaves his body."
Sarah gave her a look. "You terrify everyone here, don't you?"
"I prefer the term manage through influence."
They both laugh. Sarah lifted her cup in a mock-toast.
"To loyalty, sarcasm, and psychic screening."
Chloe clinked her coffee against it.
"And to never dating a man who once co-founded a pop-up brand called Soul Denim."
Here, for just a moment, there was pause.
Which of course, Chloe ruined in the most Chloe way possible.
"Also," drawing out the word like a slow drumroll, "Eric is miles better than Noah."
Sarah blinked. "What?"
"I'm serious." Chloe popped the fry in her mouth. "Noah had charm, sure. But Eric? Eric has... depth. Patience. Actual emotional texture. And the kind of quiet intensity that doesn't disappear when things get complicated."
Sarah rolled her eyes. "I'm not comparing them."
"You should," Chloe said, unbothered. "Noah flirted like it was networking. Eric watches you like you might slip away if he blinks too fast."
She wiggled her eyebrows, exaggerated, theatrical, unashamed.
Sarah's fingers tightened slightly around her coffee cup. "Chloe."
"What?" she said again, breezily. "I'm just saying. Think about it."
"I'm not thinking about anything," Sarah muttered, eyes fixed on the skyline. "Except how to survive my next deadline without spontaneous combustion."
Chloe gave a long-suffering sigh, like she was the one being emotionally oppressed.
"You know," she said, "most people would kill for even a tenth of the attention that man gives you. And you're over here acting like it's a mild inconvenience."
Sarah's voice was sharp now, clipped. "Because it is inconvenient."
Chloe paused.
That hit a nerve.
Sarah didn't look at her. She was staring out the window, jaw tight, that guarded quiet wrapping around her like armor.
After a beat, she added, lower this time, "I didn't ask for this."
Chloe studied her, the humor fading just slightly. "I know you didn't."
Silence settled between them for a breath. Then Chloe softened her tone, just a little. "But maybe… it's okay to have something you didn't plan for. Something good."
Sarah didn't answer. Not right away.
She exhaled slowly through her nose, like she was reciting a silent prayer for patience.
"Can we not talk about this anymore?"
Chloe raised both hands in mock surrender, but her voice stayed gentle. "Alright. Subject change."
A pause. Then:
"But just so you know… I'm still keeping him on the list."
Sarah shot her a glare. "What list?"
Chloe smirked. "The People Sarah's In Denial About list. It's laminated."
Sarah groaned. "I hate you."
Chloe beamed, triumphant. "You love me."
Sarah leaned back in the chair, muttering under her breath, "I tolerate you."
"Same thing," Chloe said sweetly, sipping her coffee and holding it like a trophy of moral victory, perked up again.
"Okay. Since you're being your usual emotionally constipated self, let's shift gears."
She leaned forward, eyes glinting with mischief.
"Movie night. My treat. As celebration."
Sarah blinked. "Celebration of what?"
Chloe gave her an incredulous look. "Um—you getting into the bridal line team? Ring any bells? Or was that a dream I hallucinated in a truffle fry haze?"
Sarah hesitated, then offered a small smile. "Right. That."
Chloe narrowed her eyes. "Don't act like it's a footnote. It's huge. And it deserves glitter and serotonin."
Sarah sighed. "Okay, fine. What movie?"
Chloe's grin turned evil.
"A romance."
Sarah's smile instantly vanished.
"No."
"Yes."
"No. Chloe—"
"It's French. There are subtitles. And yearning. And at least two emotionally repressed leads who avoid eye contact until the third act kiss. You'll love it."
Sarah stared. "You really know how to pick a movie just to annoy me."
"I know how to pick a movie to heal you through forced exposure therapy." Chloe winked. "You need fictional affection in your system."
"I need sleep," Sarah muttered, grabbing her tote.
"You need endorphins," Chloe said brightly. "And maybe a reminder that love doesn't always come with a tragic backstory and commitment issues."
Sarah stood, rolling her eyes but not protesting further.
Chloe followed, triumphant, still rattling off the synopsis of the film as they made their way out the glass doors.
"I'm right," Chloe sang, already booking the tickets. "Wear something comfy. And emotionally available."
Sarah groaned. "I'm bringing a scarf big enough to hide in."
"Bring tissues too," she added as they reached the elevator. "There's a rain scene. You're welcome."
Sarah shot her a look.
But the elevator dinged. She stepped in, turning just enough to meet her gaze. "You're chaos."
Chloe blew her a kiss. "Call me if you spiral."
The doors slid shut on Sarah's unimpressed expression — and Chloe's smug victory grin.