I could hear my heart beating in my ears as I slammed my laptop shut. "So, you're saying that someone else got the contract?" I questioned, my voice tight but breaking on the edge.
"I'm sorry, but yes," the client answered, without looking me in the eye. "Your designs were great, but the board wanted a more... cautious approach."
Conservative. Code means dull, uninspired, and without having any effect. I could feel the heaviness of each word pulling me down. "I don't get it," I said quietly. "This was supposed to be my big break."
He shrugged and said, "Sometimes it's not about talent." "It's all about connections."
Links. The word tasted bad. I pulled my chair back and stood up. The sound of my chair scraping against the floor was louder than I meant it to be. I said, "Thank you for your time," in a frigid voice.
The hallway felt like it was closing in on me as I walked out. Every step made me feel more angry and embarrassed. I made fists with my hands. Years of hard effort thrown away like rubbish from yesterday.
Then I noticed it: the entryway to a stylish hotel bar that shone in the city's dark lights. The sound of soothing jazz floated out, calling to me like a siren. Maybe a drink could help get rid of this anger. It might help the pain go away.
I hardly thought about it for a second before going through the doors. The warmth hit me like a wave. A safe place. Tonight might be different, just maybe.
I sat down on a worn leather stool at the bar, and the chilly wood pressed against my hands. The bartender looked at me quickly and knowingly, as if he had seen too many broken dreams come through those doors tonight.
"What do you want?" he questioned, his voice silky yet exhausted.
I whispered, "Whatever burns the most," my eyes glued to the rows of bottles behind the counter that glowed like small promises.
The first drink felt like fire in my throat, and it chased away the chilly pain that had settled deep inside. Around me, laughing bubbled up in quiet, effortless streams. Couples were wrapped up in their own little worlds and didn't see my storm.
My thoughts kept going over the meeting, the short words, and the nice way it ended. They said connections. Not skill. Not a lot of work. Just names that were said in private.
A shadow moved next to me. I looked to the side and squinted.
He was tall and thin, with harsh angles that were softened by stubble that caught the faint light just so. His stormy gray eyes were eyeing me with what seemed like intrigue... or maybe a challenge.
He remarked, "You look like you just lost a war," in a low voice that sounded deadly.
I laughed bitterly. "Something like that."
He nodded, as if he knew about fights I hadn't told him about. "Callum is my name."
"Juniper," I murmured, shocked to hear my own name.
He lifted his drink and smiled a little. "To wars that were lost and victories that were unexpected."
I clinked my glass with his. The cool metal made something frail, maybe hope, spark. Maybe.
The noise around us decreased, and the bar got smaller until it was just the two of us and the promise of silence between us.
"So, an interior designer who drinks like she's trying to forget something," Callum murmured in a low, teasing voice, his eyes sparkling in the soft light of the bar.
I smiled, and my anger started to fade. "Only if ambition is a bad thing."
He leaned back and tapped the glass with his fingers in thought. "Ambition is a bad thing." It makes people act without thinking.
I looked him in the eye and dared him. "And what about you, Mr. Dangerous?" What careless thing did you do?
For a minute, his eyes turned dark and shadows danced behind them. "Running an empire." Keeping everyone at a distance. "Acting like I don't want more."
There was a true and raw crack in his armor. I sensed it, something I knew in that loneliness.
I murmured, "Lonely," just above the music.
"Terrifyingly so," he said.
The air between us changed, becoming thicker with something we both didn't want to define yet. His fingers brushed mine, and the touch was light yet electrifying, sending a shiver up my spine.
His voice got lower, nearly to a whisper. "Do you want to see the view from my penthouse?" The climb is worth it.
My heart stopped. A part of me wanted to run, but the rest of me, intrigued and desperate, answered yes.
I nodded, my voice halfway between dread and excitement. "Go ahead."
The doors of the elevator slid shut behind us, cutting us off from the outside world. The city lights below were like a dazzling promise in the night.
And in that moment of stillness, I knew I was at the edge of something I wasn't sure I wanted yet couldn't leave.
I hesitated, and the knot in my stomach got tighter and tighter. The dark amber lights and quiet jazz in the slick hotel bar made it feel like a trap all of a sudden. "I don't usually do this," I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper.
Callum's keen, powerful eyes darted to mine. He responded, "Neither do I," and a hint of a sneer pulled at his lips. "But there are times when you have to break the rules."
I nodded and stepped next to him as the elevator doors closed. Curiosity and caution fought with each other. The small area took us whole, and the only sound was the quiet hum of machines.
He looked at me for a second, and I couldn't read his face. "You make spaces that make people feel at home. What about you? "Where is your home?"
I swallowed the lump that was developing in my throat. "I'm not sure I've found it yet."
The tension grew, like static in the air. I could feel his breath, steady and measured, close enough to make the hairs on my arm stand up.
"Sometimes," he said softly, "home isn't a place." It's someone.
I wanted to laugh at him and push away the weakness in his words. But instead, I just nodded, my heart beating too fast to ignore.
The elevator shook as it went up, and the city lights below twinkled like promises from far away. I didn't know if I was going to be safe or in danger.
This time, I didn't hesitate as the doors opened.
Callum moved with ease and grace. He was tall and thin, and his tailored suit hugged his body, which was shaped by control and power. His face was very different. It was attractive, but it had a sharp edge that made him look deadly. His jawline was covered with stubble, and his eyes were dark and stormy.
He poured two drinks, and the golden liquid sparkled in the light. He handed me a glass and said, "You look like you could use this."
I took it, and our fingers brushed for a minute longer than they needed to. The warmth went through me, and it wasn't just from the whiskey.
He leaned against the marble counter and watched me with an intensity that made me uneasy and curious. "What's the real reason you're here, Juniper?"
I looked him in the eye and felt the walls I had created fall apart under the weight of that inquiry. "I forgot," I said.
He grinned, but his eyes didn't show it. "It's funny how forgetting can mean remembering everything."
The air between us was charged, electric, and raw. His hand found mine again, hesitant but sure, with our fingers entwined.
For a little period, time stopped.
And I saw that my shields weren't simply breaking; they were crumbling.