Pyramid Schemes of the Heart

The corporate pyramid rose forty-two floors above Chicago, its glass facade winking in the September sunset. Elena pressed her palm against the cold window of her office on the thirty-eighth floor, watching her reflection. A single silver hair among the dark waves at her temple—she'd been pulling them out for months, but they kept returning like stubborn messengers from a future she wasn't ready to meet.

"You're going to wear a hole in that glass," Marcus said from the doorway. He'd been her friend since they were both twenty-two and terrified of the elevators.

"We're presenting to the board tomorrow, Marcus. I'm allowed to stare dramatically into the middle distance."

"The board that includes your ex-husband."

"The board that includes my ex-husband who also happens to be the Chief Financial Officer. Yes. Thank you for the reminder."

He crossed the room and leaned against the desk beside her, close enough that she caught the scent of cedar and old coffee. They'd been dancing around something for three years—since David left, since Marcus stopped being just the friend she bitched to about mergers and acquisitions. Something unspoken, patient as erosion.

"You know what David used to call this building?" Marcus said quietly. "The pyramid scheme. Because we're all climbing over each other to reach a point that keeps receding."

"He was a cynic."

"He was right about some things." Marcus turned to face her. "Like how you're swimming upstream against a current you created. You're forty-four, Elena. You're the youngest VP in the company's history. What happens after you clear this final hurdle? What's at the top of the pyramid?"

She'd asked herself the same question at 3 AM, staring at her ceiling while the city hummed below. The answer always arrived empty-handed.

"I don't know," she admitted. "But I'll be damned if I'll let David see me hesitate."

Marcus laughed softly. "Still taking the bull by the horns. Still proving him wrong about everything."

"It's worked so far."

"Has it?" His fingers brushed the hair at her temple, the silver strand she'd missed. "You're exhausted. You're lonely. And you're standing here with me instead of going home to pack for your presentation."

The silence stretched between them, thick and tremulous. She could walk out, call it a night, return to her pristine apartment with its view of the lake and its solitude. Or she could finally step off the treadmill.

"What if," she said, "I don't go back to the apartment tonight?"

Marcus's hand lingered against her cheek. "I was hoping you'd say that."