Shallow Waters

The lightning storm outside mirrored the chaos in Elena's chest as she watched Marcus from across the open-plan office. He laughed at something the new hire said, his head thrown back, that genuine laugh she'd fallen for three years ago. Now, she was almost certain he was the spy leaking their prototypes to competitors.

Her evidence was circumstantial: encrypted emails sent at 3 AM, the way he guarded his screen like a goldfish guarding its three-second memory of food. Corporate security had hired her to investigate him, and she'd accepted without hesitating, telling herself it was just a job. Just another Tuesday in the life of a woman who'd traded passion for a corner office and a spinach salad every lunch break.

"You're staring again," her assistant whispered, appearing at her elbow with fresh coffee. "He's going to notice."

Elena blinked. "I'm not staring. I'm observing. There's a difference."

"Whatever you say, boss. Just be careful. Water cooler talk says he's been asking about your decrypt keys."

That night, the storm intensified. Lightning cracked the sky open as Elena waited in the parking garage, the concrete walls echoing with thunder. When Marcus emerged, umbrella-less, rain plastering his shirt to his chest, she stepped from the shadows.

"We need to talk," she said.

He froze. "Elena? What are you still doing here?"

"The security audit, Marcus. The emails. What are you selling? Our algorithms? Our client lists?"

Silence stretched between them, broken only by rain drumming on the asphalt.

"I'm not selling anything," he said finally. "I'm trying to buy your contract out."

"What?"

"The company's folding, Elena. Next month. I've been meeting with investors to save our jobs. I didn't tell you because I didn't want to get your hopes up if it fell through." He stepped closer, water dripping from his hair. "I was going to surprise you."

A different kind of lightning struck her then—one of clarity, of remembering exactly why she'd loved him, of understanding how shallow her suspicions had been, how little she trusted anyone anymore. She thought of her goldfish at home, swimming in endless circles, never remembering it had seen the same plastic castle a thousand times before. At least the fish had an excuse.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"Sorry?" Marcus's laugh was dry now. "I invited you to dinner six times this month, Elena. You said you were working late. What were you really doing?"

She couldn't answer. The rain washed away her excuse before she could form it.