The Fox's Lunch Break

The bull sat across from her in the conference room, a man so thoroughly convinced of his own magnificence that Marina suspected he practiced his speeches in the mirror. He was droning on about quarterly projections and synergy and something about taking the company to the next level.

Marina adjusted her hat—a felt cloche she'd bought on impulse yesterday, hoping it might somehow transform her into someone who didn't hate her life. Her hair underneath was starting to feel matted from hours of nervous touching. At thirty-seven, she was too old for impostor syndrome, yet here she was.

"Are you even listening?" His voice cut through her thoughts.

"Every word," she lied. She'd learned to be fox-like in this place: small, quick, adaptable. Slip through the cracks. Don't make yourself a target until you're ready to strike.

He narrowed his eyes. "You've been distant lately."

"I've been focusing on the merger."

"Good. Because we need you." He leaned forward. "There's talk of restructuring. I want to make sure you're on the right side of it."

The right side. The way he said it made it sound like a threat, but she knew better. It was an invitation. A test.

She bought a papaya on her lunch break. She'd never eaten one before—her mother had called them extravagant, the kind of thing people with money bought to feel sophisticated. Marina sliced it open in the breakroom, revealing the bright orange flesh and black seeds that looked like something alien, something beautiful and strange.

Her assistant walked in. "What is that?"

"A papaya," she said. "Want some?"

The girl hesitated, then shook her head. "I don't think I'd like it."

"Neither did I." But she took a bite anyway—sweet, slightly musky, nothing like she expected. Like realizing you've been living your father's life instead of your own.

That afternoon, she forwarded her résumé to three competitors. Not to the bull's company. Not to his enemies. Just away.

She kept the hat. She was starting to like the way it made her feel—like someone who could leave. Like someone who already had.