The Last Salad

Elena stared at her desk, where a solitary lunch box sat unopened. Inside: a spinach salad she'd packed that morning, back when she still had hope for this day. Now, at 7 PM, the wilted greens felt like a metaphor for her career at Sterling & Chase.

'You're still here?'

She didn't turn around. Marcus. His voice always had that irritating note of surprise, as if her existence in the office past six was some personal affront to his work-life balance philosophy.

'The Andersen merger,' she said, not looking up from her screen. 'Someone has to make sure the numbers actually add up.'

A heavy sigh. The rustle of fabric as he leaned against her filing cabinet. His cologne—something with orange and sandalwood—drifted over, annoyingly pleasant.

'You know, you could just... let it fail.' His voice dropped. 'Might be the only way anyone notices this department is drowning.'

Elena turned then. Marcus's palm was pressed against the wall beside her head, not touching her, but the proximity was deliberate. Intimate. Inappropriate. Not unwelcome.

'Thirty people's jobs depend on this merger,' she said.

'Thirty miserable people who haven't seen their families in three months.' He stepped closer. 'Including you.'

The orange note of his cologne deepened as he moved into her personal space. Elena's heart rate picked up against all professional judgment. They'd been dancing around this for six months—since the Christmas party, since his divorce papers were filed, since she'd stopped wearing her wedding ring after Richard left.

'I need this job, Marcus.'

'What do you need?' His voice dropped to a whisper. 'Actually need, El?'

She stood, and the space between them vanished. His palm found her waist, warm through her silk blouse. The spinach salad sat forgotten on her desk as his other hand came up to cradle her face. His thumb traced her jawline.

'I haven't eaten since breakfast,' she murmured, but she wasn't talking about food anymore.

'Neither have I.' His mouth found hers, hungry and desperate. The merger documents scattered as he lifted her onto the desk. The spinach container toppled, greens spilling across the floor like confetti at some terrible celebration.

Later, they'd have to face the reality of office politics and ruined careers. But here, in the dark with orange peel scent on their skin and spinach underfoot, Elena finally felt something real.