The Merger

Marcus pressed his palm against the cold glass of the thirty-fifth floor window, watching the city sprawl beneath him like a dying organism. At forty-five, he'd expected more than this corner office and a ulcer that flared up during board meetings.

"You missed the deadline," Sarah said, not looking up from her phone as she lounged on his leather sofa. She was twenty-four, fierce, and currently sleeping with his rival. "The spinach artichoke dip is cold."

"The merger isn't about appetizers, Sarah."

"Everything's about appetizers when you're hungry." She finally looked at him, her fox-like grin predatory and knowing. "Your dog died, didn't he? That's why you're late."

Marcus had forgotten he'd told her about Buster. The old retriever had been his last connection to something resembling genuine affection. "Buster was fifteen. It was time."

"Was it?" Sarah sat up, her corporate armor cracking for a moment. "Or was he just the last thing in your life that didn't require a performance review?"

The question hung between them, heavier than any acquisition contract. Marcus watched his reflection in the glass — tired eyes, expensive suit, the hollow confidence of a man who'd forgotten what he'd traded away to get here.

"The deal closes at midnight," he said, turning back to the window. Below, the city lights flickered like dying stars.

"You still have time," Sarah said softly. "To not do this."

Marcus's phone buzzed. His wife. He'd forgotten to call about dinner. His palm left a condensation print on the glass as he turned away from the view that had meant everything to him three hours ago.

"Order fresh spinach dip," he said. "I'll be home by midnight."

Sarah's fox grin returned, but something had shifted behind it. "Whatever you say, boss."

The elevator ride down took forever. Outside, a stray dog watched him from across the street, its eyes holding more wisdom than thirty-five floors of corner offices combined.