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B ess stared at the fresh stack of manila folders that had materialized on her desk while she had been in the bathroom. Her stomach sank as she recognized her boss’s distinctive sticky note on top with his messy scrawl: “Need these processed by EOD. -Martin”

Her fingers hovered over her phone where a text from her friend Alicia glowed: Still on for tonight? Jake’s friend is super excited to meet you!

“Not again,” Bess whispered, flipping through the stack of manila folders. At least thirty claims, each requiring meticulous review. The blind date she had been looking forward to all week slipped away like sand through her fingers.

Martin chose that precise moment to stroll by her office with his coffee in hand. “Ah, Campos, you saw the Hendricks accounts. They’re high-priority clients.”

“But I already have the Westfield portfolio due today,” Bess said, gesturing to the equally intimidating stack she had been working through since early morning.

“That’s why I brought these to you.” Martin’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Nobody else has your attention to detail. And the quarterly review meeting is next week. This could really strengthen your promotion case.”

The dangled carrot. Always the carrot.

“Right. Of course.” Bess forced a smile as Martin walked away.

Her fingers typed out the inevitable reply to Alicia: Have to cancel. Work emergency. Again. I’m so sorry!

Alicia’s response came almost instantly: Bess! That’s the third time this month! Your vagina is going to grow cobwebs!

Bess snorted despite herself. Her cheeks flushed hot as she typed: Better than getting fired. Rain check?

She set her phone face-down and pulled the first folder from the stack. Through the window beside her desk, she could see people heading home for the weekend. They were laughing and chatting animatedly, probably planning Friday evenings full of fun and perhaps even romance. Meanwhile, her “big night” would involve the humming fluorescent lights and the janitor’s vacuum cleaner as background music.

“Jake’s friend would have been perfect for you,” said the little voice in her head. “Remember what his profile said? Engineer, loves hiking, six-foot-two...”

Bess shook away the thought and focused on the claim in front of her. As the office emptied, the quiet settled around her like a familiar blanket. By seven o’clock, she was the only one left on the floor.

“There goes another Friday night,” Bess muttered, stretching her arms above her head. Her body ached from sitting too long.

She opened her desk drawer and pulled out the emergency chocolate she kept for nights like this. As she unwrapped it, her phone lit up with another message from Alicia: Just FYI, Jake’s friend has forearms like a Greek god and apparently knows how to make a mean breakfast.

Bess groaned and let her head fall to her desk with a soft thud. “Fantastic. Just what I needed to know right now.”

The clock on her computer read 7:23 PM. The stack of completed claims was growing, but she still had hours to go. Another night of dedication to a job that demanded everything and returned just enough to keep her coming back.

At 10 PM, Bess finally called it a day. The night air felt cool and refreshing on her skin compared to the stale office atmosphere. Her heels clicked a lonely rhythm against the sidewalk as she fumbled with her phone, dialing Martin’s number. Three blocks to her apartment, and she could finally collapse into bed.

“Martin? It’s Bess.” She shifted her purse to her other shoulder, wincing at the ache in her neck. “I finished processing all the Hendricks claims. They’re ready for your review.”

“What about the Westfield portfolio?” Martin’s voice came through sharp and clear as if he’d been waiting for her call.

Bess’s steps faltered. The streetlight above cast harsh shadows across her pale face. “I... had to put those aside to finish the Hendricks claims. You said those were the priority.”

“I never said to neglect existing commitments, Campos.” His voice took on that patronizing tone she had grown to dread. “The Westfield portfolio was supposed to be submitted today as well. Do you know how this makes us look?”

A lump formed in her throat. “You gave me thirty new cases at four in the afternoon.”

“I expect better time management from someone who wants that promotion.”

Bess stopped walking entirely, her free hand balling into a fist. The night breeze tossed her wavy brown hair across her face as another group of laughing thirty-somethings passed her, headed for the bars and clubs that lined the next street over. Their carefree existence felt like something from another universe.

“I stayed late tonight finishing what you asked me to do.” Her voice came out smaller than she intended.

“And I appreciate that dedication, but results matter. I need you to come in this weekend and finish the Westfield portfolio. No excuses.”

The unfairness of it all crashed over her. Three years of canceled plans, of working through lunch breaks, and of being the first one in and the last one out. Three years of “almost” getting that promotion.

“I can’t keep doing this, Martin. I?—”

“This attitude isn’t helping your case for that promotion, Bess,” he cut her off abruptly. “I expect you in the office tomorrow, nine sharp.”

The call ended with a click that felt more like a slap. Bess lowered her phone and tucked it into her purse as her vision blurred with tears.

A soft cough made her look up.

A petite older woman stood a few feet away, her white hair gleaming under the streetlamp. Her blue eyes, lined with the wisdom of decades, held an unexpected warmth. She wore an elegant burgundy coat despite the mild evening, and something about her bearing suggested old wealth and older secrets.

Bess quickly wiped at her eyes, mortified that a stranger had witnessed her professional humiliation. The woman’s gaze didn’t waver, neither judging nor pitying, but something more... evaluative.

Heat crept up Bess’s neck under the scrutiny. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, suddenly aware of how disheveled she must look after fourteen hours at her desk.

The woman tilted her head, her eyes sparkling in the lamplight. “You look like someone who could really use a stiff drink,” she said, her voice carrying the confidence of someone who knew things—important things. “I’m Gerri Wilder, by the way.”

She extended a manicured hand, her nails painted a perfect burgundy that matched her coat and the designer handbag hanging from her elbow.

Bess hesitated, then accepted the handshake. The woman’s grip was surprisingly strong for someone who couldn’t be more than five feet tall.

“Bess Campos,” she replied automatically, wondering why she was engaging with a total stranger. But something about Gerri’s presence felt... reassuring. “And honestly, a drink sounds amazing, but I should probably eat first. I haven’t had anything since...” She tried to remember when she had eaten last. The granola bar at her desk around noon?

“Darling, you’re practically fading away in front of me,” Gerri remarked knowingly. Her gaze raked over Bess with an intensity that felt almost physical. “I know a fantastic restaurant just around the corner. Best risotto in the city, and they make a martini that’ll make your toes curl.”

The way she said “curl” sent a strange tingle down Bess’s spine. Alarm bells should have been ringing. Following a stranger to a restaurant after dark wasn’t exactly Safety 101. But Gerri Wilder seemed more likely to arm-wrestle any potential threats into submission than pose one herself.