Leah was already half-packed for the evening when her phone buzzed. She frowned at the screen—an unfamiliar number. She hesitated before answering, thumb hovering over the green icon.
"Hello?"
"Leah?" The voice was calm, measured, unmistakably Adrian.
She straightened in her chair, a small thrill of surprise coursing through her. "Yes… sir?" Her voice carried more curiosity than formality, even though she tried to keep it even.
"I needed to clarify a few details on the audit." His tone was purely professional, yet there was a weight to it—something that hinted at the hours he had spent reviewing numbers.
"Of course. I have the files open."
There was a brief pause, the faint scratch of paper audible through the line. Leah realized he had probably returned to his office. The thought made her pulse quicken—odd, irrational, and yet impossible to ignore.
"I wanted to make sure you didn't miss the revised projections from the Henderson account," he said. "There's a discrepancy in the third quarter totals, and it's subtle. Most people overlook it."
"I noticed that," she said quickly, not wanting him to think she had ignored the detail. "I corrected it in the preliminary summary."
A quiet chuckle came through the speaker, low and almost amused. "You're thorough. That's why I trust your judgment."
Leah felt her cheeks warm despite the phone between them. "Thank you, sir."
The line went silent for a beat, longer than necessary, and she sensed it wasn't the numbers he was focusing on anymore. She tried to push the thought away, but her chest tightened slightly.
"Are you staying late again?" he asked suddenly, his tone softening—careful, but not unnoticeable.
"I… I like to finish while the office is quiet," she admitted. "It helps me concentrate."
There was another pause. Then, unexpectedly, Adrian's voice dropped almost to a whisper. "Don't forget to take care of yourself. Work isn't everything."
Leah's fingers tightened around her phone. She wanted to say something clever, something casual, but the words stuck. "I… I'll try."
Another quiet pause, and then a subtle shift in the conversation. He asked about minor numbers, projections, deadlines—but she couldn't focus entirely on them. Every sentence, every pause, carried an undertone she wasn't used to. Care. Concern. Something human, beneath the corporate exterior.
"You're doing well," he said finally. "Don't let anyone make you doubt that."
"I—thank you," she whispered, almost to herself.
The line went quiet for a moment. Then, with a calm decisiveness, he ended the call. "I'll review your summary tomorrow. Good night, Leah."
"Good night, sir," she replied, but didn't hang up immediately. Her thumb lingered on the red icon, a reluctant goodbye to the faint warmth his words had left behind.
After she finally set the phone down, Leah sank into her chair, letting the quiet office wash over her. The city outside moved on, oblivious to the small, charged moment she had just lived. But inside, the space between spreadsheets and conference calls had stretched, softened by a few words and a tone that carried more than numbers ever could.
She smiled faintly, realizing that work wasn't the only thing keeping her at the office lately. The unspoken acknowledgment, the careful attention, the subtle hints of care—those were equally, if not more, compelling.
And she had no idea what tomorrow would bring.