She watched him work the room, a consummate player, charming and gaslighting his way around a gaggle of women.
He saw her watching him. Pretending to listen to the people around her. Scowling. Muttering. Watching. Who was she?
She knew who he was. It would be interesting to erase that smile.
He inched closer. It would be interesting to make her smile.
She saw him push through the crowd. Now wasn’t the right time. She knew where to find him.
He saw her get up. He had to hurry. He didn’t know who she was.
She waited until he was almost at the bar. Then put her arm around a friend and walked away.
He was two feet away when someone stopped him. He saw her making her way out through the door.
He cursed. Why did he have a bad feeling about this?
She cursed. Why did she have a good feeling about this?
He asked around about the ordinary looking girl who was scowling by the bar. The one with the brightest eyes in the world.
She thought about the good-looking man talking softly to the girls. The one with the emptiest eyes in the world.
He was feeling awful by the time he got home. Why did he have to get drunk? Who was she?
She was wide awake at two in the morning, nibbling a giant chocolate bar. What would she say to him?
He woke up in his chair, his laptop open on his desk, papers everywhere.
She felt the sharp light as she tried to open her eyes. Blurry people everywhere.
He heard someone knock on the door.
She heard someone call her name.
He looked up in surprise. Did you pull another all-nighter, his manager asked. You haven’t been home in two days.
She looked up in surprise. Are you finally awake, her mother asked. You’ve been out of it for a whole week now.
He had worked flat out on the bid. He remembered sending it out before the midnight deadline.
She had picked up the fever in the clinic. She remembered coming home and collapsing on her bed.
He frowned. Who was she?
She smiled. Why him?