The Fine Print

Zahra

My mom always warned me about stranger danger. But she also taught me to be kind to everyone, so I’m dealing with conflicting advice at the moment. 

Would Rowan really give my number to someone dangerous? No way. 

Okay, well maybe. But I would sure hope he wouldn’t.  

I make a conscious decision to keep texting Scott and see where our conversation goes. It’s not like it’s much of a chore. And after everything I messaged him last night, I expected him to run for the hills. And that’s saying something because Florida is one of the flattest states in the entire US. 

At least he came back. 

Even I was surprised at that. According to my mom, I have the subtlety of a lightning bolt and the personality of a firework. She told me it would take an equally strong man to appreciate that kind of force of nature. 

Still waiting, Mom. I’m not sure where I’m supposed to find this strong man but I’ve had zero luck on the dating apps Claire signed me up for. It’s my fault. I’m too much of a dreamer who still believes in fairy tales and the possibility of a duke swooping in and marrying me. 

I drop my head in my hands and sigh. 

“Am I working you too hard?” 

I choke on my intake of breath. Rowan stands in the entryway of my cubicle. He looks…well, damn. Casual Friday looks really fucking good on him. He’s got that country club feel with a designer polo and khaki pants. I wonder what it’s like to have so much money that I could have a collared T-shirt dry-cleaned instead of carrying a spot-corrector pen in every purse I own. Is that how the other half lives? 

I let out another sigh. “No. I didn’t get a lot of sleep last night.”

“Something keeping you up?” The side of his mouth lifts. 

“Don’t start asking me personal questions. I might do something crazy like assume you care about me.” 

“Save the fairy tales for your proposals.”

I grin. “Do you talk about anything besides work?” 

“Why would I? Work is my life.” He looks at me like a scientist with a microscope. 

“That’s sad, Rowan. Even for you.” 

“I don’t see how.” 

“What do you like to do for fun?” 

“People still do things for fun?”

Was that…a joke? If so, his tone could use some work. 

I laugh to encourage more of them. “You need to find a hobby that doesn’t include watching the stock market.” 

“One does not simply ‘watch the stock market.’” 

I roll my eyes. “I can’t believe you said that with a serious face. With the way you act, you’ll end up in a shallow grave before you have your first gray hair because you’re addicted to work.” 

His glare penetrates my faux confidence. “I didn’t ask for your opinion.”

“No. But it’s not like you can fire me for stating an observation.” 

“At least not while you’re my golden ticket.” 

Golden ticket? I don’t think I’ve ever been referenced as something so…special. 

My shoulders sag. How pathetic is that? I set my standards so low after Lance, I’m obsessing over casual compliments from my boss. 

A boss who kissed you like you’ve never been kissed before. 

But my boss nonetheless. 

I wipe away whatever look is on my face. “Is there a reason you came by my office?”

“Is that what we’re calling cubicles the size of my shower nowadays?” 

I flip him off underneath my desk.

“Hiding your hand defeats the intended purpose of such a gesture.”

Why does he talk like he was born drinking breast milk out of a porcelain teacup? And even weirder, why do I enjoy it? 

“My dad taught me that if I don’t have anything nice to say, then I shouldn’t say anything at all.” 

“Shouldn’t that rule extend to offensive gestures?” 

I raise a brow in his direction. “Because you’re the kind of person who gets offended now?” 

His grimace doesn’t match his lit-up eyes. “Your file never mentioned an issue with talking back to authority figures.” 

I perk up. “You’ve been reading up on me.” 

“I tend to research my investments.”  

I know his intention wasn’t to make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside but my heart leaps in my chest anyway. 

We aren’t an investment, my feminist brain calls out. 

But the big grumpy man spends his time researching me, the hopeless romantic calls out in rebuttal. 

I grin to myself. When I look up, I find Rowan staring at me with a pinched expression. “What?” 

He shakes his head. “Nothing.” He turns and exits my shower-sized cubicle, leaving me with a weird feeling that sticks with me for the rest of the day. 

I add the drawing Rowan dropped off yesterday to the last slide of my presentation. He captured everything I dreamed of showing but lacked the talent in executing. 

Today I feel way more nervous about presenting. Despite the amazing mandap drawing Scott did, I’m still unsure about showing off my first idea that doesn’t have Brady Kane’s approval. I could have chosen one of the ideas we brainstormed together but I wanted to test myself. 

Now I’m not too sure if it was the best idea. What if people hate it? 

But Rowan said it was great. 

I roll my shoulders back as I shut my laptop. There’s a reason Rowan sees me as an investment, so maybe it’s time I start acting like one. The worst thing that can happen is Je

So I walk into the conference room with my head held high. 

Rowan’s chair remains empty despite the room filling up with Creators. I take my usual seat at the back of the table where I write notes away from any prying eyes. 

Je

I pull up my PowerPoint and ignore the weird feeling in my chest when my eyes land on Rowan’s empty chair. Why isn’t he here? It’s not like he mentioned anything when he stopped by my cubicle. 

I shake my head and turn on my presenter mode. The excited energy in the room balances the nerves inside of me, and my confidence grows into something stronger. I’m winded by the time I finish. My skin is flushed and the erratic rhythm of my heart has yet to lessen. 

One person clapping turns into the entire room smiling and congratulating me on a job well done. 

All I can do is grin. If this is what believing in myself feels like, I wish I had done it a bit sooner. Before my ideas were stolen and my spirit was crushed. 

I’m done being that woman. From now on, I refuse to let self-doubt get in my way. I’m now Zahra 2.0. The woman who doesn’t give much thought to the past because I’m only facing my future. 

Lance might have stolen my first idea but it’s most certainly not my last, and everyone’s response tells me that the only one I need to prove something to is myself. 

Claire barrels into me the moment I open the door to our apartment. “Zahra!” Her arms wrap around me and she starts bouncing up and down. 

“What?!” 

“I got a job!” 

“Really?! At The Royal Chateau?” Holy shit. I know Claire’s talented but wow.