I knew the first day he walked through the glass doors.
Damien Vale. New CEO. Thirty-four, clean-shaven, tailored navy suit that sat on his shoulders like it had been cut that morning. Wedding ring thick and bright on his left hand. He shook every hand on the floor with the same short, firm grip straight men use when they want to prove they’re solid. When he reached me his eyes flicked once—quick, assessing—over my face, my mouth, the open collar of my shirt, then moved on. I smiled like nothing had registered and filed the half-second away.
Spaghetti stays straight until the water gets hot enough. I decided I was going to be the water.
For fourteen days I watched. I learned he takes his coffee black and finishes the cup before the meeting starts. I learned he loosens his tie the second
