Friday, September 30th
Theodore had never been so eager for lunch break.
The morning had been filled with the usual tedium: email reminders for upcoming meetings, budget approval requests for various projects, general employee reviews, and an HR complaint about an “inappropriate joke” made by an editor during one of the meetings. His back ached, his long legs were begging to be released from the cramped compartment under his desk, and his stomach was beginning to gnaw at him angrily. Beyond all these discomforts, however, was Theodore’s insatiable desire to check in on Miss Lee’s writing progress. He had been thinking about it all day, without a single opportunity to speak to her about it. More than once he had accidentally referred to an article as a “chapter,” and had to correct himself.
Theodore sighed and glanced down at his watch. Ten till noon. Wonderful. All he needed to do was finish drafting a memo about fact-checking policies after a minor error in last week’s paper, and he could take his leave for lunch. He expected Miss Lee would eat with him in the main area, and they could discuss her headway with the project.
“Knock, knock,” sang a low, feminine voice. Theodore stiffened.
His office door slowly swung open, and a woman peered in with a smile on her red lips. She was tall and graceful, with a smart business suit, and she held some thin folders in her hands.
“Miss Fox,” he said, masking his surprise. “I don’t recall scheduling a meeting.”
The woman gave a careless little laugh, and Theodore barely suppressed the jolt that ran through him as she snapped the door shut behind her.
“I thought I would stop by and submit the report early,” she said as she walked towards him, her short black hair swishing. Theodore checked his watch. Technically the break didn’t start for another few minutes, but it was highly unprofessional to invite oneself into the CEO’s office unannounced.
“I see,” he said shortly.
Melissa stopped in front of his desk and held out one of the folders. He tried to ignore her perfectly manicured red nails, and took it. But it was harder to ignore the feeling of her staring at him as he skimmed over the pages. When he felt an adequate amount of time had elapsed, he opened one of his desk drawers and slid the file into the appropriate slot.
“Thank you, Miss Fox,” he said, closing the drawer and finding something else in front of him to look at.
“Always with the formalities,” she teased. “Doesn’t it get tiring?”
Theodore swallowed. Do not engage. “Unless you have something else you’d like to bring to my attention—”
“Ah! Thank you for reminding me,” she said, opening the other folder and sliding some papers to him. “I have some article ideas I’d like to discuss with you. I really think moving my position to the journalism department could drastically improve our readership.”
Theodore steeled himself, though he couldn’t quite bring himself to look at her. “Now is really not the time, Miss Fox. It’s lunch break.”
“Well, what perfect timing!” Melissa said smoothly. “Why don’t we talk over a meal?”
“I don’t do business on breaks,” Theodore lied.
“I didn’t say we’d be talking about business,” Melissa said coyly.
He wanted to look her in the eyes and tell her that he would rather eat lunch with a starving bear than eat lunch with her. Instead he lined up his pens evenly on the desk.
“I… have a previous engagement,” he said with uncertainty.
Melissa gave a short hum, as though she was surprised at his being busy, and for the first time since she walked over to him, Theodore looked at her. With only a table’s width between them, it was easier to see the makeup powdered on her face—her attempts to conceal the faint lines around her mouth and across her forehead. Smokey eyeshadow framed her dark, almond-shaped eyes… it was eerie how similar they were…
“Well, there’s always tomorrow,” she broke in, almost cheerily. She stood up and began to leave, but stopped halfway to the door. Theodore’s heart lurched into his throat.
“Silly me,” Melissa said softly. Heels clicked against the floor and he watched her shadow inch over his desk. “I almost forgot.”
He looked up to see her with a hand on the edge of the table. His own flexed uncomfortably beneath the desk, fingers digging into the fabric of his suit.
“Miss Fox?” he said, a knot forming in his gut. “Is there something else you need?”
She stood over him for a moment, silent, before leaning in slightly and grinning.
“The article.”
Theodore nodded. “Right.” He gestured for her to take the papers. She leaned over the desk, her silky hair swaying, and picked up the stack, rifling through them quickly, as though checking for something. The top two buttons of her blouse were undone. The knot in his gut tightened, and Theodore turned away, growing impatient.
“Will that be all, Miss Fox?”
She flashed him a red-lipped smile. “For now—Mister Theodore.”
Even after the last sound of her retreating footsteps had faded, Theodore remained in his seat, his eyes glazed over, his hand clutching the hem of his jacket. He might have stayed there much longer, but for the unearthly growls that emanated from his stomach.
Unable to withstand the hunger pains, and now desperately seeking to rid his mind of the interaction he had just undergone, he stood up and left his office, walking briskly down the hall to the main area. It was a few minutes past noon now, and Miss Lee was most likely enjoying her meal.
After several quick scans of the room, he realised he had assumed incorrectly. The young woman was nowhere to be seen. Surely she wasn’t still in her office? She had been so punctual about breaks before. He frowned and walked over to the desk.
“Alexandra, did Miss Lee leave for her lunch break?”
Alexandra looked up from her sandwich and shook her head.
Unless Miss Lee possessed the unusual ability to disappear completely, he concluded that she must still be in her office. He made his way over to it and knocked on the door. There was no response. He knocked again.
“Miss Lee?”
He strained his ears but still heard nothing. Now he was slightly concerned. He knocked once more, but after several moments it was clear she would not answer. He eased the door open, peering in somewhat cautiously.
The door swung on its own as Theodore stood and stared.
The curtains were nearly fully drawn, casting moody shadows in the warm room. The woodwick candle on the desk was lit, flickering light adding a cosy warmth to the office as it crackled. Sticky notes of various colours covered the walls in seemingly haphazard patterns, some sideways and others stuck upside down. Behind her desk, Birdie paced agitatedly back and forth, muttering to herself as she scrawled more sticky notes with her fountain pen. A clip kept half her hair up, and when she tucked a stray lock behind her ear, a white earbud stuck out. She hummed song lyrics quietly, too engrossed in her thoughts to notice Mr Atlas standing there.
Theodore stared, unsure of how to react. Was this always how she worked? Or had the shock of the sudden transition caused her to snap? He searched his mind, trying to find an appropriate response, but all he could do was stand there with his eyes wide, wondering what on earth was going on.
Birdie took three more sticky notes and turned to paste them up on the wall when she was met with the sight of her thoroughly perplexed boss. She jolted, tripped on her feet, and disappeared behind her desk with a yelp.
Theodore broke from the trance and rushed over to her. “Miss Lee!”
She hurriedly leapt herself back to her feet, smoothing out her skirt. “Mr Atlas.” Her face burned, and she cleared her throat in an attempt to regain some composure. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
He coughed into his fist and looked around. “Erm… what is all this?”
Birdie glanced around the room, realising how odd it must look— but he didn’t have to know that. “Plot points,” she said with the most nonchalant tone she could muster. “I wrote out every one I could think of to try and make sense of it.”
“And has it?”
A beat of silence passed between them. “…no.” She huffed, embarrassment quickly forgotten in the frustration towards her troublesome story. “Something is missing, and for the love of Arashi, I can’t figure out what it is!” Birdie began to pace again, gaze flicking around at all the colourful notes, hands on her hips. “It’s as though I have a massive jigsaw puzzle, but I’ve somehow managed to lose a corner piece.”
Someone walked past the door and Theodore panicked, glancing behind him. His heart rate slowed. It wasn’t Miss Fox. He turned back, impatience and the edge of fear catching up to him.
“Well, lunch break started a quarter of an hour ago,” he said firmly. “It’s time to take a break.”
“I’ve already had lunch.” She waved vaguely to her desk, where an apple core lay on the corner.
Theodore looked at the apple core, then back to her, incredulity marking his expression. “That’s hardly enough to feed an actual bird, Miss Lee. You need a full meal.”
Birdie cast a sidelong look at Theodore at his play on her name, a touch of annoyance smoldering in her bright green eyes. She looked to the door, then back at the notes pasted around the room, and a growing anxiety twisted around her stomach. “Later; I must finish this first.” Perhaps once she had found that missing jigsaw piece, the knot in her chest would unravel and it would be easier to enjoy a meal.
He slowly raised his eyebrows. “Just step out and grab something from the dining section. Unless… you don’t like the food here?”
She waved a hand dismissively again, a touch of irritableness to the gesture. “The food here is fine, just not at this moment. As I said— I will eat once I’ve finished with this.”
“Lunch break is from noon to one-thirty, Miss Lee, and the work day doesn’t end until five. Have you even had breakfast?”
Birdie opened her mouth, then closed it, thinking back on her frenzied morning. She had been running late, with only enough time to grab something quick— she cast him a sidelong look, a suspicious turn to her brow. “Why are you so interested in my eating habits, Mr Atlas?”
“You can’t write on an empty stomach,” he responded. “Trust me, I know.”
“I’ll make sure to grab something from the café,” Birdie insisted absently as she replaced her earbud.
Theodore’s stomach grumbled again. He really needed to eat. But he didn’t want to risk being caught by Melissa again while eating lunch in the main area. He also was not thrilled at the idea of having waited all morning for a chance to speak to Miss Lee about her progress... but looking at the state of her office, perhaps that wouldn’t be the best idea. She seemed frustrated. An old phrase floated back to him. Even the press needs a pause. Godfrey had often said it when he saw Theodore overworking himself. He felt a little pang and watched her for a few moments, lingering over his next decision.
He drew out his phone. “Blaise? Yes, I need you to draw up to the front of the building. Thank you.”
He hung up and held the door open. “Miss Lee.”
“Hm?” She turned a bit, though her eyes remained on the work splayed before her.
“The cafe. We’re leaving now.” He looked at her expectantly, and she stared back, confused.
“...The cafe?”
Theodore gave a soft sigh. “Yes, Miss Lee. The cafe. It’s lunch break. You said you were going to grab something from the cafe. Let’s go.”
Birdie looked around at the wallpaper of sticky notes as she debated with herself, shoulders slumping with a sigh of her own. She was stuck, well and truly stuck. Perhaps a change of pace would wring some inspiration from her mind. “Alright. You may have a point, but you shouldn’t accompany me.” For one, it felt unprofessional. Birdie hurried to stuff her journal and pen inside a small bag, along with her wallet and apartment key. “You have a meeting with the papers’ investors in twenty minutes, remember?”
Blast. His mouth moved before his brain. “No, I don’t.”
“You don’t?” She searched his blue eyes as if they would contain answers– he almost sounded guilty. What on earth was going on with him lately? “Did they cancel?” Before the words left her mouth, she somehow understood that would not be his excuse.
“I’m having Julian handle it,” he said quickly, trying to discreetly text Mr Peterson.
She raised a brow incredulously. “You didn’t forget, did you?”
Theodore sent his message without looking at it and shoved the phone into his pocket. “Of course not,” he said. “I just… didn’t want to attend.”
…He forgot. Birdie’s expression did not change, a flicker of confusion mingled with annoyance crossing her eyes. For one, that was the poorest excuse she had ever heard. For another… It was entirely out of character for Mr Atlas to simply forget an important meeting, and even more so to send someone else in his stead, even if it was someone as capable as Julian. Her gaze flicked to the pocket he shoved his phone in. He was hardly discreet. Julian was perhaps the only one with an actual photo on Mr Atlas’ contacts list. “Are you well, sir?”
“I’m hungry,” he said, a slight severity to his tone. “And I don’t like to be kept waiting.”
Birdie tapped the side of her bag anxiously with her finger. Mr Atlas was clearly on edge… yet still, her words slipped past before she could wrangle them back. “I do not recall asking to have lunch with you. I can handle it on my own.” She twisted the silver ring on her finger, a weary edge to her posture, and dark rings under her eyes obscured with a layer of makeup and her typical warm eyeshadow. Still, late nights were drawn across her face and written into her eyes.
Theodore took a breath. He would have to ask her about her progress tomorrow.
“Miss Lee,” he said, stepping forward, “it seems you have a penchant for turning down good deals. I’m inviting you to a free lunch.”
Her heart sank. In his own odd way, it seemed Mr Atlas was trying to be nice. It was a kind gesture, really… and an unexpected one, too. She ran a hand down her face. “My apologies, sir; I shouldn’t have been so waspish. Lunch would be wonderful.”
Theodore, somewhat mollified, nodded. “Good. Blaise is out front.”
A sleek black car was waiting for them when they exited the building. Theodore pulled the back door open and motioned for her to get in, glancing around warily. Thankfully there weren’t too many people on this side of the street at the moment.
Birdie hesitated. It had been some time since she rode in a car such as this… She climbed inside and settled by the car window.
Theodore slipped inside and shut the door, letting slip a soft sigh of relief. The fellow in the driver’s seat was a thin man with neat brown hair. He glanced in the mirror.
“La Morsure de Cristal, monsieur?” Blaise asked. He had a thick French accent.
“Not today, Blaise. New Moon Cafe.”
If Blaise thought this request was odd, he did not show it, and soon he was manoeuvring around traffic and heading towards the coffee shop. Theodore checked his phone out of habit, and saw to his distress that the text he had sent Julian was nigh unreadable. pleas hndle invest or4s meetting Im outto lunch. Fortunately, Julian had replied. On it, boss. :D Theodore relaxed slightly, though the embarrassment of sending such an unprofessional message still stung.
The silence was deafening. It was nearly impossible to relax in a luxurious car like that. Birdie unbuckled the clasp of her small bag, sliding the journal and pen contained within into her lap. At the very least, writing even nonsense would be a good distraction from the awkwardness of their situation. As expected, more questions without answers were scrawled across the page, going in circles over circles. Somehow, the car drive felt far longer than walking, and Birdie couldn’t tell if it was because Mr Atlas was sitting next to her or because the pages in the journal were filled with empty space.
“Put that away.”
A blot spread across the page, and by the grace of a thread managed to keep back an irritated grumble. “My journal, sir?” she asked sceptically.
Theodore hadn’t looked up from his phone. “What else?”
“You realise if I am to make steady progress, I should be dusting off my old habits, yes?” Sitting in front of the computer today, with only that little black line blinking at her, had made her painfully aware of how long it had been since words were her friends.
Theodore turned his head to look at her. “It’s called a break for a reason, Miss Lee.”
“I suppose so…” Birdie reluctantly tied the leather strap around the cover and slid it back inside her bag, twisting her ring for something to occupy her hands. It didn’t seem he would be giving up on that notion anytime soon.
The car slowed to a stop. “Shall I wait in ze parking lot, monsieur?”
Theodore waved his hand. “Just be here by one-fifteen.” He stepped out of the car and opened the door on Birdie’s side, taking in the shop and the buildings around it. It was unfamiliar to him, but it had a quaint sort of feeling.
Birdie slid out of her seat, heels clicking against the pavement, and waved in a friendly manner to the chauffeur. “Thank you for taking us, sir.”
Blaise merely nodded before driving off.
The New Moon Cafe was nestled between a jewellers and antique shop. A hand-painted sign hung from the side of the cafe and swayed in the slight autumn breeze. The windows were round, with black rims framed by the red brick walls of the cafe. A smile tugged at Birdie’s lips, the knot of anxiety loosening at the sight of the familiar environment. She opened the door, a little bell ringing.
Theodore followed and looked around. Inside, circular tables under hanging lights were scattered about, creating a windy pathway up to the counter. A chalk blackboard laid out the menu in spidery handwriting. The ceiling was tall, rafters in full view and hung with fairy lights. Shelves on the walls were packed with little sculptures, jars of dried herbs, crystals and shells. Soft conversation drifted around the shop from patrons seated at the tables, silver utensils clinking against china. Several stared at Theodore as he entered and whispered among themselves, attempting to inconspicuously point him out to their company. It seemed the clientele here were not fringe enough, and had indeed recognised him. He wished he had brought a hat.
Birdie paid no notice to the seated patrons, her focus on the elderly woman bustling about behind the counter. Her footsteps were languid as she approached. “Er… Hullo, Greta.”
The woman turned around, and put her hands on her hips. “If it isn’t Miss Birdie Lee. Finally come back to visit, have you?” Despite her words, the woman’s tone was quite warm, and her eyes shone. “I’ve missed seeing you here, dearie.”
Relief seemed to wash over her, tension easing from her shoulders. “You as well, Mrs Bell. I’m sorry it’s been so long—”
Greta shook her head. “Nevermind that, dear. You’re here now and I’m happy to see yous around here again. Tomato soup, grilled cheese, and hot chocolate, I presume?”
Birdie nodded with a soft laugh. “You remember.”
“Of course I do, who do you take me for?” Her brows drew together and she waved a pen scoldingly at Birdie, insulted by the very idea that her memory could be so slippery. “Your friend here is new.”
“Oh yes— this is my boss, Mr Atlas.”
“And what would he like?”
He turned sharply. “Ah. Right.” He squinted up at the menu, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He bent down to Birdie. “What would you recommend?”
Birdie blinked, caught off guard by his asking her. Though, she was more familiar with the place. “Oh– the chicken noodle soup is rather good.”
“Well, then, I’ll have that,” he said, without really thinking about it. He felt rather out of place here. But it wasn’t exactly unpleasant. It almost felt as though he’d walked in on someone else’s family reunion. A kind of home.
“Of course, dear. And would you like anything to drink with that?”
Theodore blinked and focused. “Er—iced black coffee. Dark roast, if you have any.”
Greta looked to Birdie. “And what name should I put this under?”
“Birdie and Mr Atlas, if you would.”
Always with the formalities. Doesn’t it get tiring? He coughed, trying to shake the memory out of his mind. The last thing he needed was her voice in his ear. Still… for some reason, the accusation made him uncomfortable. “Theodore is fine,” he said stiffly.
She glanced at him, raising her brow at the odd request. Perhaps away from the office he simply wished to keep a low profile. “... just Theodore, then.” It almost felt wrong to use his first name so casually, as though they were familiar with one another. Birdie tapped her finger against her bag, where the journal lay inside. In a professional sense, they were familiar in a way… After all, she had been with the company for nearly a year and worked closely with Mr Atlas for several months of that… yet before he had read her work, she was under the impression he scarcely saw her for more than the job she completed– hardly someone noteworthy.
Greta nodded, writing the names on the cups. “It’ll be twenty-one quid and sixty pence.”
Theodore immediately whipped out his wallet and handed her his card.
“I don’t mind paying–”
“No need,” Theodore said with some indifference. He waited for Greta to ring up the card, and she did so, handing it back with his receipt.
The dismissive manner which Theodore used in paying for her food was a sharp reminder to Birdie of the disparities between them. How strange it was to think that once money had been such a trivial matter in her mind, as her order was now for Theodore.
“Take a seat anywhere you’d like, my dears, I’ll have your order brought out soon,” Greta said.
Theodore scanned the room for an empty table and spotted one in the corner. He pointed it out to Birdie. “Shall we sit there?”
“Yes, that would do.” She led the way, weaving between the tables easily.
He eyed the thin wooden chairs with some doubt, but managed to sit down comfortably. The stained glass shade from the light overhead cast colourful splashes onto the table and walls. Theodore opened his mouth to ask her how the chapter was coming along, and then bitterly remembered his own resolution.
“Do you… often come here for lunch?” He mentally kicked himself at the absolute mediocrity of the question.
“Ah, not terribly often anymore, but I was here almost daily when I first came to the city.” Before her earnings had run dry, and she realised the cost of a daily meal at a cafe.
“I’m surprised they remembered your order,” he remarked.
She hummed a little, her gaze distant. “Greta was always kind to me. She tends to remember most people who visit.” Birdie blinked, her attention returning to present happenings. She tilted her head as one might when inspecting a curiosity. “You know, I don’t believe I’ve spoken with you outside of a professional setting before.”
Theodore felt oddly put on the spot. “Well… there hasn’t been much opportunity.” He took another sip of coffee, wondering why he was defending himself.
She couldn’t help the little huff of laughter that slipped past her lips. “Not much opportunity?”
A young woman with her hair tied into a loose bun set two styrofoam cups on the table. “There you are, a hot chocolate and iced black coffee for–” she halted, doing a double take when she saw who was sitting with Birdie. “For erm, T-Theodore and Birdie. Your food will be here shortly.”
“Thank you,” she said with a smile to the server as she retreated. “It seems you’re rather popular, Mr Atlas.” She sipped at her cup, hiding the almost teasing smile playing at her lips.
“Yes,” he said absentmindedly. What she had said struck him. He realised that having a perfectly ordinary conversation with his employee was, in fact, rather out of the ordinary for him. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had any sort of casual interaction—talking about life things like food and moving. He tilted his head, trying to think of more questions.
“...When did you move here?”
That was a rather odd question to ask. “Hard to say. Time blurs together after a while, don’t you think?”
He gave her a look. “What made you move out here? Where were you before?”
Birdie looked at her boss, considering carefully. She didn’t understand the sudden interest in her life, but perhaps he was simply trying to fill what would otherwise be an awkward silence… although it felt rather like an interrogation. “Wiltshire. I went to a boarding school there. I came here to strike out on my own– forge my own path! If you could believe it,” she muttered, an edge of sarcasm touching her voice. “I wanted… well, to become a writer.” Birdie set her cup down on the table, her eyes distant and a small crease between her brow.
A dull pang flared in Theodore’s chest. He had seen that expression before, years ago, on someone else. He had to remind himself to take a slow breath, and hoped she wouldn’t notice how he’d tensed. It had been so long ago, so why...
“I see,” he said.
The look cleared after a moment, ripples in dark water that cleared for her smile. “I reckon there are easier ways to obtain a background check than to take me for lunch, sir.”
Theodore was about to protest when the waitress returned with their food carried in china bowls. She set them on the table accordingly. “There you are.” She looked between Birdie and Theodore curiously. “I don’t believe I’ve seen you here before, sir.”
“I haven’t been here before,” he responded coolly. He presumed she knew who he was, and wasn’t sure what to expect. The sudden influx of attention after becoming CEO had been overwhelming, and the experiences with “fans” had given him more caution than was perhaps necessary.
“Oh, but you must recognize him from all the magazines, yes?” Birdie grinned, glancing sideways at him as if to see his reaction.
A bit of red rose to the young woman’s face. “Erm… Theodore Atlas, right?”
Theodore gave a polite nod, slightly miffed that Miss Lee had thrown him under the bus so unceremoniously. Those modelling shoots were from years ago—he’d tried to have them buried somehow, but the photographs haunted him to this day.
She inclined her head with a nervous smile, excitement sparking behind her eyes. “A pleasure. Enjoy your food.”
“We’ll be sure to do so, thank you… Kate, is it?” Birdie asked, glancing at her nametag.
“Yes, Kate Pemberly.” Her eyes flicked to Mr Atlas, clearly hoping for some word from him. “If there’s anything more I can do for you, please don’t hesitate to ask.”
“Mr Atlas and I will be sure to do so.” Birdie smiled at her, and the girl seemed happy enough as she turned to wait on the other patrons.
Once she had left the table, Theodore looked down at the soup and it finally sunk in what he had ordered. Chicken noodle soup. He was suppressing a grimace, but then the steam wafted upwards. He raised his eyebrows in surprise; it smelled heavenly. But he suspected it was rather too hot to start eating right away, so he took a sip of his coffee.
Birdie stirred her soup with a silver spoon, gently blowing at the top. Silence stretched between them.
…well, this is awkward.
“I said Theodore was fine.” He was staring out one of the windows, now, the cup still held to his lips.
“Pardon?” That seemed rather out of the blue.
“We’re not in the office now,” he said, setting down the cup. “Besides… ‘Mr Atlas’ is so formal.”
“You’ve never had an issue with formality before– preferred it, even,” Birdie murmured, lifting a spoonful of the rich tomato soup to her mouth. “We’ve worked together for some time, too.” Her tone was far from accustatry, merely softly musing. Had it all changed simply because she was writing now? It seemed an odd reason. Not once had they ever broached a topic even close to personal.
Theodore felt a twinge of guilt, unsure of what to say to that. Miss Lee had been his faithful and hardworking employee for nearly a year now. In the first few months of gaining the company, he had fired at least three meeting recorders. They had been utterly unable to maintain the break-neck pace of the business. But Miss Lee had proven herself to be extremely competent, following him around and keeping track of his various affairs. It was impressive, really. All this time, she’d been working hard at his side, and he hadn’t asked a single question about herself. If he had, he might have learned of her writing prowess earlier… much earlier. Why hadn’t he asked her anything? Why hadn’t he tried to ease some of the formality?
He wrestled with his thoughts for several minutes, but was unable to think of an appropriate response. Defeated, he took a spoonful of soup. His eyes widened a little. It was delicious. He hadn’t expected much when he walked into this little place, but the soup at least packed a punch. Before he knew it, he had finished off the bowl and was sitting back and feeling quite satisfied.
Now that a proper meal was finally placed before her, Birdie was struck by how hungry she truly was, and downed the soup with a ravenous fervor. The wall of sticky notes still weighed on her mind, that one missing puzzle piece nagging at her. She glanced at Theodore’s empty bowl. They should be going soon, now– the thought brought a greater relief than she would have liked to admit. “So, er… I am two thousand or so words into the first chapter. It’s progressing well, I’ve simply hit a minor snag, hence the ah, wall of sticky notes–”
“We’re on break, Miss Lee,” he said firmly, though internally he was kicking himself for not allowing her to continue and give him some news on the project. “You may update me on your progress after one-thirty, not a moment before. Am I clear?”
She propped her elbow on the table, head resting in her hand as she finished off the rest of the grilled cheese, something akin to a pout settled into her eyes. “Apologies… it simply felt a little strange to eat in silence.”
Again, Theodore found himself struggling for words. It seemed Miss Lee had a knack for that. “I… haven’t really been outside of a business setting,” he responded haltingly. “Not in a long time.”
Birdie paused, finally focusing her gaze on him. She had always thought of Theodore Atlas as an immovable, distant force– a typical aristocrat who saw only numbers where there were people, but cunning enough to bring a few decorated individuals into his inner circle– jewels on a crown. Everyone else was merely a means to an end.
Yet now, a filter seemed to fall from his being... His posture was straight, but awkwardly so, and the trim, black suit stood starkly against the more casual garb of the patrons at New Moon. Most striking were his eyes— clear blue as always, yet a hint of nervousness appeared to hide behind them. Perhaps just as she was a stranger to him, he was a painting she had never bothered to examine beyond a first glance.
“Well, it’s—” He checked his watch. “—One-ten, so Blaise should be outside.” He finished the rest of his coffee and stood up.
Birdie rose slowly to her feet, pulling her bag over her shoulder, her gaze still curiously trained to Mr At— to Theodore’s back. Theodore. It was a nice name, really, far warmer than his formal moniker.
He walked out of the cafe to see the black car waiting in front, Blaise standing outside with the back door open. Theodore slid into the car, mindful of his head, and waited for Birdie, who was not far behind him.
He looked out of the window, running a finger over his lip. It had been surprising, this lunch break. Certainly the most interesting he’d had since working as Godfrey’s right hand man. And that was saying something. He wondered if his insistence on prohibiting Birdie from discussing the project had been helpful, or simply foolish.
Birdie sat in silence for a few minutes before speaking, and this time, warmth flickered in her words. “Thank you, Theodore.”
He looked at her, a bit startled. A strange feeling tugged in his gut. He couldn’t remember the last time he had heard his name spoken like that. “For what?”
“For lunch, of course. It was very kind of you.”
Theodore blinked, somewhat taken aback. It took him several moments to regain his composure. He cleared his throat and turned away.
“You can’t work if you’re not rested,” he said, his tone clipped.
She merely laughed then, a soft sound like lilting music notes heard on a summer’s breeze. “I believe you would be right.” Perhaps, like Fathom, there was more to Theodore beyond the face he wore for all to see… the kind of person who would offer lunch to an employee simply to be kind…
She looked out the window of the car, watching the buildings and cars blur by as vague shapes and colours as she twisted her silver ring. The odd, but not unpleasant visit to the cafe played over and again in her mind. His awkward questions, seemingly little attempts to spark— She sat up suddenly. “OH!”
Theodore started. “What?”
Her green eyes shone like emeralds, the previous stress drawn across her face vanishing. “Apologies! I think I’ve finally figured something out–”
He checked his watch, ready to object, and then stopped. “Well, it’s one thirty-one.”
She hastily pulled her bag open, scrawling across the page. “The festival! That’s what I was missing, oh, it was right there!” It didn’t seem to bother her that this would make very little sense without context.
Theodore raised an eyebrow. “Festival?”
“Yes, yes! The festival Liam drags Fathom to— He pretends to despair in being forced there, but of course, his soul is quite lonely. He craves some sort of friendship, and he tries to approach such a thing with Ember, yet he’s completely clueless when it really comes to it…” she rambled.
“So, you found the corner piece.” A knowing smile tugged faintly at his mouth.
Birdie continued to write furiously, looking quite happy with herself. “Yes!” She glanced up then, smiling brightly. “You were right, Theodore. I needed a change of scenery.”
He made a noncommittal noise in his throat and opened his phone again, wondering why he felt so pleased. A change of scenery.
Yes, he thought. I believe I needed that, too.
I LOVE THEM