sn't a project deadline, it was an end date. My end date. After eight years, I was finally

ver my cubicle wall, a skeptical smile on her face.

firm than I felt. "Two weeks.

ve been saying you're going to leave for the la

had poured everything into this firm, into architecture. I told mys

dence. I gave up a scholarship to study art history in Florence for this job, for a chance to work near him. I worked grueling hours, took

was walking down the aisle. His face was a mask of stoicism, but his eyes, sharp and critical, swep

"The schematics for the waterfront project

ghtening. "I'm just making final adjustmen

. The interaction was typical, a stark reminder of m

t who had joined only six months ago, walked up to Mr. Henderson. She hel

again, so I brought you a black coffee, just how

touched Mr. Henderson' s lips. "Than

e showed her was something I had craved for years. It wasn't Mr. Henderson I wanted it from, b

been warm, but he had been protective, shutting the man down with a few precise, cutting words. "Miller's design is sound. Don't was

hing at something Emily was showing him on her computer screen. He looked at her with an unguarded warmth I had never received, a look that wasn't fo

in and tight. Two weeks. Fourteen days u