Reply to Martin

Emily hesitated, her cursor blinking in the reply field like it was waiting for her to make a decision she couldn’t take back.

It had been a while since she’d dealt with Martin. She remembered his emails during her pregnancy—mostly “jokes” about hormones and how big she was getting, always ending with a winky face or some “harmless” comment about how motherhood made women glow. She’d laughed them off then. Sort of.

Now, on her first day back, seeing his name in her inbox again gave her that same squirming, skin-prickling feeling. But part of her didn’t want to react like she used to. She was sharper now. Tired, yes—but less patient with bullshit. Still, keeping the peace came easy. Easier than making a scene.

She began to type.

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Reply to: Martin Belkin

Subject: RE: Welcome Back ;)

Hi Martin,

Thanks for the warm welcome (sort of!). I’ll swing by HR after lunch, if that works for you. Not sure how thrilling this paperwork is going to be, but I’m happy to get it out of the way.

And donuts? Dangerous. I’m trying to fit into pants that aren’t made of elastic these days.

See you later,
–Emily

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She read the message twice before hitting send. Light, friendly, firm. Just enough polish to keep it from sounding defensive, but flirty enough to defuse him without giving too much ground.

The mention of her pants made her wince after she sent it. Too personal?

Still… it was just Martin. If she kept things breezy, he wouldn’t push. Probably.

She glanced back at Eric’s email—the offer of real coffee, the way he’d looked at her this morning, like he hadn’t expected her to look the way she did.

Maybe she hadn’t either.

Another ping.

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Email from: Martin Belkin
Subject: Perfect. Come alone.

After lunch is great. I’ll block out the room.

No worries, it’s quick stuff. Just a few signature updates, payroll confirmations, maybe some return-to-work policy things. I’ll walk you through it.

You’ll want to come to my office, not the main desk. Room’s quieter. We won’t get interrupted.

Looking forward to catching up, Emily.

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Her hand hovered over the mouse.

"We won’t get interrupted."

She was probably reading too much into it. Probably.

Still, she felt that old nervous energy again—part instinct, part heat. Something was stirring under the surface of this day, and she wasn’t sure yet if it was a warning… or a thrill.