The remainder of the day

The next few hours at your desk are tight with tension. Every time footsteps approach your cubicle your shoulders lock, half expecting Cheryl to appear with something worse than her usual sharp comments. She stays on her side of the floor. You catch only one glimpse of her through the glass, posture rigid, face set, refusing to look in your direction.

Ruby keeps her distance as agreed. The easy orbit the two of you normally share is gone. When you risk a glance toward the HR section she is already focused on her screen, expression unreadable from this far away. The memory of her body taking you in the stairwell sits under your skin, vivid and recent, complicated now by the image of Cheryl’s shocked and furious face in the doorway.

Emails go unanswered longer than they should. Numbers blur. You force yourself through the remaining tasks for the client presentation, but concentration frays every time the floor goes quiet or a door opens somewhere behind you. The fluorescent lights feel harsher. The clock moves too slowly. By the time the first people start packing up to leave, the tension has settled into a constant low burn across your shoulders and in the pit of your stomach, the afternoon’s release already overshadowed by the knowledge that Cheryl saw everything and has had hours to decide what to do with it.