The Conference Room

You arrive at Conference Room B a few minutes after six. The office floor behind you is already half empty. Cheryl is already seated at the table, folder open, posture rigid. She does not look up when you close the door.

The moment the latch clicks she starts speaking, voice tight and controlled.

“I cannot believe you. With the volume of work still outstanding and the client presentation three days away you disappear into a stairwell in the middle of the afternoon. The timeline is already tight. Every hour counts. And you decide that is the moment to waste time.”

She turns a page in the folder with more force than necessary.

“You are both married. That fact seems to have escaped you completely. I walked in on two married people behaving like the rest of the company and their own homes do not exist. The lack of judgement is staggering. Especially from someone who is supposed to be focused on closing the gap in these numbers before Friday.”

Her tone stays professional on the surface, full of outrage about deadlines and propriety, yet every sentence carries an undercurrent that has nothing to do with spreadsheets. The way her eyes flick to your face and away again, the faint colour high on her cheeks, the rigid set of her shoulders all point to something sharper and more personal. Veiled jealousy sits underneath the scolding, the knowledge that she found you inside Ruby still fresh and clearly unfinished for her.

She finally looks at you properly, waiting for a response, the folder of projections lying open between you like a prop she is only half interested in.