Emily looked away first, almost embarrassed that she had laughed. The sound had been small, but in the empty garage it seemed strangely alive. Ryan leaned against the side of his truck, leaving several feet between them. He did not ask why she had been crying. He simply waited.
"47 minutes?" Emily finally asked. "47." "You counted." "I have a 7-year-old daughter.
Being exactly on time is one of the few things she believes separates civilized people from animals. Emily smiled despite herself. Mia, right?" Ryan raised an eyebrow. "You remember her name?"
"Your emergency contact form crossed my desk during the insurance update." She paused. "And you talk about her sometimes." That surprised him more than he showed. At WestBridge, Emily seemed to move through thousands of details without ever slowing down.
Ryan had assumed he was one more name buried somewhere below quarterly reports and executive meetings. A cold breeze moved through the open side of the garage. Emily folded her arms against it. Ryan noticed a paper takeout bag on the passenger seat of his truck. "I have fries," he said.
Emily stared at him. "Fries?" "My date did not show, but the restaurant still believes in feeding rejected people." Another quiet laugh. 5 minutes later, they were sitting on the concrete curb with a respectful space between them, sharing french fries from a paper carton under fluorescent lights.
No assistants. No conference table. No polished speeches. Just salt, cooling potatoes, and two people whose Friday night had gone somewhere neither expected. "He proposed tonight," Emily said suddenly.
Ryan stopped reaching for a fry. She watched the empty lane ahead. "The man I was seeing. He proposed." Ryan waited.
"I said no." "That explains some things." "Does it?" "Most people do not cry in parking garages after saying yes." Emily gave him a sideways look.
"You are unusually calm about hearing your chief executive officer discuss her personal life." "You are unusually willing to discuss it with the facilities operations supervisor." That silenced her for a moment. Then her shoulders lowered. "He had already spoken to two board members before asking me.
He wanted a merger between our families, our networks, our futures. Everything was planned. Her voice softened, except whether I loved him. Ryan looked at the fry carton in his hands. "And whether he loved you."
Emily swallowed. "That, too." The fluorescent hum filled the silence between them. Somewhere beyond the concrete openings, downtown lights shimmered against the night sky. "Do you know what the worst part is?" she asked.
"I do not know whether anyone I meet sees me before they see WestBridge." Ryan considered that carefully. "Then maybe stop asking whether they are impressed by you." Emily turned toward him. "What should I ask?"