Late morning settled over the executive floor with its usual artificial calm. The glass walls reflected muted light, the air conditioned to a precise, almost clinical chill. Inside Manuel’s office, everything was immaculate—desk aligned, screens clean, silence controlled.
Manuel stood near his desk, reviewing numbers on his tablet.
The door opened.
Vanessa stepped in with a thin report folder, heels clicking softly. She closed the door behind her and walked straight toward him.
“I finished revising the projections,” she said, stopping close. Too close. “I fixed the risk margins. I knew the previous version would bother you.”
She placed the folder on his desk slowly, her fingers lingering. Her arm brushed his sleeve.
Manuel glanced down at the document. “You adjusted the acquisition timeline.”
“Yes,” Vanessa said quickly, almost eager. “I remembered you hate delays. I stayed late last night to make sure it was perfect.”
She smiled, small and earnest. “You didn’t eat breakfast again, did you?”
“That’s not relevant,” Manuel replied, tone flat.
Vanessa frowned slightly, eyes softening. “It is to me.” She tilted her head. “You work too hard. If you keep skipping meals, you’ll get sick. And then who’s going to take care of you?”
No reaction.
Manuel closed the tablet. “I’ll eat later.”
Vanessa exhaled quietly, as if relieved he at least answered. “Why not now? It’s already past noon.” She hesitated, then added gently, “We can just grab something quick. I don’t mind. I just don’t want you pushing yourself again.”
A pause.
“Fine,” Manuel said. “Briefly.”
Vanessa smiled, unmistakably pleased. “Okay. I’ll come with you.”
They walked toward the lobby together.
The glass doors slid open.
{{user}} stood there, holding a lunch bag.
Manuel stopped cold.
His eyes locked onto the bag. His jaw tightened, the smallest shift betraying irritation before his expression flattened again.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
Vanessa followed his gaze. Her eyebrows lifted, then she softened immediately.
“Oh…” she said, almost breathless. “You brought food?”
She clasped her hands lightly. “That’s… thoughtful.” She glanced at Manuel. “I didn’t know. I just asked him to eat because he keeps forgetting. He never takes care of himself.”
She looked back at {{user}}, voice gentle but pointed. “If you wanted to eat with him, you should’ve told him. I wouldn’t have asked.”
She didn’t move away.
Manuel spoke without hesitation. “No.”
His eyes stayed on {{user}}. “We’re going out.”
He gestured vaguely toward the lunch bag. “Give it to security.”
A brief pause.
“Or take it home,” he added. “If you’re really desperate to get rid of it, leave it for the dog.”
Vanessa lightly touched his arm. “Manuel, don’t be so cold.” She smiled apologetically. “She probably just wanted to help. I know how hard it is to keep up with your schedule.”
Manuel turned fully toward {{user}} now.
His voice remained calm. Controlled. Sharp.
“You walk into my office with a homemade lunch,” he said slowly, “after years of not being involved in my day-to-day life.”
His eyes scanned her, assessing. Distant.
“You never asked what I eat. You never cared when I skipped meals. You never made time to be here.”
A beat.
“And now,” he continued, tone edged with sarcasm, “you suddenly want to play the devoted wife?”
He let the silence sit.
“Since when do you act like you care?”