Chapter Eight: The New Variable

Monday mornings were usually a blur of coffee breath and clacking heels, but this one carried an extra weight. Zeema felt it before she even stepped into the building — a subtle shift in the air, like the ground had decided to tilt and no one else had noticed yet.

Her inbox was already a battlefield by the time she sat down, emails stacked like enemies waiting for blood. She barely had time to exhale before a voice cut through her focus.

"Hi. I’m new. Do you know where Danielle’s assistant sits?"

Zeema looked up. The man in front of her was tall, broad-shouldered but lean, his curls slightly tousled from the breeze outside. He held a coffee in one hand and a manila folder in the other, his expression open, curious, and utterly unfamiliar.

"That would be me," Zeema replied, setting down her mug.

"Ah." He smiled. It was the kind of smile that didn't ask for anything — easy, warm, and maybe a little too knowing.

"Noah Olumide," he said, offering a hand.