There are exactly forty-two acoustic ceiling tiles in the Delta Sky Club at JFK Terminal 4.
Ava Reynolds knew this because she had counted them three times in the last month. She also knew that the complimentary hummus was always slightly crusty around the edges, that the Wi-Fi dropped out near the espresso machine, and that if you drank three glasses of the complimentary Pinot Grigio before a turbulent flight to London, you would deeply, profoundly regret your life choices.
It had been five weeks since she accepted the Vice President of Strategy role.
Five weeks of living out of a sleek, hard-shell carry-on suitcase. Five weeks of waking up in hotel rooms and having to check the notepad on the nightstand just to remember what city she was in. Five weeks of saving pitches in New York, putting out fires in London, and smiling at clients until her facial muscles ached.
She had achieved the ultimate corporate dream. She had the title, the salary, and the platinum medallion status.
She was also so miserable she occasionally considered throwing her laptop into the Thames just to see if it would float.
It was Thursday morning. Ava was sitting in the back of a black car, watching the familiar, grey skyline of Chicago roll past the tinted windows. She was flying back for the official Bean & Leaf launch party tonight. It was her first time back at the Summit Strategies headquarters in fourteen days.
Her phone buzzed in her lap. It was a text from Sarah.
Are you landing soon? Julian is breathing loudly near my desk and I need you to fire him.
Ava smiled, her thumbs flying across the screen. I’m a VP, Sarah. I can’t fire a freelance Art Director just because he breathes.
You have the power, Sarah texted back immediately. Use it. Also, Tyler is doing a brand integration with a sparkling water company and he’s wearing a sequined vest. The bullpen is a circus. Save me.
Ava locked her phone, leaning her head against the cool glass of the window.
She missed the circus. She missed the bullpen. She missed the terrible breakroom coffee and the chaotic, overlapping arguments about fonts and demographics.
But mostly, with a hollow, aching intensity that kept her awake in five-star hotel beds across the globe, she missed Ethan.
They hadn’t spoken since the day she moved into the corner office. They had communicated exclusively through Sarah, passing wireframes and budget approvals back and forth like two divorced parents negotiating custody through their lawyers.
The black car pulled up to the Summit building. Ava grabbed her suitcase, tipped the driver, and walked into the lobby.
When the elevator doors opened on the fourteenth floor, the noise of the bullpen washed over her like a warm wave. It was loud, frantic, and wonderfully alive.
“She returns!” Tyler yelled, popping up from his pod. He was, indeed, wearing a silver sequined vest over a t-shirt. He jogged over to her, holding a can of sparkling water. “Ava! Look! I’m an influencer! They sent me free water and a ring light!”
“You look very sparkly, Tyler,” Ava said, genuinely happy to see him. “Don’t let the fame change you.”
“Never,” Tyler promised solemnly. “I’m still the same humble guy who accidentally blew up the escape room.”
Ava rolled her suitcase down the aisle toward her corner office. As she passed Sarah’s pod, she stopped.
Sarah was glaring at her monitor. Julian Vance was sitting in the guest chair next to her desk, his long legs stretched out, sketching in
his notebook. He wasn’t looking at Sarah, but he was casually holding a plastic cup of iced matcha latte just out of her reach.
“Give me the matcha, lumberjack,” Sarah hissed, not looking away from her screen.
“Say please,” Julian drawled, turning a page in his sketchbook. “I am going to stab you in the thigh with a letter opener.” “That’s not ‘please’, Patel.”
“Julian, give her the tea,” Ava intervened, leaning against the glass divider.
Julian looked up, a slow smirk spreading across his face. “Ah. The prodigal VP returns. How was London? Did you conquer the British Empire with a PowerPoint deck?”
“I did my best,” Ava said dryly.
Julian handed the matcha to Sarah, who snatched it with a triumphant huff. Ava watched the exchange closely. Julian’s fingers brushed Sarah’s as she took the cup. Sarah’s cheeks flushed a faint, telltale pink, and Julian’s smirk softened into something that looked suspiciously like genuine affection.
Ava blinked. Well, well, well.
“I’ll leave you two to your… whatever this is,” Ava said, pointing between them. “I need to drop my bag in my office.”
She continued down the aisle. And then, she saw him.
Ethan was at his desk. He was wearing a dark grey sweater, his sleeves pushed up, exposing the vintage watch. But he wasn’t typing. He wasn’t looking at wireframes.
He was packing a cardboard box.
Ava stopped dead in her tracks, her heart slamming against her ribs.
She knew his six-month contract was ending. She knew the Bean & Leaf launch party tonight was the official culmination of the project. But seeing him actually putting his notebooks, his pens, and his coffee mug into a brown cardboard box made the reality of it crash down on her with devastating force.
He was leaving.
Ethan looked up, sensing her presence. He froze, his hand hovering over a stack of files.
For a long moment, they just stared at each other across the bullpen. The air between them was thick with five weeks of unspoken words, of apologies never made, of a heartbreak that had never fully healed.
He looked tired. The charismatic spark was gone, replaced by a quiet, resigned exhaustion.
Ava forced her legs to move. She walked over to his pod, her suitcase rolling silently behind her.
“Hi,” Ava said, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Hi,” Ethan replied. He slowly lowered his hand, resting it on the edge of the cardboard box. “You’re back from London.”
“Just landed.” Ava looked at the box. “You’re packing.”
“Contract’s up tomorrow,” Ethan said, his voice perfectly level, perfectly polite. The professional freeze was still firmly in place. “The app is live. The stores are remodeled. The launch party is tonight. My job here is done.”
“Right,” Ava swallowed hard, fighting the sudden, overwhelming urge to cry. “So… what’s next? Did you find a space for your consultancy?”
Ethan looked down at the desk. He picked up a blue dry-erase marker, turning it over in his hands.
“No,” Ethan said quietly. “I called David Sterling back. I took the Full Partnership in LA.”
The words hit Ava like a physical blow. She actually took a half-step backward, her hand gripping the handle of her suitcase so tightly her knuckles turned white.
“You took the LA job,” Ava repeated, the air completely vanishing from her lungs.
“I did,” Ethan said, finally looking up to meet her eyes. His gaze was guarded, impenetrable. “I fly out tomorrow morning. Eight a.m. flight.” “But… but you said you didn’t want that life,” Ava stammered, the professional boundary shattering under the weight of her panic. “You
said it was a glass box. You said you wanted to build something here.” “I wanted to build something here with you, Ava,” Ethan corrected,
his voice dropping to a low, fierce whisper that only she could hear. The polite mask slipped for a fraction of a second, revealing the raw, bleeding wound underneath. “But you made your choice. You chose the corner office. You chose the travel. There’s nothing left for me in Chicago.”
Ava stared at him, tears pricking the corners of her eyes.
He was right. She had pushed him away. She had told him she didn’t trust him, and then she had taken a job that required her to abandon him. She had forced him back into the very life he had been trying to escape.
“Ethan, I…” Ava started, a desperate apology rising in her throat. “Don’t,” Ethan interrupted gently, holding up a hand. The anger was
gone, replaced by that same, devastating sadness from the conference room five weeks ago. “Please, Ava. Don’t apologize. We both got what we wanted. You’re the VP. I’m a Partner. We won.”
He offered her a small, heartbreakingly hollow smile.
“I’ll see you at the launch party tonight, Madam Vice President,” Ethan said.
He turned back to his cardboard box, effectively dismissing her.
Ava stood there for a second longer, her chest heaving, before she turned and practically sprinted to her corner office. She pulled the heavy glass door shut, locked it, and collapsed into her leather executive chair.
She looked around the massive, beautiful, silent room.
She looked at the panoramic view of the Chicago River. She looked at her platinum medallion luggage tags. She looked at the framed photo of Pixel, which was currently the only thing in the room that felt real.
die.
You both got what you wanted. And you both look like you want to
Julian’s words echoed in her head, loud and undeniable.
Ava buried her face in her hands and let out a ragged, tearing sob. She had spent her entire adult life terrified of being the girl who got
left behind. She had built her career as a fortress to protect herself from that exact pain. But sitting in her corner office, she finally realized the fatal flaw in her strategy.
A fortress doesn’t just keep other people out. It keeps you trapped inside.
Her desk phone buzzed. Ava wiped her eyes furiously, taking a deep breath before picking up the receiver. “Ava Reynolds.”
“Ava, it’s Marcus,” Kline’s voice boomed through the speaker. “Glad you’re back. Listen, the London pitch went well, but the Tokyo office is struggling with the Sony account. I need you on a plane to Japan on Sunday. Two-week trip. Can you handle it?”
Ava stared out the floor-to-ceiling window.
She pictured herself in a hotel room in Tokyo. She pictured herself counting the ceiling tiles in another airport lounge. She pictured Ethan, sitting in a corner office in Los Angeles, wearing a broken vintage watch and staring at the Pacific Ocean.
Two glass boxes, two thousand miles apart. “Ava? You there?” Kline asked impatiently.
Ava slowly lowered the phone from her ear. She looked at the cardboard box Ethan was packing out in the bullpen.
She had eight hours until the launch party. She had fourteen hours until Ethan’s flight left for Los Angeles.
“Marcus,” Ava said, bringing the phone back to her mouth. Her voice was no longer trembling. It was clear, steady, and ringing with absolute, terrifying certainty. “I can’t go to Tokyo.”
“What do you mean you can’t go? You’re the VP of Strategy. It’s your job.”
“Not anymore,” Ava said. She hung up the phone.
She didn’t wait for Kline to call back. She stood up, grabbed her leather notebook, and walked out of the corner office.
She marched straight to Sarah’s pod. Julian was still sitting there, sketching.
“Sarah,” Ava said, her voice commanding the attention of everyone in a ten-foot radius. “I need a favor.”
Sarah looked up, startled by the sudden, fierce energy radiating from her best friend. “Okay. What do you need?”
“I need you to stall Marcus Kline if he comes looking for me,” Ava ordered. “And Julian, I need you to do something for me.”
Julian raised an eyebrow, closing his sketchbook. “I don’t do favors, Reynolds. I do commissions.”
“I’ll pay you whatever you want,” Ava said, leaning over the glass divider. “I need you to hack into the Bean & Leaf launch party presentation deck. I need you to add one more slide to the end of the deck. And I need you to make sure Ethan doesn’t see it until it’s live on the projector tonight.”
Julian’s dark eyes lit up with sudden, wicked amusement. A slow, genuine grin spread across his face. “A rogue slide? Corporate sabotage? A dramatic, public declaration?”
“Yes,” Ava confirmed, her heart hammering a frantic, joyful rhythm against her ribs.
“I’m in,” Julian said, standing up. “What do you want the slide to say?”
Ava grabbed a sticky note from Sarah’s desk, uncapped a pen, and wrote down exactly what she needed to say. She handed the note to Julian.
Julian read it, let out a low whistle, and tucked the note into his denim jacket. “You’re going to give Kline a heart attack.”
“I know,” Ava smiled, feeling lighter than she had in six years. “Sarah, what time does the party start?”
“Seven p.m.,” Sarah said, her eyes wide with excitement. “At the new flagship store in River North.”
“Perfect.” Ava grabbed her suitcase. “I’m going home to shower, walk my dog, and put on the Ruby Woo lipstick. I’m going to war.”
Ava turned and walked out of the bullpen, her heels clicking a triumphant rhythm against the hardwood floor. She didn’t look at Ethan’s desk. She didn’t need to.
She was finally going to tear down the fortress. And she was going to do it in front of the entire city of Chicago.