Here And Now

BONUS PART #3: Desperate or Human?

I noticed him before I even knew his name.

The new guy. Rubin had hired someone fresh — straight-laced, sharp-jawed, always early, always polite. His suits were a little too loose, like he'd borrowed confidence from someone else's closet. His hair was never quite tamed, and he carried himself like he was hoping no one would ask him too many questions.

He didn't speak much at Rubin's events, always hovered near the back with a glass of whatever was offered. Not the kind of man I usually noticed.

And yet I did.

The first time I really looked at him — really looked — was during a quarterly meeting I attended just to sit beside Rubin and smile through pleasantries. While the partners made small talk, Weson (I would learn his name later) stood off to the side, listening. Attentive. His brow furrowed as he reviewed some handout.

He scratched his jaw absently, then smiled at a joke one of the interns made.

It was a nice smile.

Sincere.

Unfiltered.

I don't know why it stirred something. Maybe because it was so unlike Rubin — always collected, always charming but curated. Wes's smile didn't ask for approval. It didn't perform.

And so, I started watching.

At first, it was innocent.

A few seconds longer than necessary in passing. Noticing how he held the elevator door for everyone, every time. How he never once checked his phone in meetings. How he carried his coffee with both hands like he was afraid to spill it.

He had a wedding ring. I saw it early on and told myself that was that.

Still, I watched.

I watched until I noticed that sometimes, he noticed me watching.

But he never lingered. Never flirted. Never offered me even a crumb of his attention in return.

And that — more than anything — made me want it.

Rubin noticed before I even realized how obvious I'd become.

We were having dinner, one of those rare quiet nights where it was just us, a bottle of wine, and takeout. I was smiling, still thinking about some awkward comment Weston had made at the office that made everyone laugh — unintentionally, of course.

"You've been lighter lately," Rubin said.

I looked up. "Lighter?"

He poured me another glass. "Happy, maybe. Less tense."

"Is that a bad thing?"

"No," he said gently. "Just rare these days."

There was a long pause.

Then: "Who is he?"

The question sliced through the quiet.

I froze. "Rubin—"

"I'm not angry," he said, and the sadness in his voice made it worse. "I just want you to be honest with me."

"I haven't done anything—"

"I didn't say you had." He leaned back, studied me. "But I've known you for ten years, Claire. I know that look in your eyes. It used to be for me."

Something sharp bloomed in my chest. Shame, maybe. Or grief.

I didn't deny it.

I couldn't.

"I don't want anyone else," I said. "I just... miss being seen."