Page 17 of The Authenticity Clause
“My car windows are down!” someone wailed.
“The bridge is going to flood for sure.”
Leo watched the chaos with a sense of detached amusement. He was a walker. His apartment was only fifteen minutes away, but in this downpour, he’d probably dissolve before he made it to the lobby. He was stuck.
Within five minutes, the stampede was over. The office was suddenly, eerily silent, save for the relentless drumming of rain against the glass. He looked around. Anya’s desk was empty. David’s chair was pushed back at an angle. Maya’s plant was the only sign of life on her desk.
Then he looked toward the glass-walled office at the corner of the floor. Julian was standing now, staring out at the maelstrom, his hands in the pockets of his perfectly tailored trousers. He looked less like a man watching a storm and more like a lighthouse keeper surveying his domain.
Realization dawned on Leo with a slow, sinking dread.Oh no. We’re the only ones left.
The professional confidence he’d been wearing all day evaporated, leaving him feeling exposed. This wasn't work anymore. This was… a situation. A forced proximity trope in the wild. His brain, which had been so sharp and creative all day, was now supplying him with a highlight reel of every awkward silence he had ever experienced.
Julian turned from the window, his gaze meeting Leo’s across the empty expanse of desks. For a moment, neither of them spoke. The sound of the storm filled the void, a wild, chaotic soundtrack to their sudden, shared isolation.
“It appears,” Julian said, his voice calm and even, cutting through the noise, “that we are temporarily stranded.”
“Yeah, looks like it,” Leo replied, his voice a little too high. “Good day to be a duck.”
Good day to be a duck?his inner critic screamed.Seriously? That’s the witty banter you’re going with?
Julian didn’t even blink. He simply walked out of his office and toward the small, sleek kitchenette at the far end of the floor.“Coffee?” he offered, his back already to Leo. It wasn’t a question so much as a statement of intent.
“Uh, sure. Thanks,” Leo said, following him like a lost duckling.
The office at night was a different beast. The harsh overhead lights were off, leaving only the soft, ambient glow from desk lamps and the city lights filtering through the rain-streaked windows. It felt intimate. Private. The rain created a cozy, insulated bubble around them, separating them from the rest of the world. It was terrifying.
Julian moved with his usual economy of motion, operating the frighteningly complex espresso machine like a concert pianist. The hiss of steam and the scent of coffee filled the small space. Leo just stood there, leaning against a counter, trying to think of something to say that wasn't about the weather or waterfowl.
“So… big storm,” he managed.Idiot.
“The forecast indicated a thirty percent chance of light showers,” Julian said, not looking up from his task. “An acceptable margin of error, I suppose. Though I’ll be having a word with my meteorology app’s developers.”
Leo couldn’t tell if he was joking. With Julian, it was a constant state of uncertainty. Julian handed him a mug. It was warm, the ceramic a comforting weight in his suddenly clammy hands. He took a sip. It was perfect, of course.
They stood in silence for another minute, the only sounds the rain and the soft hum of the servers from a nearby room. The quiet was pressing in on Leo, demanding to be filled. His professional confidence was useless here. This was personal space, uncharted territory. His anxiety was a buzzing hive in his chest.
Say something. Anything. Don’t just stand there like a ficus.
On a wild, reckless impulse, driven purely by the need to fill the silence with something other than his own nervous breathing, he heard himself say, “Hey, can I… can I show you something?”
Julian turned, his expression unreadable in the dim light. “Okay.”
Leo’s heart hammered against his ribs.Abort! Abort!But it was too late. He was already pulling his tablet from his messenger bag, his hands feeling clumsy and disconnected from his brain. This was a terrible idea. His work for V&S was a performance, a carefully curated illusion. What he was about to show Julian was the opposite. It was real. It was him.
He navigated to a folder, his thumb hovering over it for a second too long.This is how you get fired, Hayes. Not for the lie, but for being terminally awkward.He took a breath and tapped the screen.
“It’s, uh, just a personal project,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. “Something I do… for me.”
He turned the tablet toward Julian.
The screen glowed with an image that was a world away from the clean lines and muted palettes of V&S. It was a digital painting, intricate and impossibly detailed. It depicted a sprawling, fantastical city built within the branches of a colossal, luminous tree. Tiny, glowing lanterns hung from walkways, and waterfalls cascaded from the highest limbs into shimmering pools below. The color palette was rich and vibrant, full of deep blues, purples, and incandescent golds.
Julian was silent. He leaned in closer, his gaze sweeping over the details. Leo’s entire body was tense, braced for impact. He was waiting for the critique, for the polite dismissal, for the judgment.
“The light source is internal to the subject,” Julian observed, his voice quiet. It wasn’t a criticism, just a statement of fact.
“Yeah,” Leo said, his throat dry. “The city… it generates its own light. Its own life.” He swiped to the next image. This one was of a desert at night, but the dunes were made of swirling, iridescent nebulae, and constellations swam like fish through the dark, cosmic sands.
