The idea of Roman initiating a kiss was as surreal as it was unnerving.

But with time pressing, Violette didn’t have a second to overthink it. It was just a quick peck before heading out. She stepped back, giving him a fleeting, light touch of her lips before pulling away.

"Don't forget to pick up Sunny," she said, sounding perfectly composed as she stepped into the elevator.

The moment the doors slid shut, her cheeks erupted with heat. Looking at her own flushed reflection in the polished metal, she pressed the back of her hand to her skin, unable to calm the racing thrum of her heart all the way down to the parking garage.

She arrived at the TV station just past ten.

Emma, trailing behind her like a miniature personal assistant, dived right in. "The head of the rival department stopped by. He says next week is going to be a nightmare, and he wants to borrow two of our people."

"If he needs staff, he should go to the Station Manager. Why is he pestering me?"

"That’s exactly what I thought!" Emma puffed out her cheeks, leaning in to whisper, "The guy is a massive mansplainer. I can’t stand him."

Once upon a time, Violette would have warned Emma to keep her head down and her mouth shut in the office. But after working together for a while, she realized Emma was a sharp girl who knew exactly what to say and—more importantly—who to say it to. This outburst was a sign of closeness.

"I’ll be honest," Violette replied, "I can’t stand him either."

The rival department head used to be Violette’s direct supervisor. Their history was far from pleasant; they’d even had a blowout argument once. She didn't want to get into the messy details for fear of Emma prying further. Fortunately, the Station Manager eventually split them into separate units. Now that Violette had her own show, they were technically equals, but the man still acted as if he were her superior, dripping with condescension every time he opened his mouth.

Emma gave her a knowing look: *I’ve got your back, boss.*

"I’ll deal with him when I see him," Violette said. "Send me the footage; I need to catch up on this morning’s tasks. Do you have any plans for the afternoon?"

"Nope, boss. I was just going to post on social—" Emma caught herself and slapped her own hand over her mouth. "I mean, I’ve got nothing going on."

By the afternoon, Violette had cleared her workload. Right on cue, the rival department head showed up to poach staff.

"You’re really keeping a close watch on my team, aren't you?" Violette said with a half-smile. "Which one do you have in mind? I’ll see if I can spare anyone."

Whatever name he picked, Violette had already decided to feign difficulty and decline.

"How about that intern? She’s pretty sharp with the scripts."

Violette pulled a pained expression. "I’m currently training her on some high-stakes segments. I’m afraid I can’t let her go just yet."

"Two days? You can't even spare her for two days?"

"It’s really impossible."

The man’s face soured. "Your department doesn’t even have that many people to begin with." He didn't say the rest, but his tone implied she had plenty of downtime.

Violette leaned into the narrative, sighing with practiced helplessness. "Exactly. That’s why we’re so short-handed. I can’t afford to lose a single pair of hands."

She had been a bit too blunt. The man’s expression darkened, and with a curt "We’ll see," he turned on his heel and stomped off.

Whatever strings he pulled, it worked. Not long after, the Station Manager sent a direct message to Violette, ordering her to loan Emma out for two days.

Violette: *Boss, we have to be fair here. My team has deadlines too.*

Station Manager: *There are several city-wide events next week, it’s going to be frantic. Just two days. Remember when you were pulled to help out during The Tour? It’s the same deal.*

Violette had no counter. She turned and delivered the grim news to Emma.

"Two days," she said.

Emma looked ready to cry. "...Fine, boss."

When Monday rolled around, the department head came to claim his prize. Emma grabbed her laptop and started moving her things to the desk next door.

Violette took a break from her editing, watching the flurry of movement. "It’s only two days. Do you really need to move all of this?"

"He told me, 'Wherever you work, that’s your home now,'" Emma said, her eyes rolling toward the ceiling. "The second I got over there, he lectured me on having 'one foot in the old camp.'"

Some things never changed. Violette patted her shoulder. "If you can endure it, do. If you can't..."

Emma’s eyes brightened. "If I can't?"

Violette shrugged innocently. "I can't beat him up for you."

Emma stifled a laugh, the tension breaking. With a flick of her ponytail, the girl headed next door. It was only forty-eight hours; she could survive that.

With one person down, the workload for the others grew. Violette made sure everyone clocked out on time, herself included. With the concert tickets the Station Manager had given her tucked into her pocket, she had a date to get to.

She checked her phone; Roman had already messaged that he was waiting downstairs.

Violette touched up her lipstick in the mirror, grabbing her bag.

Marilyn glided past. "Date night?"

"You have a sharp eye, Marilyn."

"It’s not that," Marilyn said, pausing. "You’re just too obvious. I’ve never seen you touch up your lipstick before heading home."

"What do I usually look like?" Violette asked.

Marilyn was blunt. "Like a sleep-deprived worker bee heading for the hive."

They took the elevator down together. As they neared the main entrance, Albert, the security guard, poked his head out. "Violette, someone’s looking for you."

Albert pointed toward the corner. Violette followed his gaze and saw a familiar face.

"Isn’t that the woman from that show you did a long time ago?" Marilyn recalled. "The one who went through that messy divorce?"

"Yeah, I think you're right. I’ll be right back."

She parted ways with Marilyn and walked toward the woman.

Roman’s car was parked a few dozen yards away; he could see her clearly. She was standing under the security booth, talking to an older woman. The woman seemed to be trying to give her something, which Violette kept gently pushing away. They seemed to be in high spirits, laughing and chatting.

Roman didn't interrupt. He waited in silence.

About ten minutes later, Violette walked the woman to the curb and flagged down a taxi for her. She leaned in through the open window, sharing a few more words. As the cab pulled away, she stepped back, waving and smiling until it disappeared into traffic.

It was another ten minutes before she finally slid into the passenger seat of Roman’s car.

"Hurry, hurry! The concert is about to start," she said the moment the door shut.

Roman let out a low chuckle. "You looked so relaxed over there, I thought you weren't in any rush."

"That was a woman from a public service story I covered back when I was a junior reporter," Violette said, sinking into the leather seat. "It must have been three or four years ago."

Roman kept his eyes on the road, glancing at her as he waited for a light. "Should I compliment your memory, or your ability to keep professional connections?"

"You should compliment your driving speed," Violette said, tapping her watch. "We’re really going to miss the start."

Roman’s driving was steady but swift. His black sedan cut through the city ring road, other cars giving them a wide berth as they passed.

Violette felt a rare, bright spark of joy, a need to share. She began to recount the details she remembered from years ago. It was a domestic abuse case. After the woman decided to file for divorce, her husband had stalked and harassed her relentlessly. The station’s investigative coverage had actually made a difference; the man—a drunk and a loser—became a local pariah. After months of failed mediation, the court finally granted the divorce.

The woman had moved away with her daughter, working odd jobs to put her through university. This was her daughter’s final year. She’d just received a fantastic job offer. Everything looked like the light at the end of a very long, dark tunnel.

Roman glanced at her again at the red light. "You’ve stayed in touch?"

"Not really. This is the first time I’ve seen her in years. I didn’t expect her to come looking for me."

Violette’s eyes were glistening, the corners slightly upturned as she spoke. Her voice brought a vibrant, living warmth into the cabin.

"Roman, it’s just so good, isn't it?" she sighed.

Roman felt the corners of his mouth lift. "Yes. It is."

Violette lowered her gaze, perhaps reflecting on the value of the persistence she’d shown back then. Silence settled in the car for a long minute. Just as they turned toward the theater, she spoke again:

"You know? She told me something right before she left. She’s fifty-six this year, but she said her real life is only just beginning."