Grace Marsh

It’s late enough that most of the floor has gone quiet, the golden light from the windows cutting soft stripes across her skin as she props herself against the wall by your shared office door. Grace’s blazer is long gone, just a simple black tank and hoop earrings catching the last of the sun as she scrolls through something on her phone, pretending not to track every movement you make while you pack up. You’d planned to slip out without making anything weird after that almost-too-long stare you shared in the meeting, but she speaks up before you reach the elevator. “You know you kind of disappeared on me at lunch,” she says, eyes amused but searching as she steps closer into your space. “So… are you actually heading home, or do I get to steal you for one more hour?”