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Maisie pulled the pack of cigarettes from her pocket, followed by the lighter. She tried to strike it, but the winter wind snatched the flame away. She huffed, her nerves frayed, tried again, and finally lit it. She inhaled the smoke, breathing deeply before casting another glance at the building towering before her. She looked around; it was dark and late. She had to go in, once and for all.
She took one last drag and stepped inside.
…
She walked through the lobby of the immense building toward the elevator. She caught her reflection in the polished brass doors: her burgundy knee-length coat looked professional enough, but she remembered what was underneath. For the event, she’d chosen a dress of the same color, hitting just above the knee with buttons running from the collar to the hem. She wore tights to stave off the street’s chill and stiletto heels. She should have opted for something more formal… and longer. She was grateful for the coat that shielded her.
While she waited, two men approached. Maisie became suddenly, painfully self-conscious. Please, she thought, let the elevator break down right now. Anything to avoid being trapped in a confined space with two unknown males.
As the elevator was about to arrive, she grabbed her phone, feigning a notification, and stepped away. The doors slid open; both men stepped inside, and the doors closed. Hearing the whir of the lift ascending, Maisie sighed in relief, though she immediately felt very ridiculous.
…
When she finally exited the elevator, she was exposed to a sea of people. Men, mostly—a staggering prominence of the male gender. What a nightmare, she tought.
The deal with GoJo had happened a month ago, and she had been one of the latest hires. It wasn’t as if she’d had many options; she had finished her M.S. in Crisis Communications and was now in the middle of her rotation year.
She stood alone until a waiter offered her a drink. Not wanting to waste the boy’s time, she took it quickly and offered a quiet thanks. Just what I need to dull the anxiety, she thought. After thirty minutes of standing there, already on her third glass, she spotted a familiar face: Karolina. Her boss approached her.
“Maisie, you aren’t here to drink champagne.” Karolina took the glass from her hand and set it on a side table. “I need you to approach the Waystar executives. Be my eyes and ears. Report back if you sense any instability from anyone.”
Maisie simply nodded and began to walk, weaving through the circles of men formed in every corner of the room. She realized the three glasses had taken their toll; she stumbled slightly after a few steps. She corrected her posture quickly and took in the details of the apartment belonging to the CEO of Waystar, Tom Wambsgans. The residence was a study in surgical coldness: soaring ceilings, classic moldings, and floor-to-ceiling windows offering a panoramic view of Manhattan—a constant reminder that he sat above it all.
When her head finally cleared, she heard a familiar voice—one she had never heard so clearly or so close. It was Shiv Roy. She was surrounded by men who seemed enchanted by her presence; she smiled and continued talking. Maisie had seen her countless times on television and social media. A former political consultant who had spent the last few months working for the family firm. Due to her name, she was the frontrunner for the CEO position, but ultimately, her husband had secured the seat.
God only knew what had happened that day of the board vote, when Matsson finally seized control of Waystar.
Maisie watched her intently, unable to stop the internal comparison. The ease with which Shiv handled the conversation, her composure, her body language—it was as if she knew exactly what to do, what to say, as if she were entirely unacquainted with the word intimidation. I could never be like that, Maisie thought. Anxiety always took possession of her body in these settings. It wasn't that she couldn't do her job—her career depended on communication—but it usually required an hour of mental bracing. During presentations, her heart would gallop, her hands would shake, and by the end, her palms would be slick with sweat.
She must have been staring at Shiv for too long, because the youngest Roy noticed her and looked back, confused. Maisie felt a heat creep up her neck and take over her face. She realized she was still wearing her coat and felt like a joke. She averted her eyes and, as if caught stealing, hurried away to find the restroom.
…
She asked a waiter for directions but must have misunderstood, as she wandered too deep into the apartment. She began checking doors for a bathroom, and upon opening the third one, she heard a voice from behind.
“Shiv?”
She started to back away, trying to be silent, but it was futile. The man stepped out, and she found herself face-to-face with Tom Wambsgans. Looking at him, she felt as if the world had run out of oxygen; she couldn't breathe. she opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Tom looked at her, puzzled. Maisie had almost reached the master bedroom.
“Are you alright?” He took a step toward her.
Maisie blinked—once, twice, three times. She took a breath. “Yes, I’m sorry. I got lost. I was looking for the restroom.”
Not knowing where to look, she simply clasped her hands behind her back. Tom’s expression softened.
“I just stepped out of one. You can go ahead.” Still trembling, Maisie thanked him and went inside.
As the door clicked shut, she looked in the mirror and loathed herself for standing there like an idiot in front of her boss’s boss. Her cheeks were burning. She was still in that coat. The heat was becoming unbearable; she stripped off the coat, then splashed water on her face and neck. She noticed a half-finished glass of champagne on the edge of the sink and drained it in one gulp. She waited five minutes until she calmed down. She looked in the mirror and took a deep breath. “It’s over,” she whispered.
When she stepped out, she was startled to find Tom still there, leaning against the wall opposite the door.
“I thought you’d... gone,” she stammered. The slip made him smile.
“Gone where? I’m in my house.”
She smiled nervously, trying to clarify. “I meant... I thought you’d gone back to the event. Obviously, I’m not evicting you from your own home. I just didn't realize you were out here the whole time I was in there... or that you’d be here when I came out.” She spoke too fast, and it almost made Tom laugh.
“Relax. I’m not going to eat you.”
She smiled, relieved by his genuine kindness. She clasped her hands behind her back again, but this time, she spoke up. “I’m Maisie. I’m a graduate fellow. I recently joined Waystar.”
He extended his hand, and she took it. When she finally dared to look him in the eyes, she realized they were the bluest eyes she had ever seen. That shade was her favorite; she wanted them so much. She had always hated her own light brown eyes—or "honey-colored," as her father called them. Tom noticed a particular glint in her eyes as well, but he immediately checked his thoughts and straightened up.
“A pleasure, Maisie. I’m Tom.”
She smiled and glanced down, suddenly mindful of her short dress. She felt a wave of embarrassment over the informality of her attire for a corporate event and the exposure of her legs. Tom noticed her discomfort and moved to end the encounter.
“I left my glass inside. I’m just going to grab it.”
He stepped into the bathroom and saw the glass was empty; he couldn't help but smirk. He also saw Maisie’s coat draped over the sink. He gathered both, but by the time he stepped out, Maisie was gone.
…
Tom woke the following morning. He was surprised to find Shiv sleeping beside him. These last few weeks had been strange. Usually, they slept in separate rooms; Shiv couldn't stand the sight of him after everything that had happened. They had shared a bed only three or four times since then. Shiv would have a rare moment of vulnerability, needing some form of comfort—or at least the sensation of company—and would come to the guest room where Tom had been staying. She wouldn't say a word, and the next morning she’d pretend it never happened.
He leaned toward her, just to catch the scent of her perfume. She wasn't wearing any, but the fragrance of her skin was the sweetest thing he’d ever known. The emotional and physical distance was a hallmark of their relationship, but now it was absolute.
They’d had a conversation about their future. They would be civil. They would stay married. They were going to have a child. But their marriage, for the moment, was not the same. The small flickers of affection had vanished. Tom had expressed a desire to rebuild what they had, but Shiv remained indifferent. Her only answer: “We’ll see.”
He didn't regret anything; he had achieved his ultimate life goal. But it was undeniable that he missed the small displays of affection she used to provide. A hand on his shoulder for support; the way a kiss from her could erase every cruel thing those lips had said moments before. He’d almost welcome her being cruel again, just for the chance to kiss her. He truly missed his wife.
He decided to stop overthinking. It was what it was. Tom got up and headed to the bathroom. When he came out, Shiv was already up, holding Maisie’s coat in her hands.
“Where did this come from?” she asked, one hand on the coat, the other on her hip.
“It belongs to a Waystar staffer. A Junior. She left it in the bathroom.” He walked to the wardrobe to find some casual clothes; it was Sunday.
“I saw a girl wearing this last night. I caught her staring at me in the weirdest way.” She dropped the coat and made a face of slight distaste. “I held her gaze and I think she got intimidated.” She smirked to herself and crossed her arms.
Tom pulled off his pajama top. As he reached for a shirt, he replied, “We crossed paths outside the bathroom. We talked for a bit. She gave me the impression of being very shy.”
Shiv arched an eyebrow. “Oh, I see...”
Tom looked at her sideways, frowning. “What?”
Shiv looked at him mockingly. “Are we playing the 'benevolent boss' now? Do you want to be friends with the help, Tom?”
Tom genuinely didn't understand her angle. “Honey, what are you talking about?”
“Nothing.” She looked at the floor, took a breath, and said, “Changing the subject. I have an appointment with the OB-GYN tomorrow.”
Tom stepped toward her, still shirtless. Shiv’s eyes traced his torso. “Do you want me to go with you?” He looked at her intently.
“Do whatever you want,” she replied with total indifference, and turned to walk away.