Page 10 of The Roommate Experiment

Daniel clears his throat, tapping a pen against his laptop to get our attention. “Alright, let’s get started. We’ve got a lot to cover.”

I straighten in my seat, pen poised over my notepad.

“First order of business,” Daniel continues, “the Upton Bridge project. How are we looking on timelines?”

Mark jumps in, his voice smooth and confident. “We’re on track to meet the end-of-month deadline. The team worked through the weekend to ensure the foundations were set. We’re coordinating with the subcontractors to complete the steel deliveries next week.”

“Good.” Daniel nods, making a note. “We can’t afford any delays on that one. The client is already breathing down our necks. What about the harbor-front redevelopment?”

I glance at my notes, ready to speak up, but Mark beats me to it. “We’ve run into a few snags with the city permits, but I’ve got Jim on it. He’s been in touch with the zoning commission daily. We should have it sorted by next week.”

My fingers tighten around the pen. Jim’s been on it? Last I checked, Jim, while being the team leader assigned to the project, was on vacation last week. I was the one who spent hours on the phone with the zoning commission, navigating the maze of paperwork and red tape. But I bite my tongue. No point in sounding petty or whiny.

Daniel turns to me, finally acknowledging my presence. “Hunter, you’ve been overseeing the new green-energy initiative. Any updates?”

I force a calm smile. “Yes, we’ve made significant progress. I’ve been in talks with SolarTech, and they’re on board with our proposal to integrate solar panels into the new office building designs. We’re also exploring options for geothermal heating.”

Daniel nods, but his eyes have already moved on. “Good. We’ll need that report ASAP. Now, on to the next item…”

As the meeting drones on, I tune out the undercurrents of office politics. Mark keeps hogging the spotlight, and my contributions are acknowledged only when it’s unavoidable.

We Rolodex through the various projects: the renovation of the old city hall, the expansion of the subway line, and the new residential complex in Queens. I keep jotting down notes but find it harder than usual to pay attention to the developments that don’t involve me directly. My mind keeps drifting back to Dylan and the mess I made last night.

“And last,” Daniel’s voice pulls me back, “we’ve got a new project coming in. A big one. The North Shore initiative. A new office complex with avant-garde design. The client is Carmichael Corp. They want to get a LEED certification.”Green energy, this is my field of expertise,I think with a jolt of excitement. “It’s going to be a massive undertaking, lots of moving parts, tight deadlines. We’ll need someone to take the lead, someone who can handle long hours and the pressure.”

A new project, a massive one with a time crunch and endless challenges. It’s a shot at recognition, a chance to show I can handle more than minor infrastructures—something that could finally get me noticed. My brain races with possibilities: impressing the higher-ups, adding a significant project to my portfolio, and stepping out of the shadows. But it’s more than that. The thought of demanding work and long hours ironically sounds like a lifeline, a reason to leave the apartment early and come back late, an excuse not to be home. To avoid the reality of Dylan and his new girlfriend.

I raise my hand, my voice cutting through the room. “I’ll do it.”

Heads turn in my direction.

Mark snickers. “You, Hunter?”

“Yes, me.” I meet his eyes for the first time since he entered the room, my voice steady. “I’d love to take on the North Shore project.”

The room goes so quiet you’d think I’d just announced pineapple belongs on everything—yes, even spaghetti. My gaze switches to Daniel, who’s looking around the table as if hoping for any other takers. Calculations run behind his eyes. His gaze flickers to Mark, who shrugs noncommittally. No one else appears eager to volunteer.

“Are you sure?” Daniel hesitates. “This project will be extremely complex. Someone with more seniority would be better suited.” He looks around the room hopefully.

When nobody else steps forward, Daniel glances at Mark again. “You could work on it with Mark’s supervision.”

Before Mark can say anything, I nip that option in the bud. “If Mark wants the project, I’d happily leave it to him. If it has to be my project, I’d rather proceed alone.”

Working with Mark as my “supervisor” would only mean doing all the work and getting zero credit. And I don’t know, the whole Dylan situation has dosed me with a sizable helping of “fuck it” attitude. Last week, I wouldn’t have volunteered, or I would’ve accepted Mark’s oversight. But yesterday, I witnessed firsthand what not going after the things I want does. It leaves the door open for someone else to swoop in and snatch them from right under my nose. Fuck that. Fuck Mark. And fuck Olivia.

Daniel hesitates a beat longer, weighing his options. He could appoint one of the guys to the project, but then he’d have two unhappy team leaders. “Alright,” he concedes. “Let’s see how the preliminary design phases go. You’ll coordinate directly with Carmichael Corp. If you make the client happy, The North Shore project will be yours officially. Otherwise, Mark will take over.” He nods at me and I nod back. “I’m going to need weekly updates.”

“Understood.” I try to hide the grin that’s threatening to break through. “I won’t let you down.”

Never have I been more eager to spend time at the office and bury myself in work.

5

DYLAN

Monday mornings at an investment bank are nothing short of chaotic. A rush of movement and chatter engulfs me as I enter the open-plan office. Phones ringing off the hook, voices raised in conversation, and the clatter of keyboards—all of it blends into a symphony of controlled entropy. The faint smell of fresh coffee wafts through the air, mingling with the scent of expensive cologne and the unmistakable tang of stress and high stakes. I tug at the knot of my tie, straightening it, its dark, solid blue, matching the tailored suit I put on without thinking this morning. Presentation in my field is everything, and in a world where first impressions can make or break a deal, looking the part is half the battle.

My office is a minimalist’s dream: a polished desk, a few framed certificates on the wall, and a stack of papers that multiply every time I look away. Floor-to-ceiling windows offer a sweeping view of Manhattan. The skyline is breathtaking, even more so with the city still waking up, its skyscrapers glinting in the rising sun. Pausing outside my office, I glance at my reflection in the glass. Hair in place, suit perfect, eyes a little tired—nothing a coffee can’t fix.

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