Page 58 of The Roommate Experiment

“It’s more than that,” he insists. “The way you handled the client’s concerns, how you made them see the value in the extra costs… I’ve never seen a junior engineer with that kind of finesse. Keep up the excellent work.” He gives me a rare, almost fatherly nod before heading out.

As the door clicks shut after Daniel steps out, the atmosphere in the room shifts. Mark remains seated, his posture stiff, as if bracing for a confrontation.

The faint ticking of the wall clock punctuates the quiet until I speak up. “I know what you’ve been doing, Mark.” Despite my simmering anger, my voice is calm and even—professional. “Working behind my back to sabotage the project.”

He doesn’t flinch, nor deny it. Instead, he links his fingers over his chest, a sneer curling his lips. “I’ll admit, I didn’t think you could handle the pressure.” His tone drips with condescension. “But you proved me wrong. You showed you have balls.”

I bristle at the backhanded compliment. “I shouldn’t have to prove I have balls just because I lack a physical sack,” I retort, my words sharp. “My competence has nothing to do with my gender.”

Mark holds up his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, I’m giving credit where it’s due. You solved the problem and got the client on board. That takes grit.”

I lean forward, my eyes locked on his. “Let’s get one thing clear. If you ever interfere with my work again, I won’t be as gracious. I’ll go straight to Daniel, and we’ll see how much he appreciates your games.”

For once, Mark is speechless. He stares at me, his jaw clenched, but says nothing.

I stand, smoothing my skirt. “Glad we understand each other.” My tone is sweet, but my smile is razor-sharp.

As I walk out of the conference room, satisfaction and relief flood my system. This wasn’t about impressing Daniel or the client; it was about showing myself what I’m capable of. I can handle anything this job throws at me, even a dirtbag supervisor like Mark.

On the way back to my office, I run into Clara, her face lit up like a Christmas tree. “Hunter,” she exclaims, bouncing on her toes. “I heard about the meeting. You crushed it.”

I grin, her enthusiasm infectious. “Wow, news travels fast, huh?”

“Are you kidding? Daniel’s been singing your praises to anyone who’ll listen. You’re the office star.”

I brush the compliment off. “It was nothing, just doing my job.”

“Don’t be modest. You’re on fire, girl.”

We fall into step together, and Clara’s expression turns conspiratorial. “Speaking of being on fire, how’s your dating life? Any good suitors?”

I grimace, the memory of countless terrible dates flashing through my mind. “Ugh, don’t even ask. It’s been a total disaster. I’m calling it quits, a failed mission.”

Clara pats my arm sympathetically. “But you can’t give up. You need a break, that’s all. Hey, why don’t we go out for drinks tonight? Celebrate your big win us gals, no guys involved?”

I hesitate, wondering if by saying yes, I’m giving up another grilled cheese sandwich. Then, I remember it’s Friday night and Dylan will have plans with Olivia. The thought of going home to a quiet apartment and obsessing over him again while he’s with her is unbearable.

“You know what? That sounds perfect.” I grin at Clara. “Let’s do it.”

* * *

Hours later, I stumble down the hall of my floor, the world tilting pleasantly around me. The celebratory drink with Clara turned into several cocktails, the alcohol flowing a little too freely as we toasted my success. To be honest, I was simultaneously celebrating while also drowning my sorrows.

As I reach my door, I fumble with my keys, failing to slot them into the lock. They jangle loudly in the hallway’s quiet.

I have to recalibrate my aim a few times before I succeed in opening the door. I wobble into the darkened apartment, unsteady on my heels. The room spins. I grope for the light switch, missing it twice before finally illuminating the space. The sudden brightness makes me squint, and I lose my balance, crashing sideways into the entrance console. It wobbles precariously, rattling.

“Shh,” I hush it, pinballing over to the other wall and making even more noise.

I cringe, hoping I haven’t woken Dylan.

“Hunter? Is that you?”

No such luck. Dylan’s voice floats down the hallway, husky with sleep. He appears deliciously rumpled in a pair of basketball shorts and a T-shirt. His blond hair is mussed, and his dreamy eyes are half-amused, half-narrowed as he takes in my inebriated state.

“Hey, Dylan.” I sway on my feet. “Sorry, did I wake you?”

“Nah, I was just heading to bed now.” He chuckles, studying me. “You had a good night?”

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