Reserved For Me

The man walked in at 7:05.

He was tall, clean beard, and in a nice suit.

He smiled immediately when he saw her. "Lyle?"

He extended a hand. "I'm Wesley. Tasha's friend."

Lyle stood and shook his hand.

"Sorry I'm late," he said, sitting. "Traffic."

"It's fine," Lyle said.

She ordered water. He ordered wine.

The first 10 minutes were normal.

He asked about her job and she explained what a client manager did.

He nodded like he understood. Then he said it.

The line all of them said. "So you basically make other people famous?"

He chuckled. "That must be frustrating. Don't you want your own name out there?"

Lyle's smile froze. There it was. The reason she never went on a second date.

They didn't see her.

They saw the job.

The utility.

The girl who made others shine.

No one ever asked: Does it hurt, being the one behind the curtain?

No one ever said: I see you, Lyle. Not your clients.

She answered politely and smiled.

She checked her watch.

By 7:40PM she'd heard enough.

"My client has an emergency," she lied smoothly, standing.

"I have to go." Wesley looked surprised. "Already? But we just-"

"I'm sorry," Lyle said, and she meant it.

Just not for the reason he thought.

"Truly, you're a great guy, Wesley, but I don't think we're a match."

His face fell. "Can I at least walk you out?"

"No," Lyle said, softer this time. "Don't waste your night on me."

She left him sitting there with two glasses and a confused waiter.

Outside, the city air hit her face.

Another failure.

Another "nice guy" who wasn't him.

Lyle walked to her car and leaned against it. She looked up at the sky and whispered to no one:

"Is he even real? Or did I invent him?"

The man she wanted didn't exist on dating apps.

He didn't exist in Tasha's contact list.

He existed in her head.

A man who wouldn't ask her to choose between work and him.

A man who'd see her crown and not try to take it.

Pathetic, right?

 A young lady building empires for authors, but still waiting for a fairytale.

Lyle laughed at herself. The sound was bitter.

She drove home at 8:15PM.

The office was dark when she passed it.

She should've felt accomplished - she'd finished Ms. Ridley's plan.

Instead she felt empty.

At home, she kicked off her heels and collapsed on her couch.

Her phone buzzed.

Tasha: What happened?! He said you left early?! Lyle please

Lyle didn't reply.

She opened her laptop instead.

Work was easier than hope.

The work didn't leave early.

It didn't ask stupid questions.

And it was okay for her.

She typed until 2AM.

Strategy for Ms. Ridley.

Post ideas.

Launch timeline.

At 2:03AM her phone buzzed again.

Unknown number.

Unknown: Mr. Daniels gave me your contact. This is Ms. Ridley Sydney. I read your plan. It's weak. We meet tomorrow 8AM. Don't be late. Don't disappoint me.

Lyle stared at the message.

Weak?

No one had called her work weak in three years.

Her jaw tightened.

Ms. Ridley Sydney wanted war at 8AM.

She'd get it.

Lyle typed back: I'll be there. And I don't disappoint.

She hit send and dropped the phone.

She closed her laptop.

Tomorrow she'd face Ms. Ridley.

But tonight?

Tonight she let herself believe, just for a second, that the perfect man was still out there.

8:00AM

She was at Ms. Ridley Sydney's office.

The room was all glass and ice.

White marble floors. The chairs were made of black leather.

Lyle stood in front of her.

Ms. Ridley Sydney didn't stand up. 

She didn't smile.

She didn't offer water.

She was 38, tall, and wore her power like a second skin.

Tailored blazer. No jewelry.

Eyes that cut through you.

The kind of woman who fired three managers and slept fine after.

"Close the door," she said, her voice flat.

Lyle closed it. Her heels clicked once.

Ms. Ridley slid Lyle's 6-month plan across the desk.

It landed with a slap.

"I read this at 2AM," she said. "Because I don't sleep when people waste my time."

Lyle swallowed. "I worked on it all night. It's strategic-"

"It's weak," Ms. Ridley cut her off.

The word hit Lyle harder than the slap of the folder.

No client had ever called her work weak.

That was impossible.

But weak?

Never.

Lyle's jaw tightened.

"With respect, Ms. Ridley, I built this based on your last three launches-"

"I don't care about my last three launches." Ms. Ridley stood up.

She walked around the desk until she was standing right in front of Lyle.

Close enough that Lyle could smell her perfume.

"I care about my next launch," Ms. Ridley said. "And this plan?

This plan will make me trend for 48 hours, then I'll disappear again."

Lyle opened her mouth and closed it.

Ms. Ridley wasn't done.

She picked up the plan and ripped page one in half.

The sound was violent in the silent room.

"You think I signed a 5-year contract because I like contracts?"

She threw the pieces at Lyle's feet.

"I signed because Mr. Daniels told me, 'Lyle Noris doesn't fail. She makes you unforgettable.'"

Lyle flinched.

"So where is she?" Ms. Ridley snapped. "Where is the woman who made Logan Wyatt go from 50k followers to 2 million?

Because this?"

She kicked the paper scraps. "This is what an intern would write."

Lyle's chest burned.

Pride and shame, fighting in her throat.

She wanted to scream: I stayed up all night for you.

She wanted to cry: I left a blind date for this. She wanted to quit: You're impossible.

Instead she said, voice steady:

"Then tell me what you want."

Ms. Ridley laughed. "That's your job, Lyle.

To know what I want before I say it.

That's why you're paid." She walked back to her chair and sat, like a queen dismissing a servant.

"Align with everything I want," Ms. Ridley quoted Mr. Daniels' words back at her.

"So align. Or I'll fire you like I fired the last three."

The threat hung in the air.

Five years.

Gone in 10 minutes.

Lyle looked down at the torn paper on the floor. Her strategy.

Her hours.

Her pride.

In pieces.

Something in her snapped.

She bent down, picked up one scrap and smoothed it between her fingers.

When she looked up, her eyes weren't soft anymore.

They were steel.

"You're right," Lyle said.

"This is weak.

Because I wrote it for the Ms. Ridley from last year. The one who played safe."

Ms. Ridley's eyebrow lifted.

Finally, interest.

Lyle stood up straight.

She dropped the scrap on the desk.

"But if you want unforgettable?

If you want 5 years of dominance, not 48 hours of trends?

Then we burn the plan.

And we start over."

Ms. Ridley stared at her. "You think you can handle me?"

"No," Lyle said honestly.

"I think you can handle yourself.

My job is to make the world see it."

Silence.

Then Ms. Ridley leaned back in her chair.

She studied Lyle.

"Fine," she said after a full minute.

"One week.

Give me a new plan.

Something that scares me.

If you bore me again, you're fired.

Contract or no contract."

She picked up her phone, telling her to dismiss.

Lyle nodded once.

She turned and walked out.

Her legs shook until the elevator doors closed. Then she exhaled.

The word weak followed her down 15 floors, into her car, into her apartment.

She threw her bag on the couch and opened her laptop.

Ms. Ridley wanted scary?

Lyle would give her scary.

She typed until her fingers hurt.

New angles.

New controversy.

New campaign that would make Ms. Ridley either the most loved author in the country... or the most hated.

At 3AM her phone buzzed.

Not Ms. Ridley.

It was worse.

Tasha: Wesley just texted me. He said you're "too intense" and "career-obsessed". Girl what did you do??

Lyle stared at the message, then laughed.

The same words Ms. Ridley would use if she fired her.

She ignored the message, dropped the phone and kept typing.

Because Lyle Noris didn't lose to blind dates. She didn't lose to "weak."

And she was sure she wouldn't lose to a 5-year contract.

Ms. Ridley wanted a war?

Lyle was already loading the bullets.