The End in Friends (Her City)

1. En（DEAR）

VERENA

1

Jae Lee always left his office door ajar, an irritating invitation to his daily surveillance party over my desk. It was his way of ensuring that no stapler went unpressed, no Post-it note unstuck, all under his vigilant gaze. As I nudged the door open wider, I saw him entrenched behind his paper barricades, his hair as unruly as his obsession with micromanagement.

I placed the quinoa chicken breakfast bowl—his latest health craze—beside him. “I moved your four to five,” I said, leaning against the cool metal of his desk, the casual barrier between his world and mine. “Oh, and there’s a fire to put out regarding the Eastside project.” I glanced at my watch, its sleek design matching the cold ethos of Luminous Industries. “You have, what, twenty-three minutes until showtime with the project managers?” My tone hovered between helpful and sardonic, a reminder that despite the early hour, some of us were already balancing the scales of this empire.

Our firm, specializing in cutting-edge architectural designs and innovative building solutions, was headquartered in the bustling heart of New York. Jae, momentarily shifting his attention from the intricate schematics before him, was buried in designs for the next big innovation. Barely acknowledging my presence, he muttered, “Tie,” tossing the word out like a royal decree rather than a simple request, his gaze glued to the organized pandemonium of papers. As the CEO, his mind constantly toggled between managing multi-million dollar projects, strategizing new product launches, and overseeing the construction of cutting-edge facilities.

As I moved closer, the stubble on his jaw caught my eye—a minor rebellion against his own unrelenting standards. His suit, however, screamed control, every line and stitch meticulously calculated, much like the man himself.

Ambitious and driven, Jae navigated a world of patents, blueprints, and billion-dollar deals with ease. Yet somewhere beneath that crisp exterior, a hint of warmth lingered, reserved for those he deemed worthy of seeing it. His mind was a constant storm of innovation and strategy, shaping the future one calculated move at a time.

Jae popped up from his paper fortress, and I sprang into action, straightening his tie with the precision of a bomb defuser. If he was going to nitpick my every move, I might as well return the favor.

He finally looked up, our eyes locking in that loaded silence. His deep brown eyes, framed by impeccably groomed eyebrows and a strong jawline, still held that spark that once lured me here—a spark that now felt more like a challenge. His features, striking and precise like a model’s, conveyed an intensity that dared me to keep pace in this persistent game. In that fleeting moment, entire strategies were born and decisions sealed, all without a word.

“Anything else?” His voice, usually carrying the weight of big decisions, softened slightly—a small acknowledgment of my role.

“Just the usual fires to put out,” I quipped, my tone light despite the constant rush of beating deadlines and outpacing rivals. “Try to eat before your breakfast turns into a science project.”

“No time,” he shot back, already halfway to the door, his presence a whirlwind that seemed to suck the air from the room. “Legal’s a disaster. We’re on double time now. Adjust the temperature in the conference room; I think I’m getting sick.” His urgency was a clear signal—fall in line or fall behind.

I kept pace, phone glued to one hand and my iPad in the other. “Make sure the conference room’s hot, the coffee’s hotter, and for the love of God, check the projector,” I barked into the phone to the legal secretary, who was probably already under ten cups of caffeine herself.

In the sauna that was our conference room, Jae was turning up the heat even more. His voice cut through the air. “We need a solution, now!” he demanded. The legal team looked like they’d rather be anywhere but the firing line.

The debacle of the day? A patent mess. Some rival thought they could claim something we’d been babying for months. The table was a disaster zone of schematics and legal documents, each one screaming for salvation.

Jae planted himself at the head of it all, more dictator than director. “Why is no one answering me?” he growled, his impatience snapping through the room like a live wire.

A lawyer, clutching papers that shook like a leaf in a hurricane, tried to interject, “We’re reviewing every angle, but?—”

“But nothing,” Jae interrupted, his voice sharp. “Time’s running out.”

Standing there, watching my once-best-friend-now-boss manhandle what used to be our dream team, I couldn’t help but reminisce about the good old days when the biggest decision we had to make was whose turn it was to buy beer.

Now? I was juggling his demands like flaming torches, wondering when assistant had become synonymous with errand bitch.

I leaned in, tablet in hand. “Here’s the latest from our patent counsel,” I whispered, sliding the digital peace pipe across to Jae without missing a beat.

He gave me a quick nod, a flicker of recognition, then zeroed in on the screen. “Good, keep digging. Verena, let’s move.” His tone was all business, but there was a hint of the old camaraderie in that brief eye contact.

We power walked to the elevator, Jae leading by half a step, already strategizing the next chess move in his head. “What’s next?” he fired off without breaking stride.

As we stepped into the elevator, I handed him the phone, all prepped and ready to switch gears. “Project managers next. Oh, and your aunt’s flight just touched down. I’ve arranged for her pickup, and your penthouse is all set for her visit.”

He took the phone, already dialing his aunt. His CEO armor slipped for a moment, revealing the nephew beneath. As he switched to Korean, his voice softened, the edges blurring into something gentler. I assumed he was being nice. He only reserved that courtesy for her these days. If I had to guess, he was saying something like, “Hello, Auntie, how was your flight? I’ll see you tonight.” It was like watching the Grinch’s heart grow—brief but unmistakably there. That fleeting softness, a rare crack in his corporate facade, reminded me there was a heart beating under that suit after all.

Watching Jae switch from corporate shark to doting nephew was jarring. For a second, I saw the old Jae—the college buddy whose laugh was easy and whose eyes weren’t shadowed by a NASDAQ’s worth of stress. Now, I wasn’t sure what we were. Pals? Co-workers? Chess pieces in a game where the kings and pawns wore the same suits?

After the call, the curtain fell quickly, and CEO Jae was back, the familial warmth fading as fast as it had appeared. “We have a tight schedule today,” he clipped, the earlier softness gone. “Book my aunt a spa day for tomorrow, will you? She needs to relax.”

The way he switched gears wasn’t new, but it stung a bit more each time. Here we were, side by side but worlds apart, running on the fumes of a friendship that used to fuel our dreams. Now, I was just keeping the engine running while he steered us into the future.

“Of course,” I said, tapping into my tablet, already plotting the next move in the day’s itinerary. “And since your aunt loves catching up with my mom, how about I book them a lunch date at El Centro on Ninth Avenue?”

Jae laughed, a rare sound these days. “Jennifer loves that place. But make sure we have a driver lined up. When your mother and my aunt get together, they usually enjoy way too many margaritas.”

“Good point,” I replied, smiling. It was a brief, genuine moment of connection, a nod to the personal lives we occasionally remembered we had.

As we power walked to the project managers’ meeting, the unrelenting pace of the day was briefly interrupted by the sound of Jae’s stomach complaining—apparently, it hadn’t gotten the memo about his no-breakfast policy.

“You should have eaten breakfast,” I chided lightly, diving into my purse and pulling out a protein bar. I always kept a stash, knowing Jae’s eating habits were as sporadic as our emergency meetings.

He grabbed it with a brisk “Thanks,” his mind already a thousand tasks ahead.

Upon entering the meeting room, Jae swooped into his throne at the head of the table, transitioning into the persona of Luminous’s autocratic ruler with the ease of a seasoned actor. “Eastside project,” he began, sweeping his gaze across the room, “why are we behind?”

A brave manager started to spell out the hurdles, “The budget’s tight, and?—”

But Jae, ever the fan of curt interruptions, cut in, “I don’t want excuses.” His laser focus then zeroed in on me. “Verena, where do we stand?”

There I was, tablet in hand, the modern-day shield against corporate chaos, ready to navigate us back on track. “Here’s the breakdown. We can reallocate resources from—” Suddenly, my trusty digital sidekick decided to take a nap. Right there. In the heat of battle. Perfect.

I tapped the screen with a frenzy that would’ve impressed a Morse code operator, while a low-key panic party started in my gut. “Just a moment,” I muttered, trying to sound like I had this under control—spoiler: I did not. The tablet, traitor that it was, remained unresponsive.

Jae’s patience, always more of a napkin-thin veneer, finally snapped. “Verena!” His voice cracked, cutting through the thick air of the meeting room, broadcasting his annoyance loud and clear. “We absolutely do not have time for this kind of hold-up. Get it together, now.”

The atmosphere in the room turned heavier than my last date’s overuse of cologne. As everyone’s eyes ping-ponged between Jae and me, I forced an apologetic smile.

“I’m sorry,” I muttered. “I’ll handle it immediately.” But really, what I wanted was to handle that malfunctioning tablet like a frisbee, aimed straight at his head. In my mind, I pictured it—a perfect throw, slow-mo, maybe even set to some triumphant music. Of course, in reality, I was just apologizing for both the tech fail and the sad decline of our once epic friendship.

Just as I was bracing for another round of corporate gladiatorial combat, a knock at the door threw a wrench into the gears. Another assistant timidly popped her head in, her smile faltering as she took in the frosty atmosphere. “Uh, you’ve got a delivery,” she stammered, her eyes darting nervously between Jae and me.

Jae’s irritation bubbled over. “What now? Why are you interrupting this meeting?” he snapped.

The assistant edged into the room, clutching a bouquet of flowers like a lifeline.

“What the hell is that?” Jae asked.

“It was a delivery, sir,” she said softly.

“And you thought interrupting my meeting for a delivery was necessary? Verena, how many times have I told you to make sure everyone understands the importance of not interrupting my meetings!?”

“Uh, these are for Verena for, uh, her birthday,” she mumbled, clearly wishing she could melt into the floor.

I accepted the bouquet with a tight smile, turning the moment into a tiny life raft in an ocean of awkwardness.

Jae’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “It’s your birthday?” His voice held a blend of disbelief and annoyance, as if birthdays were items on a meeting agenda he’d overlooked.

“Yeah, it’s today,” I replied, the irony not lost on me. “Even got a heartfelt note from you,” I added, waving the card for him to see.

His reaction held a pinch of guilt, but we both knew this was just part of the dance—the assistant choreographing her own birthday surprises because, well, that’s what assistants do.

I flipped open the card attached to the flowers, glancing at the neat script that looked suspiciously like my own handwriting—because it was. “Dear Verena, Happy Birthday. Sincerely, Jae,” I read. It was a bit too formal, a bit too impersonal, but perfectly in line with the role of an assistant who’s left to remember her own birthday.

For a moment, the room was silent, everyone unsure how to react. I looked up at Jae, his stern expression softening just a fraction, a flicker of something human beneath the corporate armor. The absurdity of it all hit me like a wave, and I let out a small, bitter laugh. “Thank you, Jae,” I said. “I appreciate the thoughtful gesture.”

The tension in the room cracked slightly, the flowers a strange, poignant reminder of what once was and what had become. As Jae’s eyes met mine, I saw a glimmer of the friend I used to know, buried deep under the weight of responsibilities and expectations. But then his gaze drifted, locking onto the sprawl of papers covering the conference room table.

“In the future, please don’t waste precious time on such trivial things,” Jae said, making my stomach sink. Was he serious? Not only did I have to send myself flowers, I had to make sure they were delivered in a way that didn’t piss him off.

“Alright, back to business,” he commanded. “We need to solve this Eastside project issue immediately.”

As the meeting resumed, I clutched the bouquet a little tighter.

“Right. Business. Of course.” Each word was a punch.

As the tablet rebooted with the gusto of a Monday morning, Jae was quick to shelve the birthday buzz. “That’s enough distractions for today,” he declared, like we could just mute the awkward.

In the future, please don’t waste precious time on such trivial things…

So I was trivial to Jae? I gave him ten years of my life at this stupid job, and he couldn’t even acknowledge me for five seconds?

The old Jae would have taken me to dinner or made me a card. He would have cut class with me.

In the future, please don’t waste precious time on such trivial things…

How many damn times did I waste my precious time on trivial shit for Jae? The meticulous errands, the late night synergy calls. I was always going above and beyond for this man, and he couldn’t even give me the bare minimum.

A sharp thought hit me. Here we were, waltzing through a corporate tango, but I was done dancing to this tune.

This was a building resentment. The kind that only needed a small chip to shatter the glass ceiling of this whole damn building.

The clock ticked, each sound a reminder of our partnership that had downgraded to a transaction.

Amidst the chatter of strategies and half-baked plans, a lightbulb moment—brighter than my future at this company—flashed before me. My best friend—no, my boss, my frenemy—forgot my birthday.

This job was never supposed to be my forever. Ten years ago, my best friend hired me to be his assistant. Something temporary until I got my writing career off the ground.

But I was still here.

And if I didn’t leave soon, I never would.

In the future, please don’t waste precious time on such trivial things…

I was wasting my life, my patience, my talents, and my soul at this damn office.

Today, I would cut the cord. Today, I’d hand in my resignation. No more wondering if I was a friend or just the calendar keeper. Today, I’d make it official.

As I looked around the room, I knew it was time to swipe left on this corporate drama. My heart pounded as I stood up, the bouquet clutched in my hand, and took a deep breath. This was it.

“Jae,” I said, my voice steady but resolute, “we need to talk.”

The room fell silent, all eyes on us. Jae’s gaze met mine, confusion flickering across his face. But I had already made up my mind. This was the end of one chapter and the start of another.

“Fine,” he gritted. “Schedule it for this evening.”