She was about to turn away from the window when she saw her—the woman from the courtyard. She was wearing jeans today, not shorts. Well, it was nearly December, even if it was sunny and warm outside. The woman came from between the other two buildings, pushing a wheelbarrow. Inside were colorful flowers. Her first thought was, who plants flowers this late in the year? Then she remembered that the courtyard was filled with seasonal flowers all year long—yes, even in winter.

So, who was this woman? Was she on the maintenance crew? No, she didn’t think they tended to the grounds. Maybe she worked for a landscaping company or something. She watched her for a moment longer, surprised that she was picturing the woman in shorts and not jeans. The woman stopped then and—as if sensing her watching—tilted her head up, glancing in Abby’s direction. She didn’t turn away. She knew no one could see in the tinted windows. The woman finally went back to her task and Abby moved to her desk. It wasn’t like she didn’t have any work to do.

The consulting firm she worked for employed over one hundred people, with most of them housed here in Las Colinas. While she’d started out as a business analyst, her degree was in marketing, and she’d been promoted to marketing manager last year. The “manager” title was a bit ambiguous seeing as how she only had six people who reported to her. She, on the other hand, was one of eleven managers who reported to the vice president.

She slid her laptop closer to her, opening the file she’d been looking at earlier. It was an analysis of the quarterly sales report her team had put together on one of the companies they represented. Depending on the trends, she would either recommend they go with a different advertising firm or give the current one another quarter. That is, if she could negotiate a contract for only one quarter.

She was deep into it when the reminder on her phone sounded. Lunch. With a quick glance at the clock—it was 11:55—she closed the laptop and slid her chair back. She looked out the window as she passed, seeing some of the tables filling up already. She hurried to the tiny breakroom on their floor to get her lunch bag and a bottle of water from the fridge.

She ignored Clara, the older woman who always sat inside the breakroom at lunch. As was the norm, Clara had her nose stuck in a book and never looked up, her cue that she didn’t want to be interrupted.