The Office Party

Friday night, 7:30 PM. Only three lights remained on in the Heng Rui Tech eighteen-floor office. Lin Wei sat at her desk staring at her computer screen, her right hand unconsciously turning a pen, the cap already bitten with deep tooth marks.

She knew what the 9 AM project presentation meeting tomorrow morning meant—either get the client signature, or half her department gets laid off. And the proposal in her hand, revised from 2 PM to 7:30 PM, the seventh version, was still being described as “not quite right” by Boss Wang.

“Not leaving yet?”

Lin Wei looked up and saw Chen Hao from the adjacent desk, twenty-six years old, less than half a year at the company, his hair always combed immaculately even during overtime, looking like he just came from an interview. He was holding a thermos.

“The proposal isn’t ready,” she said.

Chen Hao sat down across from her. Opened his thermos. The smell of ginger tea wafted out.

“My grandmother used to say that proposals are like soup,” he said. “The longer you cook it, the more the ingredients lose their original shape. But that’s when it becomes something new.”

Lin Wei stared at him.

“What does that have to do with proposals?”

“Nothing.” He smiled. “But my grandmother also said that the best proposals are the ones where you can taste the cook’s frustration. It means someone cared enough to struggle with it.”

He stood up, picked up his bag.

“Go home. Sleep. Come back tomorrow and give them something they can’t refuse.”

When he reached the door, he turned back.

“Oh, and Lin Wei? The proposal you sent me earlier—the version before this seventh one? I made some notes. Check your email.”

She opened it. Twenty-three pages of detailed suggestions, each one pinpointing exactly what the client would hate and how to fix it.

She laughed. It was the first time she’d laughed all week.

At 9 AM the next morning, she presented for exactly eleven minutes. When she finished, the client signed.