Honestly, she hadn't been sure that he would call. He'd said he would, but Fuu had long ago come to expect that people said a lot of things, few of them meant. She had work to do, and the days fell away. She paid them little attention, paid the entire matter little attention and little more thought.

Except for a single, niggling murmur in the back of her mind: She shouldn't have wanted him to. He was a stranger, a chance encounter. There had been no true reason for her to give her number in the first place.

And yet the decision had been the right one. Of that she had never been more sure. That certainty bothered her, wiggled in the background, and did not quite let the matter die.

She almost didn't answer the phone. She was working late that evening, focusing in on a problematic line of code, staring at the screen so long her eyes were nearly dry. Only absently did she reach for the device as it buzzed, glancing at the number.

Overseas. Generally telemarketers weren't that desperate.

"Ms. Fukuyama?" The voice was low, familiar in her ear.

She was silent a moment in its wake. Her eyes flicked up to her closed door and back again to her desk.

"James." The return of the name was quiet, like an exhaled breath.