The Desire Variable | Rewrite

⸻ EIGHT ⸻

Fuck, I can't stop. I'm so close! Three thousand more points, and I'll move up to third place. Hoping that the guys can negotiate a few extra seconds, I keep playing.

The hairs on my arms get vertical, and I feel Alexander's closeness before I even see him next to me. "You have five seconds to let go of the commands before I fire you," he orders in a sinister tone.

It doesn't even take half a second to make my decision. I release the game instantly and move two steps back, still looking at the screen. With a broken heart, I watch as Mario dies. Two thousand more points and I would have made it.

My score blinks for a moment, and the following screen arrives. Because there's no input for a few seconds, the game registers my score under AAA. Now, the leaderboard is NAM-MOT-AAA-AAA.

The resentment in my eyes can't be missed when I look at Alexander. He gives me one of his warning glares, defying me to say something, to fight his authority. When I don't, he turns to the guys, his eyes dark with anger. "Everyone, back to work. Except you," he adds for me.

They hesitantly comply, but Oliver stays, ready to defend me. "Lex, she really planned on staying late to compensate."

"I don't care," our boss answers, still glaring at me. I hold his gaze fiercely. My loathing fuels my strength. Not breaking eye contact, he adds, "If it can reassure you, I won't fire her." But Oli is still reluctant to go, so Alexander says to me, "Tell your lover boy to go."

My eyes narrow as I resist the urge to slap him and get rid of his obnoxious scowl. For the sake of Oliver, I hold back and turn to my friend. "It's okay, Oli. I can handle it," I promise. He hesitates, his eyes going from me to our boss, and when I nod, he finally complies and goes back to our office.

Once we're alone, I muster the courage to face Alexander again. His gray irises are darker, like a stormy sky, and I worry about the hurricane coming my way.

"This will be your first and last warning, Andrea. You're here to work, not to mingle, to make friends, to play games... From now on, no more flirting, no more playing, no more social calls during work hours..."

I frown, scandalized by the injustice of this. During my two weeks here, I saw many employees waste company money by not working more often than I have. Yes, I might not pass as the most assiduous of workers, but I'm far from being the worst one. I've been here ten minutes early every day, so those twenty minutes are already paid for several times over. It's clear this is targeted at me specifically. He's being a sexist prick, and I can't stand it.

"Before you say anything, because I can see many thoughts are running in that pretty head of yours, let me remind you I can replace you like this," he adds, lifting his hand and snapping his fingers. That works particularly well on me, and I bite my tongue to prevent whatever I want to tell him from spilling out. "Now that things are clear. Get back to work and stop distracting your coworkers with your frivolity."

My hands clench on their own, forming two fists on each side of me. This is a fit of anger like I never experienced before. He's right, and I shouldn't have kept playing. But anyone with a little compassion would understand where I came from. And the way he's treating me now is disproportionate to the offense, especially when I already planned on staying late. Maybe I'm not right for still being here, but he isn't right for treating me so unfairly.

As I look into his murderous eyes, I want to rip his spine out and strangle him with it. Ever since meeting him that first time in the elevator, I grew accustomed to this man making me feel ungodly things. But this anger is something entirely new to me. I never felt so dangerously hateful toward anyone before.