Harry stood patiently behind the others, just waiting to get himself a look at the test results. He wasn't surprised when some of his colleagues were crying out of a job loss, or whining because they were put in a lower division.
His fingers traced over the names on the bulletin-board, laughing to himself as he went down the list. He was almost mocking himself, looking down the list before going to the first space. He smiled to himself at the sight of "Harry Styles..... 100%" found at the very top.
The whole line behind him groaned at his cocky smile, his eyes landing on Charlie as he walked into his cubicle.
I forgot to check where she was, he thought.
He didn't see her name down the list, so she could have possibly not have even made the cut. He bit on his knuckles, trying to decipher something to do. He had finished his clients' tax work, and he really had no use in being here today.
His green eyes scanned the room, falling on his briefcase. He exhaled deeply before clutching the item. His large hands were able to pull out the leather bounded item, placing it precisely in the center of his desk. He was glad to see that none of his items were messed with, and that where he had locked the files was not disturbed.
He kept replaying the horrid moments form the day just before. He had minor panic attacks over it, and it scared him to even fathom the thought of it happening again. No one ever came into his cubicle, and the idea of it being a new hobby for Charlie gave him unknown feelings.
He hated it; but at the same time, the thought of it happening again excited him. Was it because he could report her again? No, it wasn't possible. Harry was not a morbid, irrational person. He was actually quite a nice guy to be around.
He sat down in his office chair, grabbing one of the pens and opening his journal. He read over his three entries, cringing as he read what he had written.
"Nice job." Charlie spoke quietly from the entrance to his cubicle. Harry froze in place, closing his eyes momentarily before looking up at her. His throat dried again, seeing her tight black pants and tightly-fitted white button up.
He stayed silent as he stared at her. He knew she noticed him staring, and for some odd reason, he loved it. It intimidated her, giving him the upper-hand. It took him a moment to recollect his thoughts and he bit his lip to moisten his (clearly dry) lips.
"Thanks." He kept it short, knowing that he wasn't yet capable of talking to her like this. He didn't want to waste his words on her, given that she did not even rank at the top twenty.
She stood there, annoyingly enough. (which she always seemed to do.) Harry's eyes left hers and to his journal. He couldn't write with her standing there; and knowing that she may figure out what the book is for, made him very uneasy.
When Harry looked up again, he was surprised to see that she was no longer standing there. He pursed his lips, glancing over his desk to see that she was packing her things.
It couldn't be.
Harry stood up quickly, almost tripping over his own two feet as he attempted to inspect her actions further. This is what he wanted, right? Why was it making him so nervous that she might actually be leaving?
When he was about to walk into the hallway, an orange sticky note caught his attention. He turned his head slightly; seeing that it was the exact type that had been left that day.
He grumbled under his breath, taking the sticky paper from the wall. His eyes went to Charlie, seeing that she was still packing a few items away. He furrowed his eyebrows at the words written in the all too well known handwriting.