I'm glad to see things aren't weird between Oli and me at work. He's as easygoing as ever. In fact, the rest of the week is nearly perfect until I manage to screw that up on Friday.
During lunch break, I have the brilliant idea of starting a game of Donkey Kong, since the microwaves are all busy, it sounds like a great way to pass the time. But to my surprise, and to the guys' astonishment, I'm acing it like a boss. And the longer I last, the less willing I am to stop.
The whole hour flies by and Mario is still alive and well on the screen. Shit, I'm actually getting closer and closer to the high scores. From my estimates, I need an extra fifteen minutes to get in the third position, eighteen for the second one, and twenty to end up first.
And frankly, staying late after work to make up for it is a very mild price to pay for such an exploit. Which is why when everyone heads back to work, I'm still there, playing and winning. The guys are back to the Lair, and they know that as soon as I die or get a high score, I'll join them.
Because I'm so absorbed by the game, I barely notice when someone comes near me after a while. "How are you still alive?" Oliver asks, impressed.
I shrug my shoulders, knowing it is mostly due to luck. In such games, skills aren't the only parameter. One wrong succession of barrels and tricks can ruin everything. So far, I haven't had those. Oli isn't the only one interested in seeing me beat the high scores, because one by one, the guys join us in the break room. Mason even comes with a tall glass of water and a straw, which he guides into my mouth so I can hydrate without stopping.
I'm two minutes away from Nammota's lowest score. I can do this. Especially with the nerdy gang acting as cheerleaders around me. They are all rooting for me, and I can't let them down.
"What the hell is this?" a familiarly intimidating voice asks from behind us.
Fuck! No! Not now!
The guys spin around at once to face our audibly angry boss. I somehow find the strength to not look away, hoping they can explain the situation in my stead.
Mason is the first to respond with, "Some bad bitch action."
"Andy is about to beat Nammota's score!" Brian chimes in.
There's a moment of silence, and I wish I could see Alexander's face. I have no idea if he's impressed, angry, unphased, about to fire my ass...
"Does she have to do it during work hours?" he eventually asks, and from the tone, he is definitely angry. Shit.
"She started early during the lunch break," Oliver intervenes. "She hasn't died since. But she said she'll catch up for the lost time."
"This isn't some quaint little democracy where each and everyone can do as they please," our boss says. "You work during work hours, and you relax during your breaks. This machine is here to entertain you, not distract you. If you can't make the difference, it will be removed."
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.
But I can't lose this job, so I bottle it all up. After one last loaded glare toward him, I turn around like a well-trained bitch to head back to the Lair. There, the guys are anxiously waiting for me, worried I might come back to them unemployed. I tell them it's all good, even though it doesn't feel that way, and I end up caught in a massive group hug, which Oli initiates.
All the rage, all that anger, slowly fades as they hold me. My boss might be an asshole, but I have the best coworkers in the world.
Even though I'm brooding the whole afternoon, I do my job and I do it well. By five-thirty, I'm fucking glad to leave this place. I consider staying, as I originally intended, but decide against it. My boss scolding the shit out of me is enough penance. Just as I'm about to turn off my computer, I receive a message from the internal messaging software.
It's from Alexander. Come up to my office.
Has he changed his mind? After giving it some thoughts, did he decide to fire me? I stare at the five words as if they can give me cholera. If I don't go up right now and delay it until Monday, maybe he'll change his mind again and not fire me. My pulse quickens. The possibility of losing my job barely two weeks in is frankly disturbing and shameful.
I'm still hesitating on what to do when a sixth word makes its way into the conversation. Please.
In my albeit little time here, I never heard him say please. Until this point, I even doubted the word was in his vocabulary. But there they are, the six letters that change everything. He can't possibly want to fire me if he's being this abnormally nice.
My expectations for this man are so fucking low.
"Are you coming?" Oliver wonders, all packed up.
I do a quick Alt+Tab, to open my last window and hide the message, before turning to my friend. "No, I have one last thing to take care of before I can leave. But go, I'm good."
He leaves the Lair after a warm and friendly smile.
Alone in the office, I open the conversation with Alexander and send him a dry, Ok.
I turn my computer off, take my things, and reluctantly go to the stairs. Because Tamika told me, I know which door is his office. A secretary's desk is between his and Kevin's office, and the woman sitting behind it gives me a small smile when our gazes cross. I internally count to three, let out a sigh, and knock on the wooden surface, still unsure what to expect in there.
"Come in."
My heart is pumping like crazy in my ears as I twist the handle and open the door. With keen curiosity, I observe the room that reveals itself before me. Everything is in perfect order, and I understand his inflexibility isn't just a work ethic, but a way of life.
An entire wall is floor-to-ceiling windows, with an incredible view over the city. The furniture is harmonious, with gray tones and light woods. There are two anthracite armchairs with an assorted sofa by the entrance. Mr. Bossman is behind his massive glass desk in the middle of the room, half-hidden by the three huge screens in front of him.
He's focused on typing something, his work reflecting on his glasses. "Please, sit, Andrea. I'm almost done," he says, gesturing at the couch, not looking away from his screens.
Wow, another please? And in person? It must be Christmas, and I didn't know.
The couch looks nice, but it's incredibly uncomfortable. Very stiff, like its owner. I slip my hands between my thighs and wait in unbearable silence, which is only interrupted by his efficient typing. Eventually, he rolls his chair back and stands up. I watch as he comes my way, feeling smaller with every step he takes.
He removes his glasses, puts them down on the table, and sits down in one of the armchairs facing me. While he thinks of what he'll say, I do a silent prayer, asking the gods to not let me get fired. I really like this job, even if I despise the boss that comes with it.
"I'm not good at this," he says bluntly. "Kevin is the people person. I'm the brain person. But it's not his job to rectify my mistakes, so I have to do this myself."
I really don't know where this is going, but I have the feeling I won't get fired after all. Thank you, almighty gods.
"About earlier, I just learned bad news, and I lashed out at you. I shouldn't have, and I apologize for it." He pauses, visibly uneasy. "After I came back here, I received individual messages from each of your coworkers, who made it abundantly clear that you're a rigorous person, with strong work ethics and an exceptional talent for the job."
My heart warms up at the thought. The nerds have my back.
"I know I haven't given you any reason to believe this, but although I'm blunt and direct, I'm not a prick, nor a 'sexist asshole,'" he adds, air quoting the sexist asshole part. Why is he quoting it? Where is it from?
Blood drains from my face as I remember the message I sent Kate nearly two weeks ago. Except for my boss, who's both a sexist asshole and the hottest man I've ever seen.
He read it, after all. He saw I called him a sexist asshole. Did he see I found him hot? Dear Lord, please, no... From the look he gives me, I deduce that yes, he read that part too. I imperceptibly sink into the couch, wanting to disappear.
"Don't worry, I've been called much worse. And you're allowed your own opinion and to send whatever messages you want to your friends."
"Messages you shouldn't read, by the way," I boldly state, having found some spine.
"I was curious as to what was so important that you'd throw yourself at me."
"You were as much into it as I was," I protest, having forgotten how to speak proper English. "A part of it, I mean."
"Anyhow," he continues after a short silence, "I think we should start anew. You're a valuable asset for the company, and I would hate for this to ruin your employment here."
Does he mean it? We don't have to become friends, but tolerating each other would benefit us both. If he wants to bury the hatchet, who am I to refuse? He's in a position of power, and it's in my interest to comply. I eventually nod, and he extends his hand.
"Good evening, I'm Alexander Coleman. I'm a workaholic who rarely--despite appearances--lash out at my employees when things don't go as planned."
Gazing at his hand, I don't shake it right away, quite entertained by the situation. "Hi, I'm Andrea Walker. The geeky nerd in me gets distracted sometimes, but I always get the job done."
My fingers mindlessly slip over his palm, and I'm shocked by the intensity of the simple contact. A shiver, so intense it feels like electricity, runs up my arms all the way to my chest. It almost makes me recoil, but I overcome it and keep my composure. My hand looks small in his massive one, and the hold he has on it is firm yet gentle.
"It's a pleasure to re-meet you, Andrea," he says. No, I'm not saying it back. He isn't getting off that easily. I release his hand instead after a minimal smile. "Well then, I won't hold you in here any longer," he declares, grabbing his glasses and getting up. "I'm sure you have better things to do on a Friday evening."
"Sure," I say, even though I'll just slump on the couch and not move again for several hours. "See you Monday, then."
"Have a good weekend," he tells me, surprising me once more. The man sure is trying hard.