“I-” he started, looking up from the documents. “I’m sorry, sir. I’ll correct it and have it ready before EOB today. It’ll never happen again, sir.”
“I don’t suppose you have hearing issues,” I pointed out. “I asked for an explanation, not an apology.”
He swallowed, his eyes flicking to the marble tiles before moving back in my general direction.
“I didn’t have much to do after lunch break yesterday, so I…had some drinks. I was about to leave when I remembered that I wasn’t done with the reports. I knew I couldn’t send it to you late.”
“Oh, it’s really sad, isn’t it?” I asked, relaxing further into my chair. “You had to quickly work on a report that was a part of your job description, when you were on the clock and wanted to drink to a stupor, all because your boss would have your head if you didn’t. What a life, hmm?”
He shook his side from one side to the other.
“No, sir. I forgot, I thought I had finished it.”
“But you didn’t forget to drink your brains out,” I countered coolly. Although he knew better than to correct me, I could see the argument in his expression. “Well, you sent this clusterfuck instead of a report, so whatever you drank must have dried your brains. It ruined your senses to the point of you daring to send this nonsense to me.”
“I’m sorry, sir. I’m very sorry,” he apologized, picking the papers up.
I subtly let out a calming breath as I sat more upright.
“Three hours. That’s all you have to send that report to me,” I informed. “And I don’t mean the conclusion alone.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Leave,” I ordered. “And the next time I hear of you gallivanting beyond your department, you’ll be sorry.”
He disappeared from my office within a second.
A look at my wristwatch told me that it was just a few minutes to the interview. So I opened the site where the murder case was first mentioned on my laptop. I sat back as I went through the short article for the umpteenth time.
When the intercom at the corner of my desk buzzed, I knew what it was about before I took the call.
“Sir, a reporter from the New York Times is here for the interview,” Leo informed.
“It’ll be in my office. I’m ready.”
Ending the call, I swiveled my chair away from the desk it was facing to the glass walls behind it. The skyline of the urban Manhattan area glittered, making the city look like a sleeping beauty that could charm, despite just awakening.
I turned my chair back around at the sound of three soft knocks.
“Come in, please.”
The door opened, and a smiling young lady walked in. Her navy jacket took her casual jeans and shirt up a notch. I couldn’t let my guard down. The New York Times wouldn’t have sent a lady this young if she weren’t dogged enough for the job. Or maybe they thought sending a young and beautiful blonde this time would distract me, letting my tongue slip. I inwardly chuckled at the idea, thankful she turned around to close the door and couldn’t catch the amused expression on my face.
“Good morning, Mr. Lobanov,” she greeted, a smile plastered to her face.
I stood as she approached my desk.
“I’m Ivy Gerald. Senior Reporter at New York Times,” she informed, lifting the ID she had around her neck before I extended my hand to her. “It’s nice to meet you in person.”
“The pleasure’s all mine, Miss Ivy.”
Her handshake was firm, and I got the message immediately. This would be nothing short of an investigation,not just a mere interview. I didn’t miss the fact that she didn’t ask me to address her by her first name.
Good thing my detective skills are intact.
“Your office looks great…luxurious,” she uttered as I released her hand.
Jabbing fingers at my net worth, already.
