He was never late.
I turned that voice off. Just because he’d never been late, didn’t mean he couldn’t be running late today. Traffic. I hadn’t experienced it on my walk to the building complex, but of course it happened.
An accident. Like the one he’d been in before.
Ridiculous. Why had my brain gone directly there? From, he’s a little late, directly to disaster.
E.G. was fine. He wasn’t late because he’d been in an accident. He was stuck in traffic and any other thought was just my crazy brain spiraling.
Twenty minutes later, the panic set in.
I had his number. Of course I had his number. He’d insisted I purchase a cell phone as soon as I’d gotten the job so he could reach me and I’d obeyed. Up until then I’d had a burner, but now I had an official iPhone with a cell phone plan and my own number.
He wasn’t the type of boss who texted very often. Usually, only if he knew his schedule was going to change. Never on the weekend. Never during my personal time.
He wasn’tthatkind of boss.
Except technically, this would be considered a schedule change.
One he hadn’t let me know about.
You should call him.
Hard no! He was the boss. If he wanted to sleep in, go to brunch, get laid and show up after noon, it was his prerogative.
Except he hadn’t done any of those things, at least to my knowledge, up until now.
Should I go home? Should I set my ass downstairs in the lobby and just wait? Should I call someone else?
His driver’s name was Ricky. I did not have Ricky’s number.
Five minutes later, panic moved into fear. I could feel my heart pounding and I didn’t like it. I wasn’t someone who wasprone to panic attacks, or anxiety, for that matter. It was simply how I’d been hard wired as a child. To be practical. Always assessing the situation. Then taking action.
There are some who might look at this as a snow day. Boss didn’t show up. Free day off.
I wasn’t one of those people.
A call seemed too intrusive, but a text?
It took another five minutes to craft the most innocuous message I could imagine.
Me: Hey, I’m at the office. Do you have an ETA?
I waited and paced, hoping that the elevator doors would open any second and E.G. would come rushing out with an apology.
Instead, nothing happened and I took a sip of his cold brew. Not sure if it went flat, but I was almost certainly going to need to get him a new one.
Blah!So bitter, with sweet stuff on top. How did anyone drink this?
My phone dinged and I almost dropped the cup in my hand.
Bossman: Fuck. Sorry. Overslept.
I let out a calming breath. He was fine. He simply overslept. No big deal. I waited, because surely there was more information to come. Like when he thought he might get here.
Bossman: Go home. Not coming in. Think I have a fever.
And that made even more sense. He was sick. That’s why he wasn’t feeling well. Seems redundant.
