Another late night at my desk.
The whole floor hums with that empty, after-hours sound of air conditioning and moving elevators. The overhead lights are low, blending with the soft glow of the screens of workers who have already gone home.
My desk lamp throws a small circle on the ocean of spreadsheet printouts in front of me, the papers covered in neon-colored Post-its.
The proposal is so close to being done, I can feel it. After two months, I’ve decided tonight is when I finish it. Tomorrow morning, it’ll be on Sasha’s desk before he even takes his first sip of coffee.
Alright, focus.
I take a deep breath, ready to smash through the last little bit of the draft. I allow myself a little smile. There’s nothing here for him to rip apart. Not this time.
My laptop pings with a message from Alana, Sasha’s assistant.Mr. Orlov would like to see you. Now.
Of course he does. He smells progress like a shark smells blood. I save the document, gather the binder and my notes, and stand. It’s fine. He’ll just ask for a status update. I’ll give it to him. That should get me enough breathing room to finish this thing tonight.
Alana’s packing up to go as I approach Sasha’s office. “He’s in there,” she says. “Just a word of warning—he doesn’t look happy.”
“Does he ever?”
She doesn’t smile. “No. But this seems different. Good luck.” She throws her purse over her shoulder and heads out.
I approach the glass doors to Sasha’s office, suddenly feeling a little less confident than I did before. I knock quietly.
“Come in.”
I open the door slowly. His office is dim, just like it was that night. Sasha stands at the floor-to-ceiling windows, the skyline framing his shape, the city awash in blues and golds of nighttime lights.
He turns. His jacket is off, his sleeves rolled up precisely, his tie off and draped neatly over the back of his leather desk chair. He looks delicious as hell, like always. Calm, in control, demanding.
I step further inside, closing the door behind me. He says nothing, so I start. “You wanted to see me?”
He levels those obsidian eyes at me. “Sit.”
I don’t want to. As silly as it might be, I’m not in the mood to follow his orders like a little soldier. Instead, I fold my hands together behind my back, clear my throat, and speak.
“I’m on track,” I say. “I’m nearly done with the full draft and can have it ready for you in the morning. But if you want it ASAP, I can prepare it in the next few hours, but I’d rather use the extra time to tighten the?—”
“You’ve been out.”
The words aren’t ones I expected. “I… what?”
“Out of the office,” he says. “Repeatedly. During core hours.”
It’s absurd. Is he really telling me I can’t leave the office during lunch or to grab a coffee on break? “Sasha, I?—”
“Mr. Orlov.”
So he’s going to be like that.
“Mr. Orlov,” I say. “I’m salaried, not an inmate. You don’t get to have that kind of control over me coming and going. And I thought that was our understanding, based on our previous conversation.”
“Where have you been going during your lunch breaks?”
I don’t like the way he’s sidestepping me, but I know Sasha well enough to have learned that when he gets on this kind of tear, there’s nothing to do but give him what he wants.
“Not that it’s any of your business what I do on my lunch breaks, but I’ve been getting coffee, going on walks, clearing my head. I’m happy to work hard, but you need to respect my autonomy. You promised me you would.”
Without a word, he opens a drawer and pulls out a manila folder. Sasha opens it, removes a sheet of paper, and places it on the desk, sliding it forward with his fingertips.
