“I—No. Why?”
“I don’t think I have ever seen someone talk to Lex like that and get off so easily.”
“Was I rude?”
“Not really… But he doesn’t like people talking back since he’s right ninety-nine percent of the time. And being second-guessed by your employees must be a pain in the ass,” Steven explains.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize my attitude was problematic.”
“It’s okay, Andy,” Oli reassures me. “Just be careful. You don’t want to poke the bear. Alexander Coleman has a limited stock of patience, and you don’t want to see what happens when he runs out of it.”
Brian nods. “Last time, the walls trembled.”
“What happened?” I ask, curiosity getting the best of me.
Steven is the one who fills me in. “Someone leaked essential pieces of information before a patent was fully negotiated. The company probably lost a few million because of it.”
Well, that seems like a good reason to get mad. I’d get mad for a hundred dollars. And growing up with two Mexican women, I know how to yell at people—with thechanclaand everything.
All things considered, I’d yell for twenty dollars.
Shortly after lunch, Mason, Joseph, and I find a bug we can’t solve. This means our boss comes to the Lair to help us deal with it. The entire time he sets up his laptop at his desk, I keep track of him from the corner of my eye. I’m about to focus back on work when he slips on his glasses.
Alexander Coleman wears his intelligence very accurately. With one glimpse at him, it’s abundantly clear that his intellect is off the charts. Maybe it’s the way he holds himself, the assurance he lets off, or the sharpness of his eyes. When his glasses are added to the mix, it pushes that reality even further, bringing him closer to the evil genius he channels.
Yeah, I’m definitely growing sapiosexual.
Of course, I forget to pretend I’m working, and straight-up stare. His lush lips are tempting despite the stiff line they form, and I wonder what it would feel like to have them against mine. Surely, they wouldn’t remain so rigid.
“Earth to Andy,” Mason calls next to me.
I spin around to face him, mortified he caught me staring at our boss. Oh God, how long have I been out of it?
“Sorry, I got distracted,” I apologize in a low voice.
“You and me both, sis,” he says with a knowing smile, glancing at our very focused boss. Oh, so not only do we play for the same team, but we also have the same type.
“Anyways,” he continues. “Have you had the time to work on the script I gave you?”
“Yes! I need ten more minutes to clean it up, and we’re good.”
Grooving to the Bee Gees’ “Stayin’ Alive”, I moonwalk into my building’s entrance hall. It goes as good as it can—meaning not good—until I bump into someone behind me.
Startled and embarrassed beyond words, I turn around with a squeal, only to find my landlady glaring at me, unamused.
“Mrs. Godfrey!” I say, putting my hand over my racing heart and pushing back my headphones.
She’s one of the few people I don’t have to look up to, yet she’s somehow still intimidating. In her late sixties or early seventies,she has a large upper body and skinny legs. It’s my third time seeing her, and she’s always in a variation of the same outfit: an oversized T-shirt, leggings, crocs, round glasses with thick lenses, and a bandanna protecting her hair.
“I’m so sorry!” I blurt out.
“You Gen Z, with your savage music. Never minding where you walk.”
I nod docilely, pretending I wasn’t this enthusiastic over a song decades older than me. “Yes, so sorry. It won’t happen again.”
“You’ve been here for almost a week and still haven’t signed your lease.”
I’m not sure what to say to that. I arrived on Saturday, so it’s been four days instead of a week. And we both know she’s the problem here. I’ve texted her several times to let her know I was available to sign whenever she wanted. “We can handle it now if you want,” I diplomatically offer.
