Slowly, the handle twists and the door opens. Then she appears with her Ghostbusters T-shirt and high-waisted jeans, as well as her bag and a pair of headphones around her neck. She doesn’t look at me right away but studies my office with curiosity instead.
The first thing that catches her eye is the floor-to-ceiling windows behind me and the unobstructed view over the city. Then she studies the sleek designer furniture, with gray tones and light woods, and the two anthracite armchairs with a matching sofa by the entrance. Her doe eyes don’t give anything away, but maybe she’ll finally understand that my rigidity isn’t just because I’m the boss. It’s a way of life. It’s who I am at my core.
When she eventually focuses her attention on me, I look away and to my screen instead. I need a moment to gather myself and make sure this goes well.
“Please, sit, Andrea. I’m almost done,” I say, gesturing at the couch.
She docilely complies, and I see her slip her hands under her thighs, visibly nervous. We wait in unbearable silence, which is only interrupted by my efficient typing. Eventually, I roll my chair back and stand up. Her eyes are on me the whole time I approach, which isn’t helping the tension within me.
To give myself some time, I remove my glasses, put them on the table, and sit in one of the armchairs facing her. I give myself another few beats to think about what I’ll say. She looks worried, probably thinking I’m about to fire her.
“I’m not good at this,” I bluntly start. “Kevin is the people person. I’m the brain person. But it’s not his job to fix my mistakes.”
Already, I see her relax a little.
“About earlier, I’m sorry I lashed out at you. I shouldn’t have, and I apologize for it. It doesn’t excuse my behavior, but I’m in a poor mood because of a headache that will not go away.” I pause, unsure why I feel the need to explain myself like this. “After I returned to my office, I received individual messages from each of your coworkers. They made it abundantly clear that you’re a dedicated person who often works overtime and has an exceptional talent for the job.”
She smiles at that, a genuine, touched smile.
“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,’” I add, air quoting the last part.
She looks confused by that, and it takes her a few seconds to remember what I’m referring to. I should have known upon accidentally reading that text on her first day that she’d be trouble. Keeping an employee who thinks of me as a sexist asshole—but an attractive one—can’t be a good idea.
Blood drains from her face as she remembers the text, and I have to refrain from smiling at her shock.
“Don’t worry, I’ve been called much worse,” I say, to lessen her embarrassment. “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,” she boldly states, having found her spine.
“I was curious to see what was so important that you’d throw yourself at me.”
“You were as into it as I was,” she protests, her tongue quicker than her mind, as it often is. “A part of it, I mean.”
“Anyhow,” I continue after a short silence, “I think we should start anew. You’re a valuable asset to the company, and I would hate for our strained rapport to ruin your employment here.”
She hesitates, but only for a moment. If I, her superior, want to bury the hatchet, why would she refuse? She has a lot more to lose than me, and she knows it. That’s why she eventually nods.
I offer her my hand to shake. “Good evening, I’m Alexander Coleman. I’m a workaholic who rarely—despite appearances—lashes out at my employees.”
She barely grins, but I see it. As eager as I am to improve our future interactions, she nods and says, “Hi, I’m Andrea Walker. I might get distracted sometimes, but I always get the job done.”
Her soft fingers slip over my 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. Could she feel that too?
Her hand looks small in mine, so my hold isn’t as tight as usual.
“It’s a pleasure to re-meet you, Andrea,” I say. She doesn’t return the words as I release her. “Well then, I won’t hold you in here any longer,” I conclude, grabbing my glasses. “I’m sure you have better things to do on a Friday evening.”
“Wait,” she says before looking for something in her bag. I’m not sure what I expect, but it’s not the bottle of pills she takes out. She pops one out and extends it over the table. “A peace offering.”
I don’t immediately take it, so she insists with an encouraging nod. “These always work for me, even on the nastiest headaches.”
Understanding what it’s for, I bring my hand under hers, and she lets the pill fall into my palm. “Thank you, Andrea.”
“You can call me Andy since everyone else takes that liberty,” she says humorously—a clever callback to her first day here.
I don’t have time to respond before she stands from the couch. “See you Monday, then.”
Ah, yes. Formalities. “Have a good weekend,” I respond.
