By 5:46pm, I’m whispering to myself:
“Get it together.”
By 5:48pm, I’m in the lift.
By 5:50pm… I’m standing outside his office door.
The lights on the floor are dimmer. Softer. The company feels different at night, quieter, warmer, too intimate.
I lift my hand to knock.
It shakes.
I breathe out slowly and knock anyway.
Two seconds pass, then… “Come in.”
I open the door.
And everything inside me stutters.
He’s there. Not behind his desk Not in his chair.
Leaning against the front of it. Sleeves rolled. Tie loose. The top two buttons undone.
Watching me walk in like he’s been starving and I just walked in holding dessert.
The door clicks shut behind me.
Soft. Final. Private.
My breath catches.
He straightens.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
“Ruby,” he says. Quiet. Warm. Too much.
I swallow. “Hi.”
He steps toward me.
One slow step.
Then another.
My pulse picks up. My feet stay rooted.
He stops just close enough that I can feel the heat from his body.
“Are you nervous?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“Good.”
