“No worries,” I reassure her, as my heart skips a beat. “It looks like you’re getting it down quickly.”
She nods and then pauses as it uploads the information, turning to me. “So… how long does it usually take before you start dreaming about this stuff?” she asks, managing a joke even as her cheeks flush.
“About three weeks. But then it’s pretty much every night.” I catch her gaze, and she holds it.
Damn, she’s gorgeous.
The computer beeps, and I rip my gaze from her and back to the screen. We keep going. She takes notes and every so often she asks a question that’s actually good—better than the ones I’ve gotten from the last three hires combined.
She asks why the reports are color-coded the way they are. When I tell her the truth—“Adrian is slightly colorblind, butwon’t admit it, so red is always urgent”—she laughs so hard she nearly snorts.
“I won’t tell him you said that,” she says.
“You better not. He’ll have my ass,” I chuckle.
After an hour, she’s comfortable enough to start clicking around on her own. I watch from a distance, coffee mug in hand, and only jump in a couple of times.
“You’re good at this,” I assure her, not bothering to hide how impressed I am.
She looks genuinely surprised. “You think so?”
“Some people never get past the sign-in screen,” I tell her. “It’s kind of a litmus test.”
She glances down, suddenly shy. “You’re a good teacher.”
I shrug, hoping it reads as casual and not awkward. “I’m selfish. The sooner you’re up to speed, the less I have to do.”
She smirks. “So, it’s all about you, then?”
“Absolutely,” I shoot her a wink, which is totally out of character for me. I use the awkward moment to check the clock. We’ve burned almost two hours, and the time totally flew past.
Her phone buzzes with a reminder for a meeting she’s supposed to be at. She looks at it, then at me, and for a moment we both seem reluctant to end.
“I should go,” she says, standing, but not moving away from the desk.
“Just let me know if you need any more help,” I say, trying to think of a reason we need to meet again.
She nods, then hesitates. “Seriously, thanks for this.”
“Anytime,” I say, feeling a pang of sadness as she turns to go.
She leaves then, taking her notepad and leaving my pen. I sit back in my chair, running the session over in my mind. I replay the moments of contact, the jokes, the flashes of real connection.
And I can’t help but wonder what it would be like to see her out of the office.
I emerge from my office at noon, expecting everyone to be gone for lunch. But I spot Maddy still at her desk, hunched over the keyboard and chewing the end of a pen. I stand in my office doorway for a moment, pretending to read a notification on my phone, and wonder if she’ll notice me.
She does after a few moments that feel like an eternity.
She sits back, stretching her arms over her head, and catches my eye with a sheepish grin.
“Skipping lunch isn’t good for the mind,” I say, making my way to her desk.
She shrugs. “Well, I’m also trying to survive my first week without public humiliation, and god forbid, lunch runs late. I’d rather starve.”
“Unrealistic, but admirable,” I chuckle, crossing the floor to her desk. “But you know what?”
“What?” Maddy peers up at me, a strand of her hair loose from her ponytail.
