And when she finally realizes that I cannot be managed, only partnered with, she will be magnificent.
"Thraka," she says without stopping, her heels clicking a steady rhythm against the linoleum floor that echoes through the narrow hallway.
I adjust Steve's weight on my shoulder, he's beginning to drool on my ill-fitting jacket, but such is the price of victory. "Yes?"
She glances back at me, just for a moment, and there's something different in her expression. Not quite approval, but perhaps the absence of active disapproval, which I'm beginning to understand is the highest compliment Orla Peace gives freely.
"Next time you want lunch, ask me first."
"Why?"
"Because I know where the good food is. And I won't faint when you challenge me."
I smile.
This anxious one is braver than she knows.
"Agreed," I say. "But I still reserve the right to duel if necessary."
"We'll negotiate that later."
"I look forward to it."
She doesn't answer.
But I see the corner of her mouth twitch.
Victory.
Small, but sweet.
3
ORLA
The conference room smells like industrial cleaner and cold desperation. I've claimed this space as training ground, HR's neutral territory, because putting Thraka in my actual office feels like inviting a tornado to rearrange my filing system.
I smooth the front of my blazer, a nervous habit I refuse to acknowledge as nervous, and turn to face my newest project.
Thraka fills the doorway like a natural disaster in business casual.
"Today," I announce, channeling every ounce of authority I possess, which at 5'4" requires significant concentration, "we're going to discuss appropriate workplace discipline."
He crosses his arms, biceps straining against suit fabric that was never designed for this kind of abuse. "I already know discipline. Chain of command. Punishment for weakness. Rewards for victory."
"That's not—" I pinch the bridge of my nose, feeling the familiar tension headache blooming behind my eyes like clockwork. "Okay, let's start with what you can't do."
"Why start with limitations?" He frowns, genuinely confused. "Should we not begin with what victories are possible?"
"Because you ate Steve's lunch and challenged him to mortal combat before 10 AM on your first day." I pull out my tablet, swiping to the notes I compiled last night at 2 AM because sleep is a luxury I can't afford. "We need to establish boundaries before you accidentally commit a felony."
"Accidentally?"
"Let me be very clear." I meet his eyes, those strange amber things that look like they belong on a wolf, not a man. Not that Thraka is technically a man. He's an orc. An orc in my conference room. An orc whose employment contract I now have to honor because the CEO thinks diversity means hiring someone who refers to the parking garage as "the stone belly of the metal beast."
I clear my throat, the sound embarrassingly loud in the conference room's aggressive silence. The fluorescent lights hum overhead like wasps trapped in plastic. Focus, Orla. Professional boundaries. Employee onboarding. Not the way his shoulders fill that ill-fitting jacket like he's one deep breath away from turning into the Incredible Hulk. "Decapitation is not an approved disciplinary action."
Silence.
