“No, I want an ever-so-slightly-rounded corner.”
I increased it by a point.
“Too much.”
I adjusted the corner radius back down toexactlywhere it had been.
“Now give it a slight drop shadow.”
I added the line of code.
Brea was hovering over my shoulder, her breath grazing the back of my neck whenever she spoke.
“Mmm,” she said, staring at the buttons on the screen. “Use the script font.”
I dutifully switched it, wishing I had never agreed to do the website.
“Can you make the border even?”
“It is even.”
“It’s not.”
She leaned over me, her soft tits pressing ever so slightly into my shoulder. Being that close to her was shocking.Can she not feel it, that we are touching? Maybe she can’t feel it through her bra. No, don’t think about her undergarments, Jesus Christ, dude.
“See,” Brea was saying, “this side is narrower than the top and bottom. You keep working on it. I need some coffee.”
“It’s the middle of the night!” I said in horror.
“It’s never too late for coffee.”
“Yes, it is,” I insisted. “Besides, the Gray Dove Bakery downstairs is closed.”
“I know that, but you have a break room,” she insisted, picking up her bag.
Maybe she’s just trying to make an easy escape, I hoped as I finished making the changes on the website code.
Right as I saved it, there was an unholy shriek, and all the lights in the building went out.
“What the fuck?”
I ran out into the hallway. The emergency lights had kicked on from the battery backup.
I found Brea in the break room, looking guiltily at a vintage 1950s coffee maker. The cord had metal coils around it and looked frayed.
“Uh,” Brea said, “I don’t think your office likes my coffeepot.”
The metal canister smoldered and popped. The acrid smell of smoke wafted through the hallways as the silver coffeepot burst into flames. Brea shrieked and pointed ineffectively while I ran and grabbed the fire extinguisher and sprayed foam over the counter, the fire alarm blaring.
“You ruined my coffeepot!” Brea yelled at me.
“You almost burned down my office!” I yelled over the alarm.
Outside, fire trucks roared up to the tower. The coffeepot wasn’t smoking anymore. I looked up nervously at the sprinkler heads. If they went off, we would really have a problem.
Brea was poking at the coffeepot when the firemen stomped up into the office.
“It was just an accident,” I told them. “You didn’t need to come.”
