2. WARREN

I'd been at Fizz since it was founded. I was part of the pitch to big businesses, and I was there on those late nights with the owner sitting around a dining table fleshing out ideas.

Before working here, I was writing ad-copy and pitching marketing ideas for a chocolate brand. A big one in the UK. I decided on leaving because I was thirty, and if I wanted to go up the ranks, I'd need to be there for another ten years.

Marcus, the owner, offered me a job as a digital marketing exec with a small stake in the company. I had big ideas, bold ideas, ideas that, if played right, could skyrocket my career beyond a single company. I wanted an agency, or maybe I'd been watching too much Mad Men. John Hamm did have a twinkle in his eye, and that was enough to keep me interested.

"Shit, crap, rubbish, boring," Marcus listed off. He sighed, pushing himself out from beneath the glass boardroom table.

The boardroom on the office floor was a large room, not quite needed for a small company. He rented the entire floor, and he wanted to get all the use out of it. The walls on both sides were windows. One facing out to the city, the other frosted, facing a hallway. It was currently occupied by myself, Marcus, and my marketing team. Nick, Gareth, and Jane.

Marcus paced the length of the room.

I stood. "If you gave us a bigger budget, we might be able—"

"No, no," he approached, raising a finger at me. "I'm not upping your budget, we're over budget as it already is."

"In all fairness, the first quarter figures were fantastic," I said, "and that was all down to me. You gave me the budget to hire, you didn't say it was either hire help or have a working budget. The online ads are working. When they perform, you see the metrics."

I turned to see the three faces looking back at me. They had that same expressionless worry in their eyes, like they didn't want to show fear. It was for the best. Marcus was ruthless, and that's how I knew he was going places. If he smelled fear, he might have HR in here signing termination sheets.

"Jane has the figures for the online ads," I said. "They're converting. And we must remember, this is a new business. You must build brand awareness. That's what we're doing."

"Brand awareness," he snapped. "I'm employing you for brand awareness, and yes, first quarter figures were great, but if investors see a dip, they'll think that high was a fluke. Do you think it was a fluke?"

Looking back at the three employees with their different flavoured Fizz branded drinks on the table. I shook my head. "No. You have a solid product, and that's going to help when you score those supermarket spots."

He raised a hand, his fingers curling. He looked like he wanted to grab something to smash.

"How about this," I interrupted him mid-action. "We'll get back to work on the pitch for next week, and I'll see what else I can do for brand awareness. Nick had a great idea about T-shirts for orders over a certain amount on the website."

Marcus' head turned to a slow nod. "And make sure you're pushing the low sugar angle." He let out a long exhale. I knew whatever he was going to say wasn't for everyone's ears.

I ushered my team out of the boardroom. They gathered their images and papers from the table. I waited behind to see Marcus cool down. He gulped at a can of red apple Fizz.

Burping, he wiped his mouth on a tissue. "I'm not mad," he said through gritted teeth. "I'm trying to get this off the ground, and I feel like it's being hobbled at every corner."

"Hobbled?" I asked with a glimmer of laughter.

"I feel sabotaged."

Now that was a big word. "I don't think anyone is sabotaging you, or the company. It's got great legs, small legs, but they're great, and they're going places if you let them."

"Warren," he let out, puffing his cheeks. "I invested so much money in this. A lot of it is inheritance, but that's what it's there for. And only a small percentage of it was investments, but as we grow, I'm going to want bigger investments, and then eventually for the drinks monopoly to buy me out and I can go sun myself on a super yacht."

"Big dreams, for the future," I said. I knew his dream, he'd told me about them, over and over. He didn't want the business at all. He wanted to make the business look good and put a pretty bow on it so he could sell it. I knew that's what he was doing. "I know Shaun is dealing with operations, but are you sure you can even handle a big order from a supermarket right now?"

He scoffed. "It's not about filling the order with the big supermarkets," he said, shaking his head. He squeezed the drinks can. "It's about getting them interested enough to order."

"Gotcha!" There was no talking to him about it. It wasn't my business, but my name was at stake. I couldn't be the name attached to a botched business venture. "I'm going out for lunch today, but don't worry, I'll be thinking about the marketing strategies."

That was a lie. I needed to do anything but think of that. It wasn't that I was creatively blocked, but I didn't know how to top the first quarter, and I was an excellent top—at least, with no previous complaints.

Out of the boardroom, I went to the toilets. I needed to splash water on my face after that.

There was someone in there, occupying one of the stalls. Just when I wanted to give myself a monologue in the mirror, or a pep talk—same thing.

A hitched breath caught my ear.

"You ok in there?" I called out.

There was no reply, but I could hear the heavy breathing. It was sadness.

"If this is about what Marcus said," I began.

"Hello?" a soft voice responded.

That voice wasn't from my team.

"Oh, sorry, I thought you were—"

The door opened.

With pink eyes and a blotchy face, it was the guy from yesterday. He stood, slouched in posture. He looked up, wide eyes. He brushed a long hair behind his ear. "Hi," he said, pulling the sleeves of his sweater into his palms.

"Everything ok?"

"I'm fine."

I knew a lie when I heard one. He wasn't fine. He'd been crying.

"You work in customer services, right?"

He looked away, nodding to himself. He picked his gaze to the lanyard around my neck. "Oh," he muttered. "You're—you're the guy from yesterday."

"Lose your lanyard again?" I asked, noting he didn't have it around his neck.

"It's in my pocket," he said. His voice was soft. He made eye contact again. His green eyes were intense, a little wet and raw around the edges.

"Let me guess," I said, clicking my tongue. "Asshole customer on the phone?"

He cracked a smile. "I'm just—" He looked worried, breaking eye contact again. "It's nothing."

"I won't tell anyone," I said. "Do you want to go for coffee? We can trade stories?"

"I can't—I have to—"

"I won't take no for an answer," I chuckled. "Let me take you for a coffee. I want to know what happened. If it's work related, I won't say a word. If it's personal, no pressure. But in all honesty, I would like someone to talk with. And you look like a great listener."

"You do—I do?"

I nodded, watching as he blushed pink across his cheeks and nose. "And it looks like it's lunchtime. You can't be hiding out here alone for lunch. I won't let you."

"I woke up late, so I was—"

"Even better," I offered back with excitement. I placed my hand on his shoulder.

He pulled away, stepping back. "I was going to go out for lunch, but I can go alone, so you don't have to make plans with me."

"I was going to eat alone, so you'd be doing me a favour," I said.

Looking at him, his aversion to eye contact and touch. I felt for him. I wanted to take him in my arms and squeeze him. The way I would a dog.

"Ok," he agreed.

"We can compare stories," I chuckled. "My team is great, but they nearly all got fired today because the owner won't put any more money into marketing." I rolled my eyes and gesticulated with a hand in the air.

"Oh no," he grumbled, a pain on his clenched face. "That doesn't sound nice."

"It's fine, it's ok," I said, "of course, he was just annoyed because of reasons." I couldn't go around telling everyone company business, even if he did have the type of face that made me want to express every feeling I'd ever had. "I'll just say, the business is profitable, but he wants more profit."

He cracked another smile. "That's capitalism, I guess."

I snickered at the comment. "For that, I'll buy you lunch."

"And that might be communism, but I don't think my comment is equal to lunch."

Shaking my head as I locked eyes with him again, catching him in a smile. He seemed intelligent. "Maybe not, but I think being forced into spending your lunch break with me is definitely worth something."

"I don't think I'll be good company."

"Well, I can be a bit of a bore, and I have this policy where I don't let guys with nice smiles eat lunch alone," I said. "Don't tell HR I said that. I don't want this to—" I should've kicked myself for attempting to flirt, and so should HR.

He pressed his lips together in a smile. "I won't tell," he said. "But you might have to tell my supervisor, because I think I'm done with confrontation for the day." He glanced back into my eyes and immediately looked away.

"Don't worry, I'll make something up."

"No."

"Sorry, I—"

His grip of his shirt cuffs in his palms grew tighter, straining the cotton up his arms. "I don't like lying."

"Then I'll tell them the truth, I'm taking you for lunch, I think you've got potential."

"I said no lying."

"Alexi," he said. "That's your name, right?" I recalled from his lanyard yesterday. "I'm not lying. I do think you've got potential. You're in customer services, and you care a lot." He potentially cared too much; his anxious outburst told me that much.

He smiled again, his cheeks turning rosy.

I wanted to keep him smiling. It was an easy thing to achieve. I didn't know why more people didn't try putting smiles on other people's faces. It was free.