Chapter 07

A fter this first weekend, I know Tami and I will get along very well. We discovered a mutual fondness for romantic comedies from the early 2000s, as well as a deep appreciation for Mexican telenovelas. To my surprise, she asked that I display some of my figurines and collectibles in the living room, insisting it is also my place now, so my personality is allowed to shine through. She also expressed how much she enjoys that I know ASL, which is a nice change from her past roommates. On Sunday afternoon, she offered for me to join her for her weekly Pilates session in the living room, but I politely declined, arguing my legs were still sore from the move. In all truth, I really don't like exercising. Maybe I'll come around, though. We'll see.

So, instead of Pilates, I sat on the couch and read Kelex's rulebook. Everything's pretty standard, and I was glad to see that relationships between colleagues aren't forbidden, even though they're strongly discouraged. Oliver is turning out to be exactly the kind of man I need—kind, gentle, attentive, and who knows where that'll lead.

I dedicated my Sunday to a personal project, which I haven't worked on for a couple of weeks with everything going on. It's something I've been developing for over two years now, and I'm getting closer and closer to finishing it.

And now, it's Monday, and I'll probably have to face my boss again, knowing I climaxed thinking of him. I was doing so good, and I'm back to square one again, my entire body filled with tension.

Boss problems aside, having someone to sit with on the morning bus rides is great. Tami and I head to work together, and we get to chat the whole ride downtown .

Maybe I'm not as cursed as I thought because the first thing I see upon turning my computer on is a message from Alexander in our group chat on the company's messaging software.

Alexander Coleman: I'm out of town for a personal matter. You all know what you need to work on. Email me if you have questions that can't wait.

That's all we get, per usual. No hello, no goodbye, no nothing. But I'm not really surprised by it, so I guess I'm getting used to our boss being so curt.

Whatever is keeping Alexander out of Seattle lasts almost the entire week. But the dream team is a well-oiled machine, and his absence doesn't prevent us from doing our job and getting things done. He emails us daily instructions in the mornings, and with every day that passes, I grow a little more curious about what's going on. The guys are also intrigued. According to them, Alexander Coleman is a workaholic with barely any personal life, so him being away for an entire week doesn't feel right to them.

As the week goes by, we all accept that we won't see our boss until next week, and I'm okay with that. I'm much more relaxed, and my second week at Kelex is a delight. I even bring my own food to work, as Tami and I take turns preparing two lunches every day. Slowly but surely, I'm getting used to this new life and loving it.

During lunch break on Friday, I start a game of Donkey Kong to pass the time until the microwave line is gone. But to my surprise, and to the guys' astonishment, I'm killing it. And the longer I last, the less willing I am to stop.

The whole break flies by, and Mario is still alive and well on the screen. Shit, I'm actually getting closer and closer to the high scores. By my estimate, I need an extra twenty minutes to get in the third position, twenty-five for the second one, and thirty to end up first.

Staying late to make up for it is a very mild price to pay for such an exploit. That's why I'm still here, playing and winning when everyone returns to work. The guys have returned to the Lair, and they know that as soon as I die or get a high score, I'll join them.

Because I'm so absorbed by the game, I barely notice when someone comes near me after a while. "How are you still alive?" Oliver asks, impressed.

I shrug my shoulders, knowing it is due mainly to luck. In such games, skills aren't the only parameter. One wrong succession of barrels and tricks can ruin everything. So far, I haven't had those. Oli isn't the only one interested in seeing me beat the high scores, because the guys join us in the break room one by one. Mason even comes with a tall glass of water and a straw, which he guides into my mouth so I can hydrate without stopping. This is like the Olympics for nerds.

Only two minutes left until I beat Nammota's lowest score. I can do this—especially with the gang cheerleading around me. They're all rooting for me, and I can't let them down.

"So, this is what happens when I'm away?" a familiarly intimidating voice asks behind us.

Fuck! No! Not now!

An entire week of being God knows where, and he decides to return right now, of all times?!

The guys spin around at once to face our audibly annoyed boss. I somehow find the strength to not look away, hoping they can explain the situation.

Mason is the first to respond with, "Andy is being a baddie."

"She's about to beat Nammota's score!" Brian chimes in.

There's a moment of silence, and I wish I could see Alexander's face. I have no idea if he's impressed, angry, unfazed, or about to fire my ass.

"Does she have to do it during work hours?" he eventually asks, and from his tone, he is definitely angry. Shit.

"She started early during the lunch break," Oliver intervenes. "She hasn't died since. But she said she'll make up for the lost time."

"What about all of you? Will you stay as well?" our boss asks. "What about everyone in the open space being disturbed by all your ruckus? You're supposed to work during work hours and relax during your breaks. This machine is here to entertain you, not distract you. If you can't see the difference, it will be removed."

Fuck, I can't stop. I'm so close! Three thousand more points, and I'll move up to third place. Hoping that the guys can negotiate a few extra seconds, I keep playing.

The hairs on my arms go vertical, and I feel Alexander's closeness before I even see him next to me. "You have three seconds to let go of the commands before I fire you," he orders, his tone sinister.

It doesn't even take half a second to make my decision. I release the game instantly and move two steps back, still looking at the screen. With a broken heart, I watch as Mario dies. One thousand more points, and I would have made it.

My score blinks for a moment, and the following screen arrives. Because there's no input for a few seconds, the game registers my score under AAA . Now, the leaderboard is NAM-MOT-AAA-AAA .

The resentment in my eyes can't be contained when I look at Alexander. But as I gaze at him for the first time in a week, that dreaded fantasy I allowed myself to have surges into my mind vividly. This face that I imagined between my legs is as dashing as ever. And that mouth that I pictured eating me out might be pinched in an angry line, but I'd still give my left ovary to feel it on my clit.

Fuck, I never should have masturbated with him on my mind. And I definitely shouldn't have done it again on Wednesday. It's getting in the way of my good sense.

I still glower at him, refusing to let his attractiveness overtake his rudeness.

Alexander gives me one of his warning glares, daring me to say something, to fight his authority. When I don't, he turns to the guys, his eyes dark with anger. "Everyone, back to work. Except you," he adds, pointing at me.

They hesitantly comply, but Oliver stays, ready to defend me. "Lex, she really planned on staying late to compensate."

"I don't care," our boss answers, still glaring at me. I hold his gaze fiercely, fueled by anger. Not breaking eye contact, he adds, "If it will reassure you, I won't fire her." But Oli is still reluctant to go, so Alexander says to me, "Tell your lover boy to go."

My eyes narrow as I resist the urge to slap his obnoxious face. For the sake of Oliver, I hold back and turn to my friend. "It's okay, Oli. I can handle it," I promise. He hesitates, his eyes going from me to our boss, and when I nod, he finally complies and returns to the Lair.

Once we're alone, I muster the courage to face Alexander again. His gray irises are dark like a stormy sky, and I worry about the hurricane coming my way.

"This will be your first and last warning, Andrea. You're here to work, not to mingle, to make friends, to play games… From now on, no more flirting, no more playing, no more social calls during work hours…"

I frown, scandalized by the injustice of this. During my two weeks here, I've seen many employees waste company money more often than I have. Yes, I might not pass as the most assiduous of workers, but I'm far from being the worst. I've been here ten minutes early every day, so those thirty minutes on Donkey Kong are already paid for several times over.

"I can see many thoughts running through that pretty head of yours, so let me remind you, I can replace you like this," he explains, lifting his hand and snapping his fingers. That works on me, and I bite my tongue to prevent whatever I want to tell him from spilling out. "Now that things are clear, get back to work and stop distracting your coworkers with your frivolity."

My hands clench on their own on each side of me. This is a fit of anger like I never experienced before. He's right, and I shouldn't have kept playing. But anyone with some compassion would understand where I was coming from.

And I've read the rules; I know they aren't this strict about our hours. We get to pick what's best for us as long as we do the work and get the job done well and on time. It's clear this is targeted at me specifically. He's being a sexist prick, and I can't stand it.

As I look into his murderous eyes, I want to rip his spine out and strangle him with it. Ever since meeting him that first day in the elevator, I've grown accustomed to this man making me feel ungodly things. But this anger is something entirely new to me. I've never felt so dangerously hateful toward anyone before.

But I can't lose this job, so I bottle it all up. After one last loaded glare toward him, I turn around like a well-trained bitch to head back to the Lair. When I enter, the guys send me worried looks. They wait for me to sit down, anxious to ask.

"So, what did he say?" Brian asks.

"Apparently, I'm too frivolous and need to stop distracting you guys," I explain, trying to stay calm despite my voice trembling with contained rage.

"I've never seen him so angry," Steven points out. "I get that you probably shouldn't have been playing during work hours, but this was disproportionate."

"Yeah, I don't know what his problem is lately," Mason agrees.

"From my perspective, women are his problem," I say dryly.

"No, Lex isn't like that. Ask any woman here; he's never been out of line."

"Then I guess it's me. I'm his fucking problem."

Without a word, Oliver gets up and comes over to me. He turns my chair, makes me stand, and wraps his arms around me in a reassuring embrace. As his familiar scent fills my lungs, my anger slowly melts away. Behind me, someone else joins in on the hug–Mason. Soon enough, all five of them are hugging me, and their affection helps calm me down.

After a while, they let go to get back to work, except Oli, who bends to level his face with mine. "Are you feeling better?" he asks. Forcing a smile, I nod. "Do you want some tea or something?"

I shake my head. "I'm good, thanks. I've wasted enough of your time as it is."

"You're never a waste of time."

My boss might be an asshole, but I have the best coworkers in the world.

Even though I'm brooding the whole afternoon, I do my job and I do it well. By five-thirty, I'm fucking glad to leave this place. I consider staying, as I originally intended, but decide against it. My boss scolding the shit out of me is enough punishment. Just as I'm about to turn off my computer, I receive a message from the internal messaging software.

It's from Alexander.

Alexander Coleman: Come up to my office.

Has he changed his mind? After giving it some thought, did he decide to fire me? I stare at the five words as if they might give me cholera. If I don't go up right now and delay it until Monday, maybe he'll change his mind again and not fire me. My pulse quickens. The possibility of losing my job two weeks in is frankly shameful.

I'm still hesitating on what to do when a sixth word makes its way into the conversation.

Alexander Coleman: Please.

In my—albeit little—time here, I've never heard him say please. Until this point, I even doubted the word was in his vocabulary. But there they are. Six letters that change everything. He can't possibly want to fire me if he's being this abnormally nice.

My expectations for this man are so fucking low.

"Are you coming?" Oliver wonders, all packed up.

I do a quick Alt+Tab to open my last window and hide the message before turning to my friend. "No, I have one last thing to take care of before I can leave. But go, I'm good."

He exits the Lair after a warm smile and a nod.

Alone in the office, I open the conversation with Alexander and send him a dry:

Andrea Walker: Ok.

N ot even five minutes. I didn't even last five minutes back at work before blowing up at Andrea.

With a sigh, I remove my glasses and throw them on my desk. I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to appease the headache hammering in the back of my skull. I shouldn't have come straight here from the airport. After missing the whole week, I could have gone home instead .

There's too much going on with Kelex to waste four and a half days in Denver. Especially since I was never close to my paternal grandmother, so I didn't really care about attending the unplugging of her life support machines and then the funeral. But my sisters insisted, so I had to put everything on hold and get on a plane—which I hate—to join the extended Coleman family.

That's why I wanted to ensure everything was alright as soon as I returned and that the team didn't need my help. I didn't expect to find the Lair empty upon arriving. With all the noise they were making in the break room, it wasn't hard to find where my developers had gathered. Part of me knew she was the cause of this mess before I even saw her on the arcade machine.

Andrea Walker isn't the exemplary employee I expected. She talks back, sidetracks her colleagues, makes her own rules… But she's also fucking brilliant at her job. She's the most impressively skilled coder I've worked with, and I can't dismiss that. Having her with us is an asset, and it makes up for her being challenging to work with. In all truth, she could work only three hours per day and still be more efficient than any of her colleagues.

That's why I need her to come up here. We must clear the air and restart this whole thing on better terms. I need to lower my expectations regarding her work ethic.

With another tired sigh, I pick up my glasses and slip them on to return to my emails. I handled the important ones while I was away, but I still need to catch up on the rest of them.

My body instinctively tenses when I hear two feeble knocks on the door.

"Come in."

Slowly, the handle twists and the door opens. Then she appears with her Ghostbusters T-shirt and high-waisted jeans, as well as her bag and a pair of headphones around her neck. She doesn't look at me right away but studies my office with curiosity instead.

The first thing that catches her eye is the floor-to-ceiling windows behind me and the unobstructed view over the city. Then she studies the sleek designer furniture, with gray tones and light woods, and the two anthracite armchairs with a matching sofa by the entrance. Her doe eyes don't give anything away, but maybe she'll finally understand that my rigidity isn't just because I'm the boss. It's a way of life. It's who I am at my core.

When she eventually focuses her attention on me, I look away and to my screen instead. I need a moment to gather myself and make sure this goes well.

"Please, sit, Andrea. I'm almost done," I say, gesturing at the couch .

She docilely complies, and I see her slip her hands under her thighs, visibly nervous. We wait in unbearable silence, which is only interrupted by my efficient typing. Eventually, I roll my chair back and stand up. Her eyes are on me the whole time I approach, which isn't helping the tension within me.

To give myself some time, I remove my glasses, put them on the table, and sit in one of the armchairs facing her. I give myself another few beats to think about what I'll say. She looks worried, probably thinking I'm about to fire her.

"I'm not good at this," I bluntly start. "Kevin is the people person. I'm the brain person. But it's not his job to fix my mistakes."

Already, I see her relax a little.

"About earlier, I'm sorry I lashed out at you. I shouldn't have, and I apologize for it. It doesn't excuse my behavior, but I'm in a poor mood because of a headache that will not go away." I pause, unsure why I feel the need to explain myself like this. "After I returned to my office, I received individual messages from each of your coworkers. They made it abundantly clear that you're a dedicated person who often works overtime and has an exceptional talent for the job."

She smiles at that, a genuine, touched smile.

"I know I haven't given you any reason to believe this, but although I'm blunt and direct, I'm not a prick, nor a ‘sexist asshole,'" I add, air quoting the last part.

She looks confused by that, and it takes her a few seconds to remember what I'm referring to. I should have known upon accidentally reading that text on her first day that she'd be trouble. Keeping an employee who thinks of me as a sexist asshole—but an attractive one—can't be a good idea.

Blood drains from her face as she remembers the text, and I have to refrain from smiling at her shock.

"Don't worry, I've been called much worse," I say, to lessen her embarrassment. "And you're allowed your own opinion and to send whatever messages you want to your friends."

"Messages you shouldn't read, by the way," she boldly states, having found her spine.

"I was curious to see what was so important that you'd throw yourself at me."

"You were as into it as I was," she protests, her tongue quicker than her mind, as it often is. "A part of it, I mean."

"Anyhow," I continue after a short silence, "I think we should start anew. You're a valuable asset to the company, and I would hate for our strained rapport to ruin your employment here. "

She hesitates, but only for a moment. If I, her superior, want to bury the hatchet, why would she refuse? She has a lot more to lose than me, and she knows it. That's why she eventually nods.

I offer her my hand to shake. "Good evening, I'm Alexander Coleman. I'm a workaholic who rarely—despite appearances—lashes out at my employees."

She barely grins, but I see it. As eager as I am to improve our future interactions, she nods and says, "Hi, I'm Andrea Walker. I might get distracted sometimes, but I always get the job done."

Her soft fingers slip over my palm, and I'm shocked by the intensity of the simple contact. A shiver, so intense it feels like electricity, runs up my arms all the way to my chest. It almost makes me recoil, but I overcome it and keep my composure. Could she feel that too?

Her hand looks small in mine, so my hold isn't as tight as usual.

"It's a pleasure to re-meet you, Andrea," I say. She doesn't return the words as I release her. "Well then, I won't hold you in here any longer," I conclude, grabbing my glasses. "I'm sure you have better things to do on a Friday evening."

"Wait," she says before looking for something in her bag. I'm not sure what I expect, but it's not the bottle of pills she takes out. She pops one out and extends it over the table. "A peace offering."

I don't immediately take it, so she insists with an encouraging nod. "These always work for me, even on the nastiest headaches."

Understanding what it's for, I bring my hand under hers, and she lets the pill fall into my palm. "Thank you, Andrea."

"You can call me Andy since everyone else takes that liberty," she says humorously—a clever callback to her first day here.

I don't have time to respond before she stands from the couch. "See you Monday, then."

Ah, yes. Formalities. "Have a good weekend," I respond.

Still seated, I watch as she nods and leaves. For the first time in a while, our interaction didn't go entirely wrong. Looking down at the pill in my palm, I feel somehow relieved.

We fixed things.