Chapter3
1056 Words
I came in early, way too early that the office felt like a library at dawn... quiet, stiff, and too clean and I told myself today is going to be different. No clumsy mistakes, no awkward moments, but just work, focus and silence.
I carried a tray with two cups of coffee, and my hands were shaking even though I was gripping it like my life depended on it. One cup for him, and the other for me. But mine was survival fuel, and this was... well, more like a peace offering.
"Don't trip, don't trip," I muttered under my breath as I walked into his office.
The desk was piled with papers. Among them were papers, notes, folders stacked too neatly. I set the tray down carefully, biting my lip, and feeling proud that I hadn't dropped anything yet.
"Okay, Emily. You got to do this," I whispered.
I reached for the top folder to sort them before he came in. That's when my elbow brushed the tray. Just the tiniest bump, but it was enough. Then, the cup tipped. "No, no, no–"
Coffee spilled in slow motion, and dark waves spread across the glass desk, soaking the papers, and sliding right into the neat stacks.
My heart dropped immediately into my shoes as I grabbed tissues from the counter, pressing them down, and trying to blot the mess. "Come on, come on, it's fine, it's fine okay," I whispered, panicking. The ink bled, turning important-looking numbers into brown smudges.
"Breathe, just breathe Emily. It's only paper."
But then, the door clicked open and my eyes widened in fear. I froze, with tissue in hand. Alexander walked in, with jacket over his arm, and phone pressed to his ear. His steps stopped the second he saw me crouched over his desk. His eyes moved from the dripping papers to my face. The call ended instantly... he didn't even say goodbye. He just lowered his phone like the scene in front of him was enough to cut off the world. Then, my throat locked.
"What," his voice was calm but sharp, "is this?"
I shot up immediately, almost knocking the tray again. "I... I can explain. It was not intentional, it was an accident. I was just trying–"
He stepped closer, slow, controlled, like someone walking towards a mess they already knew was a disaster. He picked up the wet paper with two fingers. The paper dripped, and his jaw tightened.
"Do you have any idea," he said, in a low voice, "what you've just destroyed?"
My chest tightened so hard I thought I'd stop breathing.
"I swear I didn't mean... I was careful, I thought–"
"You thought?" His eyes pinned me in place, cold and unreadable.
I held the tissue in my hand like a useless weapon. "Please... I can fix this. I'll print new copies and it won't take long."
He didn't answer right away, but he just stared at the ruined paper like it was the final straw in a storm he'd been holding back. And then his gaze snapped back to me.
"Do you have any idea what you've just done?"
"I can fix it," I blurted out, the tissues still in my hand. "I'll reprint the documents right now, just give me a second."
Alexander didn't move, but his eyes stayed locked on the ruined pages, with ink bleeding into the brown mess. Then, slowly, he looked at me.
"You think this is just a paper?" His voice was calm, but the edge could cut glass.
My chest tightened again. "It's just copies, right? I'll run down, print new ones, and–"
He dropped the paper on the desk with a sharp slap. Coffee splashed onto the floor. "These weren't copies, these were the originals, handwritten notes from Tokyo."
The air left my lungs immediately.
"They aren't saved anywhere else," he went on, and every word he spoke was deliberate. "No digital backup, nothing."
Oh my God..." My voice was barely a whisper. The room is titled.
Then, the door opened behind him, and Marcus leaned in, with a smirk curling on his lips like he'd been waiting for a moment. "Well, well, what do we have here? Coffee with a side of incompetence?"
Heat rushed to my face, and my stomach dropped. Alexander didn't even turn. "Get out."
Marcus chuckled. "Relax, I was just–"
"Now." His voice snapped like a whip.
Marcus froze, smirking, faltering for half a second before he backed out. But not before shooting me one last look of triumph.
The silence that followed was worse than his teasing.
"I'll fix it," I said again, in a shaking voice. "I'll stay all night if I have to. I'll rewrite every single line. I swear I'll make it right."
He leaned forward, both hands pressing into the desk, his face inches from mine. His eyes didn't just look at me, but they stripped me bare.
"You don't get it," he said, voice low, almost quiet. "One mistake like this can cost millions. It can ruin partnerships, and it can burn years of work in a single second."
Tears stung my eye, but I blinked them back hard. I wasn't going to cry. Not yet, and not here. Not even In front of him.
"I know I messed up," I forced out, "but I'm not useless, give me the chance and I'll prove it."
He straightened slowly, sliding his hands into his pockets. The silence was heavy, and I couldn't read his face. I couldn't tell if he was furious, disappointed, or maybe both.
My heart pounded in my throat, and I felt like I was waiting for a sentence in a courtroom. And finally, his gaze cut into mine. It was cold and unforgiving.
"Five minutes," he said.
I blinked. "What?"
"You have five minutes to fix this." His tone was flat, final like the strike of a gravel. "Or you're out."
The words hit like a slap, and my breath caught, my hands still trembling with tissues crushed in them. Five minutes, that's impossible.
And then the room fell silent again, it was just me, him and the clock ticking louder than my heartbeat.
"Five minutes, Ms. Hayes," he said, his eyes never leaving mine. "Starting now.”
- Writer
