Johnson didn’t ask casually.
That was the first thing that told me it mattered.
He waited until the office had thinned out, until the glass walls reflected more city lights than people, until the day’s noise had softened into something almost private. He stood by my desk, hands in his pockets, posture relaxed in a way that wasn’t quite natural.
“Melissa,” he said, not rushing the moment. “Can we talk?”
I nodded, closing the file on my screen.
He didn’t sit. He stayed standing, like he wasn’t sure yet if this was a conversation or a risk.
“I’m restructuring my workflow,” he said.
“Expanding. I need someone I trust. Someone sharp.”
I already knew where this was going. Still, my chest tightened.
“I want you to be my secretary.”
The words landed
