chapter nine
1164 Words
A month had passed, I had decided something important.
I was not going to think about the fact that I had knelt on the floor of my boss’s office over paperwork.
I was also not going to think about the fact that he accepted a bribe.
Or that he had a very clear preference for vanilla sprinkled donuts.
Or that he let me get away with… all of that.
No.
Because its been a month and everything has been normal
So
We were not unpacking that.
We were moving forward like mature, stable individuals.
Unfortunately, the office did not share my commitment to emotional denial.
It started small.
Whispers—not dramatic, not loud, just the kind of quiet observation that happens when something slightly unusual enters a controlled environment.
I was getting coffee,whilst getting a few papers from the printer, when I noticed two assistants a few desks away glancing in my direction.
Not obvious.
But not subtle either.
“…that’s her,” one of them said quietly.
I pretended not to hear.
“She’s the new one assigned to him,” the other replied.
Assigned to him.
Not working with him.
Assigned.
Like I had been sent somewhere dangerous.
“…she’s still here,” the first one added.
That made me pause.
Still here?
It had been a month
Was there supposed to be a survival rate?
I leaned back slightly, just enough to look like I wasn’t actively eavesdropping while actively eavesdropping.
“He doesn’t keep assistants long,” the second one continued. “They either transfer out or… stop trying.”
Stop trying?
That sounded ominous.
“Why?” the first asked.
A small pause.
Then, matter-of-fact:
“He’s difficult.”
I almost laughed.
That was the most polite description I had ever heard for Adrian Voss.
“Difficult how?” the first one pressed.
“He doesn’t talk unless he has to. Doesn’t explain more than necessary. Doesn’t repeat himself. If you don’t understand the first time, that’s on you.”
Okay.
Accurate.
Painfully accurate.
“And he doesn’t like mistakes,” the second added. “At all.”
I winced slightly at my desk.
Yes.
I had gathered that.
“There was one assistant who cried during her second week,” the first one said.
“That was actually impressive. Most don’t last that long.”
I blinked.
“…excuse me?”
I hadn’t meant to say it out loud.
Both of them turned toward me immediately.
I straightened.
Too late to pretend.
“…continue,” I said, trying to sound like I had been part of the conversation all along. “I’m learning.”
They exchanged a look.
Then one of them—slightly bolder—spoke.
“You work directly with him, right?”
“Yes.”
Pause.
“…how are you still functioning?”
That was a good question.
“I don’t know,” I admitted honestly. “I think I’ve accepted my fate.”
That earned a small laugh.
Good.
Progress.
“He’s not… rude,” I added carefully. “Just… very direct.”
“That’s how it starts,” the second one said.
That did not sound reassuring.
“He doesn’t engage,” she continued. “No small talk. No unnecessary interaction. Just work.”
I nodded slowly.
That part was true.
Mostly.
“And he definitely doesn’t do things like that,” the first one added, gesturing vaguely toward me. “Talking like that. Joking. Bringing things.”
I froze slightly.
I had done alot of that
“…things?”
“Food,” she clarified. “Coffee runs. Snacks. Anything outside of structure.”
I leaned back in my chair.
“That’s… interesting.”
Because I had quite literally done all of that.
Repeatedly.
“And he doesn’t like sweets,” the second one added. “At all. I’ve worked here two years. Never seen him touch anything like that.”
Silence.
I stared at her.
“…never?”
“Never.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
Absolute.
Certain.
No hesitation.
And suddenly—
my brain went very, very quiet.
Because a month ago
He had opened the box.
Picked a donut.
Vanilla sprinkled.
And eaten it.
Not politely.
Not reluctantly.
Like he enjoyed it.
I straightened slowly.
“That’s… strange,” I said.
“Why?” the first one asked.
I hesitated.
Then shook my head.
“No reason.”
Because what was I supposed to say?
“Oh, that’s funny, he literally ate two donuts in front of me after accepting a bribe I offered while kneeling on his office floor.”
No.
That felt like information I should keep to myself.
For my survival.
For my dignity.
And For my sanity.
I turned back to the coffee
And head back upstairs
now I was thinking.
About patterns.
About behavior.
About everything I had seen since I started.
He was cold.
That part was consistent.
Controlled. Precise. Unnecessarily calm in ways that made people uncomfortable.
He didn’t talk much.
Didn’t explain more than needed.
Didn’t entertain nonsense.
All of that matched what they said.
But—
not everything.
He had corrected me.
More than once.
Stayed in my office those first few days.
Watched.
Explained.
Not warmly.
But not dismissively either.
And then there was before
The donut.
The file.
The fact that he didn’t throw me out of his office the moment I walked in with snacks like a confused delivery service.
I leaned back slowly.
“…am I an exception?” I muttered under my breath.
The thought sat there.
Uncomfortable.
Suspicious.
Because I didn’t like it.
Not the idea itself.
But what it implied.
That somehow—
I was being treated differently.
I frowned.
“Or maybe,” I corrected quickly, “he just finds me annoying and hasn’t figured out how to get rid of me yet.”
That felt safer.
More realistic.
Less… complicated.
Still—
Thinking.
About what he liked.
What he tolerated.
What he ignored.
And what he didn’t.
Black coffee.
Structure.
Precision.
Silence.
And yet—
he had taken the coffee I made wrong on day one.
He had eaten the donut.
He had helped me submit the file.
I exhaled slowly.
“…this is confusing.”
Because people like him weren’t supposed to have inconsistencies.
They were supposed to be predictable.
Clear.
Easy to understand once you accepted the rules.
But Adrian—
wasn’t fitting neatly into any rule I could define.
And somehow—
that made things worse.
Because if I couldn’t predict him—
then I couldn’t prepare.
And if I couldn’t prepare—
then I was just reacting.
Which meant—
at any point—
I could walk into his office with coffee…
and walk out questioning my entire existence again.
I sighed and picked up my pen.
“Great,” I muttered. “I work for a human contradiction.”
A pause.
Then, quieter:
“…and I think I’m starting to notice it.”
- Writer
