Of All People,It's You

WRONG COFFEE

WRONG COFFEE

...He's Mr. Garrett's friend.

The talkative one from Table Seven.

Of course. How didn't I recognise him sooner?

A small knot forms in my stomach, but I quickly push the thought aside. It's probably for the best that he doesn't recognize me. Hopefully Mr. Boisnoir never mentioned what happened at the café, because I'm not exactly eager to relive that humiliation especially in my new workplace.

The lift doors slide open and he steps out first.

I follow behind him.

After a few steps, he suddenly stops and turns back.

"Oh, Miss Ellis."

"Yes?"

He holds one of the takeaway cups out to me.

“Here you go."

I blink. “For me?"

He nods distractedly, his attention already shifting to the notification lighting up his phone.

"I'll be a few minutes late for the meeting."

"Oh... thank you."

"No problem."

He gives me a polite smile before walking off towards the opposite corridor, phone already pressed to his ear.

I watch him disappear.

What a pleasant man. Compared to Garrett Boisnoir, he practically radiated warmth.

I smile to myself as I continue towards the Executive Office, taking a small sip from the coffee.

Wow. This is really good coffee.

…

I adjust my grip on the coffee cup before making my way towards the Executive Office.

The entire floor feels different from the rest of the building. Everything is quieter here, almost intimidatingly so, and I take a moment to breathe it all in.

This is my workplace now. My fingers glide over the smooth surface of the sleek reception desk before I settle into the chair.

"Argh... this is going to be my office."I let out a huge sigh and quickly take a picture so I can show to Poppy later.

The secretary's desk sits directly outside Mr. Boisnoir's office, positioned so anyone hoping to see him has to pass through it first. Floor-to-ceiling glass panels overlook the city, while another frosted glass partition separates the reception area from the President's office beyond.

Everything is minimal, organized and spotless.

Exactly how a person like him would design the place.

I set my handbag beside the desk and sink into Ivy's chair.

A yellow sticky note catches my eye immediately.

**8:00 a.m. Board Meeting.**

Prepare the agenda folders, meeting minutes, refreshments and projector before attendees arrive.

**Mr. Boisnoir's coffee — 72°C.** at 7:45

I blink. That's... oddly specific.

“Gosh, Ivy is so meticulous. “ I place the note back on the desk before absent-mindedly lifting the coffee cup in my hand.

The lift dings behind me.“Morning, Diane."

I look up.“Ivy."

She smiles as she walks over, setting another stack of files on the desk.

"Sorry I kept you waiting. Mr Hayes told me he bumped into you downstairs."

"He did."

"I asked him to bring Mr. Boisnoir's coffee up while I collected these files. Their printed copies of the last meeting minutes.“

"Oh, I see." I nod, quietly taking mental notes of her morning routine.

Ivy continues, “ He said he gave it to you."

“Have you dropped it on Mr. Boisnoir's table.“

“ No, he didn't give me any….“ Shitt

Coffee. I slowly lower the cup in my hand.

"...Coffee?"

Ivy's eyes drop to the takeaway cup. Then back to me.

"Diane..." My heart sinks.

I stare at the cup then at the sticky note on it.“ Mr. Boisnoir's”

Realisation crashes into me.“Oh my God."

Ivy pinches the bridge of her nose.“You drank Mr. Boisnoir's coffee?"

"I'm so sorry, I thought it was for me!"

"Oh dear..." She exhales before glancing towards the corridor leading to the executive offices.

"He's probably on his way up."

I stand so quickly my chair rolls backwards.“I'll make another one!"

"Good."

She points towards the staff kitchenette. “The beans are already measured. Just follow the card beside the machine."

“ I'll stall." Ivy smiles sympathetically.

I let out a dramatic groan before hurrying towards the kitchenette. “Get it together, Diane.“

I hurry towards the staff kitchenette, silently thanking whoever had the foresight to leave everything neatly prepared.

Several small jars of coffee beans are lined up on the counter, each carefully labelled. Beside them sits an electric kettle, a digital thermometer, and a handwritten note in Ivy's neat handwriting.

President's Coffee

-Black.

- No milk.

- No sugar.

- 72°C.

I glance at the note again. I suppose it suits him.

Mr. Boisnoir doesn't exactly strike me as someone who'd order caramel syrup with whipped cream.

A smile tugs at the corner of my mouth as I carefully prepare the coffee exactly as instructed, keeping one eye on the thermometer until the tiny digital display settles at seventy-two degrees.

Perfect.

I pour it into the takeaway cup, secure the lid, and head back upstairs.

By the time I reach the Executive floor, the meeting has already begun.

Just as I'm about to enter, the lift opens again behind me.

Mr. Hayes steps out, a slim leather folder tucked beneath one arm.

"There you are," he says with an apologetic smile. "Sorry about that. I got held up downstairs."

"It's alright."

He offers another warm smile before walking ahead of me towards the meeting room.

I follow quietly behind.

The room falls silent for only a fraction of a second when we enter before the discussion resumes.

I recognize several faces from the assessment panel, though now they somehow seem even more intimidating seated around the long walnut conference table.

Mr. Hayes takes the empty chair opposite Mr. Boisnoir.

So... he's part of senior management. Interesting.

Without interrupting the discussion, I carefully place the coffee beside Mr. Boisnoir before slipping into the chair next to Ivy.

I instinctively reach into my bag for my notebook and pen. Before I can flip it open, Ivy gently slides a thin tablet across the table towards me along with a stylus.

"Use this," she whispers without taking her eyes off the discussion.

I blink for a second before nodding. "Right... thank you."

A blank page titled Meeting Minutes is already open, waiting for me. Beside me, Ivy's fingers move effortlessly across her laptop keyboard while she occasionally reaches for her own stylus to annotate a document on the screen. She barely misses a word.

No wonder she's Mr. Boisnoir's Executive Secretary, I think, quickly setting my notebook aside before focusing on the tablet in front of me.

"...The shipment should reach the Port of Liverpool by Thursday morning," one of the department heads says.

Mr. Hayes flips open the folder in front of him.

“Legally we're covered, provided Customs clears the revised documentation before the vessel docks. I've already spoken with our shipping solicitors."

Mr. Boisnoir nods once.“And if Customs delays approval?"

"The containers remain in bonded storage until clearance is issued."

A brief discussion follows about revised delivery schedules, warehouse capacity, and supplier contracts.

I write as quickly as I can, determined not to miss a single detail. Everything here moves so quickly.

Halfway through the discussion, Mr. Boisnoir reaches for his coffee without looking away from the financial report in front of him.

He takes a single sip.

Nothing about his expression changes and he quietly sets the cup back onto its saucer.

For a second, I assume nothing is wrong.

Then, without lifting his eyes from the document, he gently slides the cup across the polished table towards me.

Just enough for it to come to a stop beside my tablet.

His voice remains as he finally looks at me.

"This isn't my coffee."

Every pair of eyes in the room turns towards us.

What?

Before I can even process what he means, Garret Boisnoir calmly shifts his attention back to the discussion.

"As I was saying, the revised shipment schedule leaves us with forty-eight hours to clear customs before the vessel docks."

Just like that, the meeting resumes.

The others return to their discussion as though nothing had happened.

I don't. My eyes remain fixed on the untouched cup sitting beside me.

What on earth is wrong with the coffee?