Chapter 1:Off center
924 Words
"Mr. Ress, the executive meeting starts in five minutes."
Silence.
Marcus stood at the doorway with his hand on the polished handle, and waited.
"Mr. Ress?"
Damien didn't answer right away. His fingers stayed on the silver lock. He turned it once. Then again. Then a third time. Only when he was certain it was secure did he let go.
He looked up.
"Has the conference room been prepared?"
"Yes, sir."
"The presentation?"
"Ready."
"The reports?"
"On the table."
"The chairs?"
Marcus nodded quickly. "Perfectly aligned."
Damien studied him for a moment. "No changes?"
Marcus nodded again. "Good."
Marcus let out a breath he'd been holding since the doorway. He'd learned in his first week that nothing got past Damien Ress not a misplaced file,not a meeting five minutes late,nor a picture hanging a half-degree off true and he had no intention of relearning it now.
"I've also confirmed the new marketing lead will be here shortly," Marcus added.
"What time?"
"Ten o'clock."
Damien glanced at the clock. Nine fifty-seven.
"She has three minutes."
Marcus hesitated. "Traffic is a little heavy today."
"Traffic is not an excuse."
"It won't happen again."
"It hasn't happened yet."
Marcus blinked.
"Go."
The office settled into quiet again as Damien crossed to his desk, each step measured, unhurried. Laptop where he'd left it. Notebook beside it. Fountain pen lying parallel to the notebook's edge, like a compass needle that had finally found north.
Then the hand sanitizer, half an inch off center. He nudged it left with one finger. Better.
Outside the windows, the city moved in every direction at once,people cutting across streets against the light, cars leaning on their horns, a current of disorder he had never once envied. He sometimes wondered how anyone lived inside it.
His phone vibrated. Marcus again.
"Sir, there's a small issue."
"What is it?"
"The welcome folder for Ms. George,it was put in Office Twenty-Three instead of Twenty-Four. A mix-up."
A short pause.
"I've already asked someone to move it."
"No. I'll do it myself."
Damien ended the call and picked up the dark blue folder from his desk. When he opened it, the papers inside had shifted,the corners no longer lined up, edges just slightly astray. His jaw tightened.
He took every sheet out, tapped them square against the desk until they fell into line, and slid them back inside.
He left his office and crossed the executive floor. Employees straightened as he passed.
"Good morning, Mr. Ress," someone offered, and the words seemed to travel down the row before him, conversation after conversation falling quiet in its wake. He gave small nods but didn't slow down. No one wanted to be the reason he looked unhappy.
He reached Office Twenty-Four. The door stood open, sunlight pooling across the floor, the desk sitting in the center of it all. The chair had been pushed a few inches out of place. Damien crossed the room and pushed it back until it aligned exactly with the desk.
He set the folder down in the middle of the desk and let his eyes travel the room once more. Correct, now. All of it.
He turned to leave.
The elevator doors opened behind him. A woman stepped out, a leather tote over one shoulder, a coffee in hand. She stopped when she saw him.
"You must be Mr. Ress." Her voice was calm. Unhurried, the way his own steps were unhurried, though nothing else about her matched him.
Damien looked at her navy blouse, black trousers, a simple watch. Hair tied back, a few curly strands loose around her face. His eyes caught on her thumb: a small blue ink stain, faded but not fully scrubbed away.
She noticed where he was looking and smiled, faintly. "I still write my ideas by hand before I type them up." No embarrassment in it. Only fact.
She held out her hand. "Aniya George."
He looked at it a second longer than he needed to before he shook it. Her grip was firm.
"Welcome to Ress Technologies."
"Thank you."
"I reviewed your portfolio."
"And?"
"It was impressive."
A small smile. "I'll take that as a compliment."
"It wasn't a compliment. It was an expectation."
The smile faltered just for a moment then came back, steadier than before.
Damien said nothing to that. His expression gave away nothing at all.
She glanced into her new office. "I was thinking of moving the desk closer to the window."
"It stays where it is."
She turned back to him. "May I ask why?"
"It's positioned for efficiency."
"What if I work better with the sunlight?"
"You'll adapt."
She tilted her head slightly. "Or the office could adapt to the person working in it."
Silence opened up between them. A few employees passing by slowed their steps. No one questioned Damien Ress about something as small as where a desk sat.
His eyes stayed on hers. "The meeting begins in one minute."
She nodded. "Then we shouldn't keep everyone waiting."
She walked past him down the hallway. He watched her go, then let his eyes drift back to the office, the desk, the stripe of sunlight still lying across the floor.
One new employee. Less than three minutes on the floor. And already, without seeming to try, she had rearranged the order of his morning.
He turned toward the conference room. The day had started exactly on schedule.
At the door, he paused just long enough to glance back down the hallway before he corrected his pace and walked in.
- Writer
