Chapter 3: Close Range
675 Words
The sales floor was loud—phones ringing, conversations overlapping, chairs shifting across tile, deadlines pressing from every direction. No one stopped moving, but people noticed. They always did.
Athena stood beside a workstation, reviewing a set of numbers on the screen. One hand rested lightly on the desk, the other holding a folder open.
“Inconsistent follow-ups,” she said. “You’re losing clients after initial contact.”
The associate beside her leaned closer. “We usually close those.”
“Usually isn’t measurable,” Athena replied calmly. “This is.”
He nodded slowly, already adjusting something on the screen.
No resistance. That was the difference.
People didn’t push back on her—not because she demanded authority, but because she made sense.
A few steps away, two staff members glanced toward the main board, then toward her. Quietly.
Bobby noticed that first—not the numbers, the reactions.
He approached without urgency, hands in his pockets.
“Atty. Bobby.”
A passing staff member greeted him quickly, respectful.
“Mm,” he acknowledged, barely breaking stride. His attention was already elsewhere.
He stopped just close enough—not interrupting, just present.
Athena didn’t look at him, but she knew.
“Track the intervals,” she continued, pointing lightly at the screen. “From first contact to follow-up. You’ll see the drop.”
The associate nodded. “Got it.”
Simple. Efficient. Done.
Only then did she shift her gaze—slightly, just enough to acknowledge him.
“You tend to hover?” she asked.
“I prefer ‘observe,’” Bobby replied.
“Same result.”
“Not quite.”
A beat.
Then— “What did you see?” she asked.
Not sarcastic. Not challenging. Genuine.
That caught him off guard—just slightly.
Bobby glanced at the screen, then past it to the board mounted across the floor—large, central, impossible to ignore. Names. Numbers. Rankings.
His eyes moved once - then stopped.
There. near the top.
Ortaliz, Athena.
Already.
He let out a quiet breath, almost a laugh. “Fast.”
Athena closed the folder in her hand. “It’s just numbers.”
“Not here,” he replied. “Here, it’s reputation.”
She followed his gaze briefly, saw it. No reaction. No satisfaction. Just acknowledgment.
Then she looked back at him. “Does that matter to you?”
He met her eyes. “Shouldn’t it?”
“It depends,” she said. “On whether you need it.”
That landed differently—because he didn’t. And everyone knew it.
A few employees passed by again. “Good afternoon, Atty. Bobby.”
Respectful. Careful.
He nodded lightly, then glanced back at her. “You don’t get that.”
“Get what?”
“That tone.”
“I’m not a lawyer.”
“That’s not why.”
A beat. She understood what he meant—and didn’t respond to it.
The space between them wasn’t crowded, but it felt contained, like everything else on the floor blurred just slightly.
“You’re adjusting quickly,” he said.
“I pay attention.”
“I noticed.”
She tilted her head slightly. “You notice a lot.”
“Only what’s worth noticing.”
Another pause.
“Careful,” she said. “You might start forming opinions.”
“I already have.”
“And?”
He held her gaze—this time, no deflection, no humor.
“Still deciding.”
Something in her expression shifted—not softened, but engaged.
A voice called her name from across the floor—another task, another rotation.
Athena didn’t break eye contact immediately.
Then— “I have work.”
“Of course you do.”
She turned and walked off without looking back.
Again.
Bobby stayed where he was, just for a second, then glanced back at the board—her name near the top on her first day.
He let out a slow breath, shaking his head slightly. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Definitely not average.”
- Writer
