The city lights outside the floor-to-ceiling glass are a hazy mess of white and gold, but inside the penthouse office, the only light comes from the soft glow of my computer screen and the green lamp on his desk. It is eleven thirty PM. The air conditioning is a low, steady hum that makes the silence feel even heavier.
I am sitting at my desk, just outside his glass double doors. My heart is thumping against my ribs, a fast, nervous sound. I have been here for six months. Six months of organizing his life, six months of smelling his expensive cologne as I pass him in the hall, and six months of pretending I don't want to crawl under his desk and beg him to notice me.
I look at the file in my hands. It is the final appraisal for the mid-town project. I don't need to check it again. I’ve c
