DONT BE LATE!
1034 Words
Clara’s POV
Monday morning arrived like a slap.
I woke up already tense, my body heavy, my head full. The first thing I did was reach for my phone, even before I checked the time. I knew better, but I still hoped.
Nothing.
No reply. No reaction. If the picture wasn't staring back at me, I would have thought it was a dream.
My chest tightened as I stared at the screen, then I locked it and tossed the phone aside. Maybe he hadn’t seen it. Maybe he had and chose not to say anything. Either way, the silence sat with me all morning, thick and uncomfortable.
By the time I got to work, I was back to my routine, Hair neat, makeup light, Corporate outfit. I smiled at the receptionist, exchanged a few pleasantries, then headed to my desk like nothing was wrong.
But everything felt off.
I kept replaying Friday night in my head, the drinks, the laughter, the stupid confidence that pushed me to send that message. I cringed just thinking about it now.
Around mid morning, my desk phone rang.
“Clara,” Adrian said, his voice calm, firm, always unreadable. “Bring the Bexia file to my office.”
“Yes, sir,” I replied immediately.
I grabbed the file and walked down the hallway, my heels sounding louder than usual. My heart was beating faster than it should have. I didn’t know what I was expecting, anger, sarcasm, maybe nothing, but the not knowing was worse.
When I stepped into his office, he was already standing behind his desk, flipping through another folder. He looked up briefly, nodded for me to come closer.
I handed him the file. He opened it, skimmed through a few pages, then stopped.
“These sections here,” he said, tapping the paper lightly, “won’t be included in the final version.”
I leaned in, following his finger. “Because they overlap with the investor summary?”
“Yes,” he said. “They won’t fit the final structure.”
“I can remove them and have the junior assistant type it,” I said. “It won’t affect the core data.”
“Good,” he replied. “Do that.”
There was no warmth in his tone, but there wasn’t irritation either. Just business, control and professionalism.
He closed the file and handed it back to me.
“Thank you,” he said. “That’ll be all.”
That was it.
No mention of the message. No look. No pause.
I walked out of his office feeling oddly unsettled. Part of me was relieved. Another part felt foolish for even thinking he’d acknowledge it.
I barely sat down at my desk when his voice came through again, calling my name from his office.
I stood and walked back in.
“I'm going on a business trip,” he said, like he was telling me the weather.
My stomach dropped. “A trip?”
“Yes. You’ll be accompanying me.” He checked his watch. “We're leaving tomorrow.”
Tomorrow.
“You’ll need to pack,” he continued. “You can head home for the day.”
I blinked. “Today?”
“Yes, Ms Lane,” he said as it was the most obvious thing, already turning back to his laptop. “You should pack both formal and leisure wear. There will be a little downtime in between.”
I was dismissed.
I left his office in a daze, shut down my computer, and walked out of the building feeling like my feet weren’t touching the ground.
The moment I got home, I called Mia.
She picked up on the second ring. “Okay, first of all, why are you calling me during work hours?” she said dramatically.
“I got sent home,” I said.
“What?” she gasped. “Are you fired?”
“No,” I sighed. “Worse.”
That got her attention.
I told her everything, the picture from Friday night, his silence, the office interaction, the trip.
There was a pause on the line.
“Clara,” she said slowly, “you’re going on a business trip with him?”
“Yes.”
“Alone?”
“Yes.”
“Oh my God,” she squealed. “I’m coming over.”
“I didn’t even finish—”
“I’m already on my way.”
She showed up less than an hour later, bursting through my door like she owned the place.
“I brought wine,” she announced, holding it up proudly. “To accompany my fabulous presence.”
She plopped onto my bed like it was hers, already asking questions, already filling the space with her energy.
“He didn’t say anything about the message?” she asked.
“Nothing,” I said. “He was quite… normal. Too normal.”
She frowned. “That’s worse.”
We started pulling clothes out, laying them on the bed, arguing about what counted as “work appropriate” versus “travel appropriate”.
At some point, Mia dipped her hands into her bag and pulled something out.
I stared. “Mia.”
“What?” she said innocently. “I brought it just in case.”
“In case of what?”
“In case your downtime involves his bed,” she said with a grin.
I felt my face heat up. “I am not seducing my boss.”
“Relax,” she laughed. “I’m joking, or not.”
Later that evening, as we sipped on the wine while talking, my phone buzzed.
I got a new message.
And it was from Adrian.
On my personal number.
Adrian: I’ll pick you up early tomorrow. By 7am, don't be late.
My heart skipped, then started racing. If he has this number, then he has definitely seen the message.
Mia leaned over my shoulder. “Is that him?”
I nodded.
She smiled slowly. “Yeah… I think this trip is going to be interesting.”
I didn’t answer, but deep down, I knew she was right.
Something was shifting.
And whatever it was, it was starting tomorrow morning.
- Writer
