ROUTINE
598 Words
ETHAN HALE
At seven sharp, my office is quiet. The city hasn’t fully woken yet.
By the time I step inside, my coffee is already on the desk.
Correct temperature. Correct cup.
Elise stands near the console, tablet in hand. Same composure. No trace of last night’s lights or cameras. Just work.
“Good morning, Mr. Hale.”
I nod, removing my coat. “Schedule.”
At some point, I stop in the middle of the office. He stops with me.
“Yesterday,” I say, not looking at him, “was outside the scope of your role.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you handled it appropriately.”
“Don’t let it affect your judgment going forward.”
“It won’t.”
I finally look at him.
I turn away first. “That will be all.”
He leaves quietly.
By midmorning, I decide to test him.
I change meeting times without warning. Add names he hasn’t seen before. Ask for files I know aren’t easy to track down. Interrupt him mid-task with requests designed to derail his focus.
He adjusts. Every time.
No sighs. No tightening of the jaw. Just a quiet recalibration.
“Those documents,” I say once, glancing at my watch. “I’ll need them in ten.”
He looks at the time. “You’ll have them in eight.”
He does.
Later, I dictate an email too quickly, deliberately imprecise.
“Do you want that firm,” he asks, “or diplomatic?”
I meet his eyes. “Firm.”
He nods and sends it. When the reply comes back an hour later, the issue is resolved.
I add another task. Then another. The morning fills, the pace tightening. Elise moves through it all with the same measured calm.
At one point, Marianne passes through and raises an eyebrow at me.
By early afternoon, my patience is wearing thin not because he’s failing.
Because he isn’t.
He places a folder on my desk. “Everything you asked for. Plus the follow-ups you didn’t.”
I look down. It’s all there.
I lean back, studying him openly now. “You don’t get flustered easily.”
“No, sir.”
“Why.”
“Because frustration wastes time.”
There it is again. That certainty.
I nod once, dismissing him.
He turns to leave, unbothered, unmarked by the pressure I’ve been applying all day.
ELISE
Ethan Hale is trying to frustrate me.
It becomes clear before noon.
Meetings shift without warning. Deadlines tighten. Requests arrive half-formed, intentionally vague, as if I’m meant to trip over the gaps. He watches closely.
I don’t react.
That’s the first rule I learned: frustration feeds on response.
I adjust the schedule as it changes. Reprioritize. Move quietly between tasks, keeping my tone even, my posture neutral. When he asks for documents on short notice, I already know where they are.
Not more. Not less.
He’s sharp. Calculating. He wants to see whether pressure makes me sloppy.
It won’t.
By early afternoon, the rhythm settles into something familiar. Controlled chaos.
When I place the final folder on his desk, I feel his gaze linger.
He leans back, studies me openly. “You don’t get flustered easily.”
“No, sir.”
“Why.”
“Because frustration wastes time,” I answer.
It’s the truth. And it’s the moment I know I’ve passed whatever test he set.
He dismisses me shortly after.
As I leave his office, I allow myself one private thought.
Ethan Hale is formidable.
Demanding.
And very clearly unused to someone keeping up with him.
- Writer
