AFTERWORK
744 Words
ELISE
I make the decision without informing Mr. Hale in advance.
The call comes in just after noon, routed through three assistants before it reaches me. The name on the screen is familiar. Important. And entirely not worth Ethan Hale’s time today.
I checked the schedule again. Tight.
Instead, I rerouted the call. Polite decline. Alternative date. Framed as his decision, not mine.
Five minutes later, the situation is resolved.
I’m filing the confirmation when Ethan’s door opens.
“Why wasn’t I told about the call from Rothman Industries?”
I look up calmly. “Because it would have been a waste of your time.”
“He wanted reassurance, not answers,” I continue. “You would’ve given him neither. I scheduled a follow-up in two weeks after the market shift h”
“You made that call,” he says.
“Yes, sir.”
“You didn’t ask.”
“No.”
I brace for correction. For reprimand
Instead, he says, “And if you’d been wrong?”
I don’t hesitate. “Then I’d have taken responsibility.”
He nods once. “Don’t make a habit of it.”
“I won’t,” I reply honestly. “Unless it’s necessary.”
---
Night has settled over the city, lights blinking on one by one. I pour myself a drink.
I don’t turn on the overhead lights.
Elise’s desk outside is empty.Almost everyone is gone.
I take a sip and pull his file up on my tablet.
Education. Commendations. References. All immaculate. All expected. All… unhelpful.
No scandals. No gaps.
Who are you when you’re not this efficient?
I scroll further than necessary, as if the answer might be hiding in white space.
The door opens softly.
I don’t look up right away. “You’re still here.”
“Yes, sir.”
I glance over then. Elise stands just inside the doorway, jacket off, sleeves rolled to his forearms.
“You forgot something,” he adds, holding up a folder.
Of course I did.
“Put it down,” I say.
I take another sip. “You usually leave on time.”
“I had a few things to finish,” he replies evenly.
“Do you always work this late?” I ask.
“Only when it’s necessary.”
I gesture vaguely with the glass. “Sit.”
He hesitates and then takes the chair opposite my desk.
“You handled today well,” I say, eyes still on him. “You overstepped.”
“Yes.”
No apology.
“And yet,” I continue, “you were right.”
“I don’t make those calls lightly,” he says.
“I’m sure,” I reply.
“Who are you after work, Elise?” The question slips out before I weigh it.
“Still me,” he says. “Just quieter.”
I drain the glass and set it down. “You should go.”
“Good night, Mr. Hale.”
“Good night.”
He’s halfway down the corridor when I speak.
“Elise.”
He stops immediately. Turns.
“Yes, sir?”
The lights are dim out here, motion-sensor soft, throwing shadows across glass and steel. He looks different away from the desk.
“It’s late,” I say. “I’ll drop you off.”
For the first time all evening, he hesitates.
“That’s not necessary,” he replies. Polite. Automatic.
“I’m already leaving,” I add. “And it’s on my way.”
It's not entirely true. Close enough.
“Alright,” he says. “Thank you, Mr. Hale.”
We walk in silence to the elevator. The doors close. The space tightens. The elevator opens. The garage is empty, echoing.
He pauses by the passenger door.
“Get in,” I say.
He does.
The drive is quiet.The city slips past the windows, lights blurring into streaks. I’m aware of him beside me in a way that I don’t usually allow myself to be aware of anyone.
“You don’t ask many questions,” I say eventually.
“I ask the ones that matter.”
“And how do you decide that?”
He looks ahead. “If the answer changes the outcome.”
I consider that as we stop outside his building.
“This stays professional,” I say, more firmly than necessary.
“Yes, sir.”
He reaches for the door, then pauses.
“Good night, Mr. Hale.”
“Good night, Elise.”
- Writer
