Mondays at the office had a distinct smell. Not of coffee or bleach, but of dread marinated in last week’s chaos. I walked in late — ten minutes, maybe twelve — which was apparently long enough for HR to send me a “just checking in” Slack.
I ignored it. Not because I was brave. Because I didn’t have the bandwidth for another passive-aggressive emoji.
Then I saw the stranger in the breakroom.
Tall. Light-brown skin. Hair like he borrowed it from a shampoo commercial. Dressed like he had expensive opinions on zippers. And he was holding a mug with our company logo on it like he belonged here.
He looked up, caught me staring, and smiled. “You’re not the first to wonder if I’m lost.”
“You are lost,” I said. “This floor is cursed.”
He laughed. “That explains the smells.”
“Are you new?” I
