The Question He Couldn’t Answer
1426 Words
Monday should have felt ordinary.
Instead, I spent the entire night replaying one sentence.
*She’s not ready.*
No matter how hard I tried to convince myself it had nothing to do with me, the words refused to leave my head.
Maybe Mr. Allen had been talking about another employee.
Maybe it was a client.
Maybe I was simply overthinking because I'd walked in on a private conversation.
That had to be it.
It had to.
Yet when my alarm rang at six-thirty, that sentence was the first thing I remembered.
---
Jayden looked up from the stove as I wandered into the kitchen.
"You look like you fought your pillow."
"I barely slept."
He slid a plate toward me.
"Nightmares?"
"Worse."
"What happened?"
I hesitated before taking a seat.
"I overheard something at work."
Jayden raised an eyebrow.
"Oh?"
"It wasn't intentional."
"That's what they all say."
I ignored him.
"Mr. Allen was talking to someone in his office."
"And?"
"I heard him say..." I paused. "'She's not ready.'"
Jayden shrugged.
"So?"
"So what does that even mean?"
"It means somebody isn't ready."
"I'm serious."
"So am I."
He leaned against the counter.
"You don't even know who he was talking about."
"I know."
"You don't know what they were discussing."
"I know."
"And somehow you've decided it's about you."
"I didn't decide."
"You kind of did."
I opened my mouth to argue.
Nothing came out.
Because he wasn't entirely wrong.
Jayden smiled triumphantly.
"There we go."
"I hate when you make sense."
"I know."
---
Allen Holdings buzzed with its usual morning energy.
Employees hurried through the lobby with coffees in hand.
Phones rang.
Elevators chimed.
Conversations blended into one constant hum.
For everyone else, it was another workday.
For me...
Every glance toward the executive offices carried a question I couldn't ask.
Joe noticed almost immediately.
"You've been staring at Mr. Allen's door for five minutes."
"I have not."
"You blinked twice in those five minutes."
"I was thinking."
"Dangerous hobby."
I laughed despite myself.
"You worry too much."
"I wasn't aware that was my personality."
"It is now."
Before I could reply, Mr. Allen's office door opened.
The hallway grew noticeably quieter.
It wasn't because anyone had been told to stop talking.
People simply did.
He walked toward us, reviewing something on a tablet.
Without looking up, he spoke.
"Good morning."
"Morning, Mr. Allen," Joe and I answered.
He stopped beside my desk.
"Miss Carter."
"Yes?"
"I'll be in meetings until noon."
"I've updated your schedule."
"Good."
He finally looked at me.
His expression remained unreadable.
"Did you receive the revised Kingston documents?"
"Yes. They're on your desk."
A faint nod.
"Thank you."
He turned and continued toward the elevator.
Only after the doors closed did Joe exhale dramatically.
"You know..."
"What?"
"He actually says thank you."
I frowned.
"Isn't that normal?"
Joe laughed.
"For most people? Sure."
"For him?"
"...Let's just say you're bringing out new behavior."
"Oh, stop."
"I'm serious."
"He thanked me because I did my job."
"If you say so."
---
By midmorning, my desk had disappeared beneath contracts, schedules and meeting requests.
Being busy helped.
For almost two hours, I forgot about mysterious conversations and unanswered questions.
Until Olivia appeared.
"Miss Carter?"
I looked up.
"Hi."
"Do you have a minute?"
"Of course."
She smiled warmly.
"I need someone to help organize personnel files in storage."
"I can do that."
"Perfect."
The storage room sat on the lower level of the building.
Rows of filing cabinets stretched from one wall to another.
Most of them held records dating back years.
Olivia handed me a stack of folders.
"These need to be sorted alphabetically."
"No problem."
She left me alone.
The room became almost silent.
Only the soft rustle of paper broke the stillness.
Halfway through the stack, one file slipped from my hands.
Loose papers scattered across the floor.
"Oh, great."
I knelt to gather them.
One page had slid beneath an older cabinet.
I reached underneath.
My fingers brushed the edge of another folder.
It wasn't part of the stack.
Curious, I pulled it free.
Dust covered the cover.
There was no colored label like the others.
Only a faded name.
**Carter.**
I froze.
My last name.
A strange chill crept across my skin.
That couldn't be right.
There were probably hundreds of Carters.
I brushed away more dust.
Before I could open it—
"Sophie?"
I nearly jumped.
Olivia stood in the doorway.
"There you are."
I quickly set the folder back where I'd found it.
"Sorry. I dropped a few files."
She smiled sympathetically.
"It happens."
I forced a smile of my own.
"Everything okay?"
"Yes."
But as we left the storage room, I couldn't stop thinking about that folder.
---
Lunch arrived faster than expected.
Joe waved a sandwich in my direction.
"You remembered to eat today?"
"I always eat."
"You forgot yesterday."
"I was busy."
"You called coffee lunch."
"...It counted."
"No, it didn't."
We found an empty table in the staff lounge.
For a while, the conversation stayed light.
Weekend plans.
Office gossip.
The broken coffee machine everyone secretly hated.
Then Joe lowered his voice.
"So..."
"So?"
"Can I ask you something?"
I nodded.
"What did you do before coming here?"
The question caught me off guard.
"I worked for a law firm."
"I know that."
"So?"
"I mean before that."
I shrugged.
"College."
"Hometown?"
"Seattle."
He looked thoughtful.
"Hmm."
"What?"
"Nothing."
"You made the 'I'm thinking' face."
"I did not."
"You absolutely did."
He chuckled.
"Forget it."
Something about his tone bothered me.
"Joe."
"Hm?"
"Do I know you from somewhere?"
His smile faltered.
Just for a second.
"I don't think so."
"You hesitated."
"I was trying to remember."
"And?"
"No."
Before I could press further, his phone buzzed.
He checked the screen and stood.
"Mr. Allen needs me."
Convenient timing.
Very convenient.
---
The afternoon passed in a blur of meetings.
Around four, Mr. Allen returned from a client presentation.
He looked more tired than usual.
His tie had loosened slightly.
The first time I'd seen him looking... human.
He placed a folder on my desk.
"Would you make three copies?"
"Of course."
As I reached for it, another document slipped free.
Instinctively, we both bent to pick it up.
Our hands touched.
Only for a second.
Still...
Neither of us moved immediately.
His eyes met mine.
Gray.
Calm.
Searching.
"I'm sorry," I said quietly.
"No need."
He handed me the paper.
"Thank you."
I stood.
"So... I'll make the copies."
He nodded once.
But before turning away, he spoke again.
"Miss Carter."
"Yes?"
"If something is troubling you..."
My heart skipped.
"...don't let it interfere with your work."
For a moment, I wondered if he knew.
If he'd somehow guessed I'd been thinking about that conversation.
"I understand."
He held my gaze another second.
Then he walked back into his office.
---
The copier finally finished after what felt like forever.
I organized the documents neatly before carrying them toward his office.
The door was slightly open.
I knocked softly.
"Come in."
Mr. Allen sat behind his desk, reading through a report.
I placed the copies in front of him.
"Anything else?"
He looked up.
"No."
I turned to leave.
"Miss Carter."
"Yes?"
He seemed to reconsider whatever he was about to say.
Instead, he asked quietly,
"How are you settling in?"
The question surprised me.
"Better than I expected."
"I'm glad."
A small silence settled between us.
I should have left.
Instead...
The question escaped before I could stop it.
"May I ask you something?"
His expression didn't change.
"You may."
I swallowed.
"Were you talking about me yesterday?"
The room became impossibly still.
For the first time since I'd met him...
Mr. Allen didn't answer immediately.
His gaze rested on me.
Measured.
Careful.
Then, almost too softly to hear, he said,
"...Why would you think that?"
"I overheard part of your conversation."
Understanding flickered across his face.
Only for an instant.
"You weren't meant to."
"No."
"You should forget it."
My chest tightened.
"So... it was about me?"
Another silence.
Longer this time.
Finally, he stood.
Walked around his desk.
Stopped just a few feet away.
Close enough that his voice barely rose above a whisper.
"Some questions..."
His eyes never left mine.
"...are dangerous to ask before the time is right."
He opened the office door.
The conversation was over.
I stepped into the hallway, my mind racing.
As the door clicked shut behind me, one thought echoed louder than any other.
He hadn't denied it.
- Writer
