Episode Six
1437 Words
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**Chapter 6: The Spreadsheet Incident**
Daniel Hart did not snoop.
Daniel Hart *audited*.
It was 8:42 p.m. on Day 29. Claire was on a client call in her suite, door closed, voice muffled but sharp. She’d been in there for two hours. He knew because he’d heard her say “synergy” three times and each time his left eye had twitched.
He was in the kitchen, making dinner. Or what counted as dinner when you were a man who thought garlic was a personality trait and Claire had banned him from the stove after the “hard drive incident.”
He was reheating soup. From a carton. It was going fine until he opened the wrong drawer looking for a clean spoon.
It wasn’t the junk drawer. It was Claire’s junk drawer. She’d claimed the one by the fridge on Day 3. *“For things that don’t have a home but I might need to throw at you,”* she’d said.
Inside: three pens, a dead plant she was “rehabilitating,” six paperclips, and a folded piece of notebook paper.
The paper had been folded eight times. Like it was classified. Like it was dangerous.
Daniel Hart did not snoop. But the paper was labeled in Claire’s handwriting.
*PROS AND CONS: DANIEL HART*
*DO NOT READ. SERIOUSLY. I WILL KNOW.*
He read it.
Because he was a man of data. And this was data.
---
**PROS AND CONS: DANIEL HART**
*Written: 3 years ago, after the budget meeting from hell*
**CONS:**
1. Thinks empathy is a line item.
2. Smiles like he’s being audited.
3. Cancelled *Seoul at Midnight*. I will never forgive him.
4. Wears suits that cost more than my rent. Probably to hide that he’s a robot.
5. Says “noted” when he means “I hate you.”
6. Has never used a vacation day. Psychopath behavior.
7. Does not know what garlic is.
8. Eyes are too observant. It’s rude.
9. Cut my budget with a smile. The smile was worse than the cut.
10. I had to google “what is EBITDA” because of him.
11. He’s probably right about 70% of things and that’s the worst part.
12. He forgot rings. Of course he did.
**PROS:**
1. Remembers my coffee order.
2. Didn’t fire me. He let me quit. There’s a difference.
3. Has a scar. I want to know why.
Daniel stared at the list.
Then he read it again.
Then he got a red pen.
Because it was inaccurate. And inaccurate data was a crime.
---
Claire found him at 10:17 p.m.
She was done with her call. Her voice was hoarse. She wanted tea and silence and maybe to throw something at a wall.
She found Daniel at the kitchen island. The *PROS AND CONS* list was spread out. Covered in red ink. He had a ruler. He was using a ruler.
“Are you,” she said, very slowly, “editing my feelings.”
“Correcting them,” Daniel said, not looking up. “Your data is outdated. And biased.”
“You are using a *ruler* on a list I wrote three years ago while drunk on wine and rage.”
“Yes. Your methodology was flawed.”
She walked over. Snatched the paper.
He’d made a new column. In red. Labeled *UPDATES: DAY 29*.
**CONS:**
1. ~~Thinks empathy is a line item.~~ Update: Learning. See: laundry incident, 2 a.m. tea.
4. ~~Wears suits that cost more than my rent.~~ Update: Owns sweatpants. Has a hole in his shirt. Downgrade complete.
7. ~~Does not know what garlic is.~~ Update: Still true. Remedial training required.
9. ~~Cut my budget with a smile.~~ Update: Admitted it was an error. Apology logged at 5:08 a.m. See: Kitchen Transcript.
12. ~~He forgot rings.~~ Update: Replaced with hair tie. Superior. More durable.
**PROS:**
1. Remembers my coffee order. *Still true. Added: Knows I hate pain meds.*
2. Didn’t fire me. *Added: Lets me steal his t-shirts. Unclear if aware. Proceeding anyway.*
3. Has a scar. *Update: I know why. Status: Angry on his behalf.*
4. *New*: Laughs at my sweaters. Sound is… acceptable.
5. *New*: Makes tea at 2 a.m. without being asked.
6. *New*: Reads my stupid lists instead of pretending he’s above it.
7. *New*: Has eyes that are too observant. Still rude. Downgraded to: Rude but useful.
At the bottom, he’d written in small, precise letters: *Conclusion: Data inconclusive. Recommend extended observation period. 61 days remaining.*
Claire read it. Twice.
Then she set the paper down. Very gently.
“Daniel.”
“Yes.”
“If you ever touch my personal junk drawer again, I will use Clause 7.”
“Clause 7 requires disclosure before 7 p.m. on a weeknight,” he said. “It is 10:19 p.m.”
“I will time travel.”
He finally looked up. His face was neutral. His ears were not. They were red.
“You kept it,” he said.
“What.”
“The list. For three years. In your drawer.”
Claire crossed her arms. “I keep a lot of things. I have a dead plant in there. Don’t read into it.”
“I am reading into it,” Daniel said. “That’s the problem.”
The kitchen was quiet except for the fridge. The soup he’d been reheating was cold.
Claire picked up the red pen. Uncapped it.
She drew a line through **CONS**. Wrote above it: *IRRELEVANT*.
She drew a line through **PROS**. Wrote above it: *INSUFFICIENT*.
She made a new column. In black. Labeled *CURRENT STATUS: DAY 29*.
1. Makes me coffee.
2. Told me the truth about his scar.
3. Looked at me like I was a person during a board dinner.
4. Laughed. Once. It was catastrophic.
5. I don’t hate him anymore.
She slid the paper back to him.
Daniel read it. His jaw did the thing. The micro-tick.
He picked up the red pen. Added one line under hers.
6. *I don’t want to.*
Claire frowned. “You don’t want to what.”
“Hate you,” he said. “Anymore. Or at all. The data doesn’t support it.”
The air went thick.
Claire took a step back. Hit the counter. “We are not doing this. It’s day 29. We have 61 days left. The contract says—”
“The contract says no ambushes,” Daniel said. He stepped around the island. Not close. But closer. “This isn’t an ambush. This is a scheduled update to incorrect data.”
“You used a ruler.”
“I use a ruler for everything.”
“Feelings don’t go in spreadsheets, Hart.”
“No,” he agreed. “They go in junk drawers. And get edited at 10 p.m.”
She wanted to be angry. She was good at angry. Angry was safe. Angry had rules.
But he was standing there in sweatpants, with a hole in his shirt, and red ears, and a list of pros that said *laughs at my sweaters*.
And she was tired of angry.
“Fine,” she said. “New rule. If we’re going to do this, we do it right.”
“We are not doing anything,” Daniel said. But he was watching her mouth.
“We are observing,” Claire corrected. “Extended observation period. Like you said. But with terms.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Terms.”
“One,” Claire said, holding up a finger. “No labels. We are not anything. We are a case study.”
“Two,” Daniel said, taking the pen from her. “No touching. It skews the data.”
“Three,” Claire said. “We tell the truth. Even when it’s stupid.”
“Four,” Daniel said. “We end it at 90 days. No extensions. No exceptions.”
They looked at the list. At the paper between them. At the 61 days they had left.
“Do we sign it,” Claire asked.
“No,” Daniel said. “We don’t write this one down.”
He held out his hand. Not to shake. Just… out.
Claire looked at it. At the hair tie on her finger. At the paperclip he still hadn’t replaced.
She took his hand.
It wasn’t a handshake. It wasn’t a promise. It was a truce.
A very, very dangerous truce.
“Noted,” Daniel said.
“Noted,” Claire said.
They let go at the same time.
And neither of them went back to their suites for a long time.
---
- Writer
