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So I’m at work, my mind working overtime—and I still haven’t heard from my boss about the incident in the copier room.
Now every fucking time I go in there, I feel watched, and jumpy, and I keep my hands so far away from my crotch I keep hitting things. Broke a crystal clip jar this morning.
I mean, who in their sane mind keeps crystal clip jars on their desks in this time and day, huh?
Fuck, boss is staring at me again through the window. What the fuck does he want from my life?
I grab the copies from the printer and hurry back to the office I share with two other guys—both BA majors, like me. Both bored with their lives and trying to hide it.
I’m not feeling bored. I’m fucking pissed at the world, at my goddamn bad luck, at the boss for not calling me to get it over with, and at myself for being so paranoid.
I pretend to be working, waiting for the boss to call and tell me to step into his office for a little talk. I read and reread the company policy book that I’m supposed to know by heart, my gaze rolling over the words, grasping nothing. I tidy up my desk, check my emails, start replying to one and then stop, realizing I have no clue what to say.
I glare at my phone. Call already. Call me and get it over with.
Nothing.
It’s a war of nerves, I decide, and grit my teeth. Is he waiting to see if I do it again? If I show any other signs of inappropriate behavior? Maybe some photographic evidence?
I glance around uneasily, wondering if there are hidden cameras.
If there is anything mentioned about the college incident in my personnel file.
If the boss is waiting for a staff meeting to out me.
If I get a reprimand and Jethro finds out about it, a reprimand of this nature, he’ll never talk to me ever again. Fucker.
So when the boss finally calls me to his office in the early afternoon, I go in guns blazing.
“Mr. Kingsley,” he greets me.
“It’s a misunderstanding,” I reply, standing there, fists clenched, heart pounding. “It’s not true. All lies.”
He looks confused. “Your name isn’t Kingsley?”
“It is, as I’m sure you know.” Now he’s mocking me, on top of everything.
I wait for him to tell me about the college scandal, and the copier room, but he just frowns at me. “Are you all right, Mr. Kingsley?”
“I’m perfectly fine,” I say with a savage snarl and swing my ass into the chair across from his desk.
Silence spreads. He’s observing me with a funny expression on his bearded face, something like amusement that pisses me off more.
Damn this charade.
“Did something happen that I should know about?” he eventually asks, steepling his fingers together on the desk.
“Isn’t this about the copier room?”
“And what happened in the copier room?”
Fuck, is he gonna make me spell it out for him? “You saw me from the window.”
“I see many things, Mr. Kingsley, but what is it you think I saw?”
Shit, is he kidding me? “Why did you call me to your office?”
“To talk to you about a new project that might interest you. A sports-related one.”
