Chapter 2: Playing With Fire

I've been working at Blackwell Corp for over a year now, watching the seasons change from my cubicle window.

The seniors get chewed out daily. Just yesterday, Marcus from Accounting left Ethan's office looking like he'd seen a ghost.

But I can only pretend to be scolded. I've gotten pretty good at the performance—slumped shoulders, trembling lip, the works.

To be worthy of Ethan, I work harder and harder, staying late to triple-check reports, arriving early to organize his schedule.

I absolutely cannot disappoint his expectations of me. Whatever those expectations are.

Although I can't figure out what he really thinks of me. Sometimes I catch him watching me with this unreadable expression.

But I still want to do my best to impress him, to earn that little smile that sometimes ghosts across his lips when he thinks no one's looking.

I'm clear in my heart that he treats me a bit special. The premium coffee that appears on my desk every morning, the way he always asks about my weekend plans.

But it's not excessive either. Nothing HR could call inappropriate.

Perhaps it's just a slight fondness. Maybe he sees potential in me, or maybe I remind him of someone.

I can't overthink it. That way lies madness and disappointed hopes.

As long as I can see him every day, that's good. Even if it's just watching him stride through the office in his perfectly tailored Armani suits.

Taking a high salary and doing leisurely work—what else could I be dissatisfied with? My college friends working at startups would kill for this setup.