Caught by the Boss part 9

HENRY

I’m fucking pissed.

Thousands of lines of code from The Machine have been leaked, handing precious information for those that want to copy it. They could use it for all sorts of nefarious reasons.

Well, it’s not like I haven’t already beaten them to the punch. The guilt of misusing my own product weighs heavy on me today. It fuels my anger, because I can’t let Laura go. I’m no better than the thieves who leaked the code.

I slump in my chair. A press release will have to be organized to disclose this breach, and I hate publicity more than I hate the grip Laura has on my neck.

Damn it all. Why must she be so intriguing? So interesting and sweet?

Having her in my building doesn’t help my cause of resistance. Every time I see a glimpse of her red hair as she turns a corner, my heart aches, like it’s missing a piece. Like that flash of red belongs to it.

I run a hand down my face, drafting a quick email to my temporary secretary. What’s her name again? Leila? Lucy?

I tell her she can go home early—my attempt to make up for my earlier outburst.

Once the email is sent, I call my lawyer to deal with the shitstorm that’s coming. I spend half an hour on that call, taking care of the most pressing concerns before ending it by scheduling an in-person meeting.

Then, I leave my office to step outside. I like to walk down the hall and glance out the endless windows overlooking the city. This is the only thing that will keep me from smashing my desk in half. The IRS will audit me if I list a twentieth $10,000 desk as an expense.

I will have to hit the gym sometime this week to unleash all this energy.

As I walk past my secretary’s desk, I notice that Leila is gone. It seems like she got my email and took the day off.

Beside her keyboard is a bag of chips and mixed nuts. A sticky note is attached to the potato chips.

It reads: Free snacks. No strings attached.

She knew I would be the only one to run into this note. The few other offices on this floor are usually empty, as my executives are often traveling for business in other cities and communicating with me remotely.

I realize just how hungry I am. Usually, my secretary would deliver my lunch meals, but I’ve been so distracted with work I didn’t notice I skipped it.

I take the bag of chips and tear it open, chuckling to myself as I start eating and realize I haven’t had one of these for lunch since I was in college.

I look out the window with my fingers oily and salty, a half-empty bag of chips on my free hand. I feel small for once. Distracted from my workload and the material luxuries that surround me.

There might be more to Leila from accounting that meets the eye.

I study the bag of chips, and notice a faint line has been dragged across the word “Sea” in “Sea Salt,” and a tiny “y” was added to “salt.”

It says Salty. She’s calling me a grump.

I burst out laughing. She probably thought I wouldn’t notice her piece of art, but I can’t be angry. She’s right, after all. I lost my temper.

I finish the snacks and return to work, a smile frozen on my lips.

— —

The next morning, I walk out of the elevator and find Leila on her desk. She wears all black as she often does, and I wonder if she does that on purpose to blend in. If so, she’s successful. My eyes always stray towards her friend, Grace, with her colorful hair, nails, and pastel clothes.

“Good morning,” she says quietly, standing from her chair to greet me. Her gaze is cautious and her hands are tightly clasped in front of her.

She looks like she’s waiting for me to snap and suffocate her with the empty bag of potato chips.

“Good morning,” I return calmly and head into my office.

I scribbled a list of tasks for her to complete today. Only when I write the last task do I remember that I could have just emailed her this list. But I feel compelled to approach her. To see if her eyes are dark or light brown—something I never cared to notice. Does mischief darken them?

I step outside, straightening my navy blue tie as I b-line for her.

I hear her sigh and watch her shoulders slump. She straightens only when she notices me.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

Her eyes widen, and I see their color. Light. They’re light brown, not dark.

Leila from accounting has surprised me again.

“Oh, um…” she glances at her computer screen. “Nothing. It’s just that a friend is moving on from the company.”

I catch a glimpse of the name in the email she received. Grace. She’s leaving.

I’m surprised. Not by the email, but by the amount of grief I feel at the thought of not seeing her again.

It’s time. Now that she’s moving on and we’re not bound to the boss-employee conflict of interest, I can make my move.

I set the list of tasks on Leila’s desk and add: buy two dozen red flowers to the list.

Today, I’ll approach Grace. I’m done playing games in The Machine, and I’m ready for a real-life connection.

“Give these to Grace, and if she declines them, you may keep them.”

Leila can’t contain her smile. She’s overjoyed for Grace. Maybe that’s why her eyes are light brown. She’s a pure, sincere friend.

“Right away,” she says.

“Tell her I wish her the best in her future endeavors.”

And hopefully, she writes me back, giving me an opening to move things further.

It will be strange not catching glimpses of her red hair around these halls, but her leaving my company is for the best. She would have faced lewd accusations if we were dating while she was my employee.

“Yes, sir.” Leila turns to her keyboard, typing furiously to find her friend the best flowers.

“Oh, and grab me a bag of potato chips. One that’s extra salty.”

I swear I see her blush before she ducks her face to cover her cheeks with her hair. She’s as red as the red roses on the the computer screen.

Thanks to the 7 of you that left Amazon and Goodreads reviews for The Alien's Match. I really appreciate it!!! Everyone is welcome to post reviews (but make sure to first add the book to your kindle library and open it so your view counts) ❤️ I’ll put a bee in Grace’s flowers if we get to 10 reviews 🤣

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