Chapter 3: Simple Expectations

Wednesday

I wagged mascara on my lashes and examined my work in the mirror. My work wasn't spicy enough. I needed more volume! Before I could ruin my lashes with a second coat, a small collar bell jingled outside the bathroom door. My cat, Cinna Buns, appeared outside the open bathroom door. That was my cue to feed her.

Quickly, I bundled my puffy hair into a low bun and dabbed a little blush on my hereditary gift of risen cheekbones. In the kitchen, I filled a tiny bowl with organic brown pellets that were–supposedly–flavored like chicken and rice.

Day two, here we go.

I couldn't wait for Greta to come back from vacation. The benefits of being home alone were long gone after day three of my best friend's two-week vacation. More than anything else, I needed to talk some cash shit about my weirdo boss.

The train ride passed like a blur. I missed a good portion of the podcast I listened to thanks to yesterday's distraction. Did I really have to have lunch with that sexy idiot again? What was useful about yesterday's meeting that warrants repeating? From my end, nothing. I said nothing useful, and I irritated him.

Chris seemed just as baffled when I showed him my second lunch meeting request on my calendar. I wanted to spend time with him, Renee, and the other cubicle dwellers. Instead, I had to eat in detention!

I spent the morning creating a spreadsheet of interface bugs on the new trading platform. Internally, I held strong opinions about the name "Best Trader Beta", but how I felt about it was not a task requirement. The name is terrible!

"Good morning!"

I turned around and saw a round, middle-aged man smiling at me. His aura drew me in. He reminded me of someone I missed dearly.

I stood and shook his hand.

"DeShawn Miller," he greeted. "You must be Ada."

"Yes sir," I said with a smile.

"It's nice to meet you."

When he asked about me, I carefully navigated my history without completely throwing myself under the bus. The past taught me that self-deprecating humor wasn't always funny to strangers. Getting around to my hobbies, he lit up, and we comfortably steered the conversation on him when I pointed at the Yoshi key chain on his bag. DeShawn gushed about his daughter fondly. Our conversation led to him putting down his computer bag to show her social media and how he and his wife help her sometimes with her cosplay.

Eventually, DeShawn checked his watch and got his day started. Those ten minutes of talking flew by fast, but it cheered me out of a dark space for a moment. He ended up being the only conversation I'd have all morning. Meetings constrained the schedules of Renee and Chris all morning.

Before I knew it, the afternoon sun beat down on the Business District to thaw frozen corporate zombies trekking to food trucks or restaurants. I excluded myself from the undead–stuck inside with no windows and a steady temperature of sixty-five degrees.

Begrudgingly, I glanced at the time and dismissed the reminder notification flashing at the bottom of the screen. Time to go, I guess. My anxiety triggered a sniff check. Thankfully, my armpits remained in good shape after switching back to my tried-and-true deodorant brand.

All the offices on the way to Mr. Leoné's were empty, just as they were the day before. Thinking about it, I didn't see Willoughby in the office after the meeting. Either way, the emptiness amped up the creepiness of the chief management, and I hated it.

I didn't have the nerve to look through the window this time and knocked. The door opened, but Mr. Leoné didn't answer it.

"May we help you?" A beautiful face asked me with a strong French accent.

"Um, I'm here for a meeting," I answered, reminding myself to close my mouth post shock.

Damn! She was gorgeous with nice olive skin and was a svelte, tall, and stunning brunette. Her business attire was far from ordinary, and I sure as hell would have loved a closet like hers. But as structured as her cobalt blue suit jacket and skirt were, I knew it would probably cost more than my rent.

Would I rather eat regularly or ooze wealth? I'll take the snacks.

She interrupted my snack dreams when her hazel eyes narrowed at me. She threw her voice back to Mr. Leoné. "I suppose I'll be leaving,"

Mr. Leoné pulled away from his computer and smoothly swiveled in his chair to face us.

"Nous continuerons la discussion plus tard (We'll continue the discussion later)," he firmly pronounced before returning his concern to his desktop.

He came off short. I confirmed he was cold to everyone, and I should have felt better knowing that when she allowed me to pass inside. I didn't.

She extended her hand. "Genevieve Baddone, Executive President of Marketing."

"It's nice to meet you," I said, gently shaking her hand. She nodded once before she threw daggers at the man at his desk. Seemed deserved. Without saying another word, she exited the office.

That isn't weird at all.

Yet, it got weirder. I sat down and met with a crushing silence. Well, Mr. Leoné's fervent typing created noise. After about thirty seconds, he abruptly turned to me. In shock, I straightened my posture, prepared to defend whatever he would bitch about. He snatched a pen from a penholder. My heart pounded from fright to aggravation.

When he opened a new browser window and examined a large candle chart, I broke the silence. "Mr. Leoné, if I may ask–"

"I don't like random questions." He had that on the tip of his tongue, huh?

I snapped back. "It's relevant."

He turned his head to face me, and green eyes cut deep under one lifted brow. Oh, shit!

I remembered to catch myself. He controlled my paycheck. I needed to see at least one pay stub.

"What?"

I proceeded with caution. "I don't understand why I'm here."

He didn't hide his annoyance. "First, that's not a question. Second, do you think I'm doing this for no reason?"

I parted my lips and furrowed brows. Okay, you know what...

I leaned forward with flared nostrils. "First, I HAD a question until you said you didn't like random questions. So, I no longer phrased my question as a question. Second, I don't know. That's the point of asking questions."

Our frowns matched until Captain Weirdo put on a grin. I'm thinking he gets off on being in control.

"Tell me more about yourself."

He appeared amused, and I pulled back and sank into my seat. "In what manner?"

This wasn't a date. Why is he asking me this question again? "Um, I have a cat?"

Ada, what the hell was that?

His expression ironed out. I crossed my legs and rolled my eyes. "Let me guess, you don't like cats."

"They're terrible, disobedient animals."

My jaw dropped, and I jokingly gasped, "Terrible? Disobedient? I'll have you know that cleaning my cat's litter twice a day is nothing but enjoyable... sir."

He squinted his eyes. "Is that before or after you play some contrived video game?"

"Actually, I pause mid-game, clean the litter, and then I have the absolute nerve to resume the game," I proudly answered with a raised chin.

Mr Leoné wrinkled his nose, but a smile shaped is mouth.

"I'm guessing you don't have any pets," I mocked.

He didn't hide his dismay. "No. They're a burden."

"Do you have any kids?" I asked in a humored panic.

"Absolutely not," he scoffed.

"Oh, good!"

"Why do you say that?" He didn't hide his surprise.

He detected my meanspirited response? I scratched my wrist and shrugged. "Why not? You berated the idea in your answer."

He looked away from my hands and back at his screen. I learned that silence wasn't easily discernible. He didn't look as cold as usual, but maybe that's what made me feel a little bad.

"Okay, okay. I don't assume you're incapable of taking care of living things." I said with an eye roll.

I immediately had his attention. "You assumed I couldn't care for living things?"

"Absolutely not!" I mocked.

There was no holding back my unrestrained laugh that followed. I enjoyed making people smile. And there was a glint in his eye.

I calmed down, looked around his office, and sighed, "I was kidding though because look at these healthy plants."

"Merci (Thank you)," he murmured.

"De rien (You're welcome)."

Mission accomplished; he fought a bigger smile. The conversation was oddly charming. I'd be lying if I didn't enjoy talking sideways to the owner of a company I just started working for. He was approachable when off balance. That's when his phone rang and out of the blue, he gestured for me to leave.

"You want me to leave?"

"Out," he said sharply.

I jumped from my chair and left his office. What a dickhead! We couldn't have anything nice.

I closed his door gently and casually looked into the office window on the immediate left. At her desk, Baddone peered at me through her window with a phone pressed to her ear.

Whoa. If she was the one who called him, there was some weird shit going on between them.

Neither Chris nor Renee were in their offices. It was 12:15 PM and they must have wandered out already. I checked for DeShawn too, but Ms. Ruth, in the cubicle behind him, peeked over and told me he left for lunch too. I thanked her, returned to my cube, and checked my phone for reviews of cheap food nearby. The wi-fi was garbage today, forcing me to log back into my computer. It took a few minutes to find an affordable spot before I got sidetracked reading an email from Renee inviting me to a meeting later in the day. I was relieved. Mr. Leoné wasn't on the list of attendees allowing me to prepare in peace. Phew! These were application manuals, and my eyes crossed at the technical jargon.

My stomach grumbled and reminded me to eat about ten minutes into scrolling the documents. I finally aimed for the elevator, but right as I turned into the hall, I saw Mr. Leoné speeding from his office.

"Where are you going?" he growled under his breath.

"To lunch?" I returned with brows twisted in discomfort.

"The food already arrived. Back in my office," he complained, throwing his thumb over his shoulder.

I briefly checked behind me to see if anyone else witnessed the social car wreck. "I'm sorry. I didn't know what was happening."

"Delivery said at 12:15 it would be here. It's now almost 12:30," he huffed before I confirmed it was best to shut the hell up and follow him back to his office. My head turned to every office we passed by. Even Baddone wasn't in her office anymore.

I quietly observed him blaze back to his seat. He stopped adjusting the cuffs on his shirt and finally acknowledged my shocked face.

"Have a seat," he sighed, rolling his eyes, and I inched my way into the chair.

Why is this happening?

I looked at the salads on the desk. He arranged the food, but I noticed my dressing was different when I grabbed it.

"Is there a problem?" he mumbled.

Several! But I should keep my mouth closed just to keep my damn job!

"You seem upset." I said.

"You should stop assuming about me." He said with slits for eyes. "I meant with your food."

Instead of telling him to kiss my ass, I truthfully told, "I noticed the dressing differs from yesterday. No biggie."

Suddenly, he turned red. "I ordered two balsamic dressings yesterday. You don't like balsamic dressing? What is that there?"

Shyly, I nodded my head, "French."

He stopped pulling at his utensils and stared at my arrangement, mortified. Swiftly, he yanked up his phone and dialed.

"I'm sorry. May I ask what you're doing?" I interjected urgently.

"Demanding they bring the proper dressing," he snapped.

I pleaded, "No! No, that's okay. I can manage with this."

He hissed, "It's not what I ordered, so they will bring me the correct item.

"Please! It is fine!" I reiterated. I failed to hold back my fury.

He examined me and my anger. To my surprise, he put the phone down and forced himself back into his chair.

He still simmered and grumbled, "What are you going to do now?"

"I'll just eat it... with the French." I hunched my shoulders.

He gestured with his hands and snapped, "But that's not what you want!"

"But it's what they gave! It's not a big deal! Relax!" I stressed before freezing in horror.

I... I just screamed at my boss.

He remained red in the face. What was his problem? It's just dressing. All of this was uncomfortable. In fact, every bit of interaction between us has been unnecessary or infuriatingly uncomfortable. In just two days!

Seconds of silence passed while he slouched in his chair and stared listlessly at the top of his desk.

"Is everything okay?" I asked again, hoping to ease the tension.

"No, it is not," he answered quietly.

I forced a smile through my off-the-charts bewilderment, "I promise, I can live with French dressing,"

Abruptly, he stood to his feet and swiped up my dressing packet and switched it with his.

I pressed my palms together, "Please, Mr. Leoné, you don't have to do that. Do you even like–"

I cut myself short the second his attention shifted back to me. I expected them to show their usual defiance to anything coming from my mouth, but I didn't see that. There was no kindness in his eyes, but the frustration disappeared. My observation lasted for a blink of time.

He retreated to his meal and commanded, "No, but it doesn't matter. Eat."

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Why do you think Mr. Leoné keeps inviting Ada to his office? And what do you think about about his reaction over the salad dressing?