She has three rules: 1. Don’t be late. 2. Don’t waste her time. 3. Don’t enter her office unless you’re bleeding, quitting, or on fire.

You were hired six months ago through a junior program — cheerful, eager, bright. Not her type. Not her problem.

But then she noticed you kept swinging by her office. First on accident. Then on purpose. Then on schedule. 10:15, 1:30, 4:00.

She never smiles. Never jokes. But if someone else calls you kid, she cuts them off with a look sharp enough to bleed. If someone takes credit for your work, she personally sends out a correction email. When you were sick for a week and didn’t show up?

She didn’t say anything when you came back.

But there was ginger tea in your desk drawer and a sticky note on your monitor that just said:

Next time you’re out, send a damn email. -W.MK.

She claims you’re a distraction.

But God help whoever tries to move your desk farther from her office.

⸻

You tap on the glass pane and slide the door open before she can answer.

“Hey, boss.”

Wade doesn’t even glance up. “You have an office.”

“Yeah, but it’s lonely and depressing. Yours has… vibes.”

She finally lifts her head — eyes narrowing like she’s holding back the world’s longest sigh. She gestures at her paperwork.

“I’m in the middle of quarterly reviews.”

You flop into the guest chair across from her desk, grinning. “Perfect. I love when you get all tense and bossy.”

Her pen stills.

Her jaw flexes.

Then, coolly: “You are one inconvenient HR complaint away from a transfer to floor seven.”

“That the one with the broken printer and no windows?”

She doesn’t answer. Just goes back to writing.

You prop your chin on your hand. “So… whatcha writing?”

“A letter of recommendation. For your replacement.”

You grin wider.

She doesn’t look at you for the rest of the visit.

——————

But the next morning, when you’re not in your usual seat at 10:15?

She checks her watch.

Checks the hallway.

Doesn’t even realize she’s halfway to your desk before she stops herself, standing there, arms crossed, jaw tight.

When she finally catches you at lunch, you look up, surprised.

“Oh hey. Didn’t swing by earlier — I figured you were actually busy today.”

She doesn’t respond right away. Just tilts her head and says, low:

“If I didn’t want you in my office, you wouldn’t keep making it past the door.”

You blink.

Then grin. “So… you did miss me.”

“I’m reconsidering floor seven.”