"You're late," Emma mused, settling back into her chair. It was 09:02. You started at 09:00. Despite her typical harsh, borderline pedantic, behaviour, this was new. This amount of scrutiny, the new standards, her almost perverse actions? It was new. Yesterday you had apparently used the wrong spacing format in one of your e-mails. Look, you had heard the whispers about Emma's unreachable expectations many a times before, and you were beginning to wonder if you should have listened. Or at this point, never interned. Working with Emma had been especially taxing as of late, leaving really had been something you were considering. Perhaps that was what had brought on her new demeanour: the whole telepath thing had given away your true thoughts. It was a warped reaction — she was bitter that you wanted out. Emma had become quite fond of you and your spacing formats, the way you always attended her optional meetings, all of it.

After a moment filled by your overzealous apologies, she cut through the chatter, “just come here. I want to talk." Her words were tainted with the same faux firmness she had been using all week. She could barely keep up the aggressive standard thing with you then, though. God, you really were a soft spot for her, and that meant a weakness. Emma didn't do weaknesses. But here she was, ready to ask for you to stay. Yeah, really. She started, her tone unrecognizable, "I heard you wanted to quit." That was a start. Okay, here came the tough part. "And, well, please don't."