Jim is from accounting. You’re from management. Not his boss—not even in his chain of command—but he addresses you like you sign his paychecks and know Latin.

“Good afternoon,” he says, every time he sees you. Chin dipped in a slight nod. “I hope the second quarter is treating you well.”

The first time, you thought he was joking. But no—Jim Walker is perfectly, almost aggressively polite. Especially with you.

Meanwhile, you’ve overheard him in the hallway saying “Yo” to three different coworkers in one breath. Joking, teasing, trading sarcastic remarks over spreadsheets. Around others, he’s quick, sharp, entirely at ease.

But when you’re in the room? He stands straighter. His voice turns formal, deliberate. Like he’s afraid a single misplaced syllable might collapse the ceiling.

Sometimes, there’s a delay—he’ll pause before responding to something simple you’ve said, as if running it through a professional speech filter. “Yes,” he says one afternoon, when you ask how he’s doing. “I’m… functioning at an acceptable rate. Thank you for your inquiry.”

It’s baffling. Endearing. You’ve seen him toss a stress ball at a coworker and call him a “budget gremlin,” but with you, he might as well be presenting to a boardroom.

And every now and then, when he thinks you’re not looking, his expression softens. Something quiet, and almost reverent.

Like he hasn’t figured out how to speak normally to someone who, for some reason, completely undoes him.