I’m out of here

I scan over everything once more to be sure I didn’t disturb anything, then slip outside. The coast looks clear. I take my seat, get my computer back into ‘look busy mode’ and then check if I have any messages in any of the company's communications system, then go to responding to standard emails.

That is when I feel a shadow fall over me. My peripheral vision alerts my nervous system of a threat before I can even focus on the figure. It has the bearing of a creature ready to pounce on oblivious prey.

{if victoria_birthday = true}I look up cautiously. "Oh, how did the presentation go?" I take it that it was unsatisfactory... That, or she knows I was just in her office without a good reason. I gulp inwardly. Before my mind can invent things for me to feel guilty about under her judgmental glare, I feel my anger ball and steady myself.

"It went fine. I'll take a coffee. To go," she says with little emotion. It is like she is clamped down so hard that all emotion is **** out of her voice. She enters her office and gets herself ready to go. As I pour the coffee into a disposable cup, I regret that I haven't tampered with it yet.

I see she pulls her wallet and keys from her laptop bag. Good to know.

I hand her the coffee after she has locked the office and she leaves without even a thank you. How rude.

{else}I look up cautiously. Victoria's beauty is twisted into something fearsome. Her eyes are so sharp that it feels like an invisible saber is held to my throat.

"You gave me the wrong conference room." She says in a cold flat tone.

"What?" I blink a few times. "Couldn't be... I thought it said conference room A, right?" It isn't hard to act shocked and unnerved when she stares me down like this. I check the ball of anger in my gut to stay strong. "Was there a typo?" And I start to pull up the document on my computer.

"Typo? If you were a professional, you would have caught a typo." She has a way of speaking where some of the words just hang in the air. Accusing people of being ‘unprofessional’ is her go-to non-specific condemnation. I got to say, it always stings, and is frustratingly hard to defend against. I'll just store that one in my anger ball. Thanks for the donation, bitch. Got any more?

I look back to my screen. "No... it is correct on the document. There is no typo here. Maybe you misread it..." I let my volume taper off as I say it, as if I have just realized someone could be eavesdropping and I am saving her some embarrassment.

She leans forward, putting her hands on the desk. The invisible saber in the space between us just thrust three inches into me. Her hard eyes take on a new, almost murderous intensity. Oh boy, I'm pushing it here. I had better backpedal. "I must have messed up the printout somehow." I gulp for effect. I don't know if it will help, but it seems like the thing to do, give her any plausible deniability to having been the one to making a mistake. She hates being wrong.

She slowly stands straight again. Shoulders back, chin up, mouth tight, looking down at me like a bug. Jesus Christ, lady. How badly did the presentation go? I stifle the glee threatening to well up onto my face.

She walks into her office. Before even setting down her laptop bag, she picks up the sheet of paper on the desk and rereads it. There is a very long second of silence. My face is cracking into a smirk.

Without looking back toward me she calls out, "I'll let it go this time... Make me an espresso."

She fully knows that I have just brewed a new pot of coffee, too. She just wants me to go through the work of making the fucking thing to pay for the mistake she can't prove I made. Yes, by all means, princess. Allow me to take a bullet for you. It would be my honor.

I can make an alright espresso. I know the basics at least. After a few minutes of effort, I present the princess with her desires. No thanks expected, none received.

I notice she pulls her wallet and keys out of her laptop bag. She must use that as her purse most days. She is getting ready to go to her lunch meeting. She makes a show of tasting the espresso, making a sour face with a shiver and setting it down twelve inches farther away from herself, all while still demonstrating her superior etiquette, the princess refrains from telling me outright that she thinks I am utter shit.{endif}

Let me just tuck that into the anger ball.