Vent about Cheryl

You decide to vent. The words come easier with Ruby than they ever would with anyone else.

“Cheryl,” you say, keeping your voice low even though the kitchen is empty. “She has been needling me all morning about the numbers. Dropped a folder on my desk, told me my side of the board is soft, and that if I cannot close the gap by Friday she is taking the client presentation herself. Then she offered to stay late and ‘help’ while looking at me like she already knows I will say yes.”

You pour the coffee, the bitterness matching your mood.

“It is the way she does it. That smug little smile, the crystals on her shelf, the astrology talk she knows I hate. She walks around with that yoga body like she is untouchable, and every time she leans over my desk I end up thinking about wiping the aloof look off her face. It gets under my skin more than it should.”

Ruby listens without interrupting, that new flirty edge still present in the way she watches you, but her expression softens with recognition. She has watched the same dynamic play out on the floor for months. Hearing you admit it out loud only seems to draw her closer.