3. Stink Lines
Bailey
Sacha is seriously intimidating, and seriously attractive. I can’t remember the last time someone’s voice rumbled straight to my clit like that, but he’s already irritated by the way I smell. I guess the office gossips didn’t lie about him being a jerk.
In an effort to avoid pissing him off any more, I sit nervously at my desk until the IT guy arrives. He’s a skinny, bald man with glasses who shows me how to log into my computer.
“You’re the new temp, right? Bailey?” His eyes travel up and down me appraisingly. “First days can be rough. How are you holding up?”
“Good. I think.” I add the second part with a little laugh.
“Sacha can be a bit scary, but if you need anything, you can always message me.” He gives a little wink. “I like your hair. Kinda makes you look like one of those anime chicks.”
“Thanks. I think.” I try to smile.
“Chris.” He points to himself. “And it’s definitely a compliment. I love anime.” His grin widens. “Do you watch any?”
“I used to watch Sailor Moon every Saturday morning. Does that count?”
“Totally counts.” He smirks. “As long as it wasn’t Twilight or something silly like that.”
“Oh, I kinda…like Twilight too…” I say, much quieter. No point in arguing with the IT guy when I need my computer fixed.
Fortunately, he doesn’t seem to hear me as he repositions my monitor and launches into a long description of an anime I’ve never heard of before. Something that stars a pink-haired woman he likes. I don’t follow much of what he’s saying, instead leaning against the wall, trying to sneak a peek into my new boss’s office.
I’m so curious about him.
His focus is intent on his computer, his large hands typing furiously. As far as bosses go, he doesn’t seem that bad. I haven’t really known any cryptids in my life. Since the Decrypting fifteen years ago, they’ve been slowly integrating into human society. I was only ten when it started, but I haven’t run into many. A lot of them still avoid the larger more populated human cities.
So maybe all Bigfoots are gruff and stand-offish? Still, something about him is so intriguing to me.
His eyes lift, glancing toward the door. I jerk out of his line of sight, but we’ve already made eye contact long enough that I know that he knows that I was spying on him.
The guy is going to think I’m a creeper.
“I would not want to work with Mr. Kwatch every day,” Chris mutters.
“Why’s that?” I ask, my mind still half on the way Sacha’s biceps pull at the fabric of his jacket.
“Why do you think? He’s a monster. None of his other assistants could handle working under him.” His lip curls in disgust.
“Working under him?” I ask. Is this a double entendre? Does he fuck his assistants? Is that why no one likes him?
“Yes!” Chris says emphatically. “He’s a beast. Just because he owns the company, he thinks he can treat people however he wants.”
“And no one’s done anything?”
“What are they going to do? He’s a genius CFO or something. They can’t just fire him.”
“I guess not.” I shift on my feet. He didn’t seem that bad, really.
“I’m sure you’ll be fine though. Do you like sushi?” Chris surprises me with the new topic.
“Love it, actually,” I say, grateful for the change of subject. “There’s this great place, a couple of blocks from my apartment. West Side Nori. Have you been there?”
“I haven’t. Maybe we could go sometime?” Chris asks.
“Go together?” I’m a bit taken aback. I don’t normally date coworkers, but I could use any friendly face here at Cryptech. Chris isn’t my usual type, but I guess he’s kinda cute for a nerdy dude.
Sacha abruptly appears in his office door, his thick brows pulled together, a sharp glare aimed toward the IT guy.
“It’s time for our meeting, Ms. Thorn.”
“Right.” I nod, grabbing a pen and notepad.
“I’ll send you an email to set it up,” Chris says.
“Sure, it’s a date.” I smile at him.
Sacha storms past, and I scurry to follow him to conference room C.
The conference room holds six people, other than me and Mr. Kwatch, I’m the only one wearing a color brighter than navy blue. Mr. Pleasant, the chief financial officer and a Mothman, looms above us from an enormous video conference projected onto one wall. His video is dim, highlighting his large red eyes, his feathery antennae wave around his head as he talks.
Sacha rolls his eyes almost every time the Mothman speaks, and honestly, Pleasant does seem like a bit of a blowhard. There’s a lot of discussion I don’t understand. Terms I don’t recognize keep popping up: blockchains, hash codes, DNS. Things that I assume are computer jargon. I’ve never bothered to learn much about computer security, I was just super grateful when my browser started offering to save all my passwords for me. I threw out so many sticky notes.
It’s a struggle to pay attention to the first forty minutes of the meeting, and as it drags into the second hour, with no end in sight, I begin studiously doodling in the margins of my notebook. When the Mothman finally logs off, I realize I’ve zoned out for the better part of an hour. When Sacha stands to leave, I take his movement as my cue to follow. I tuck my notebook under my arm and diligently trail my boss down the hallway.
“Can you type up those notes? Send them in a neat, bullet-point list. Do not use any of the fancy styling. I want to see it plain and simple. I need to be sure we have everything Pleasant agreed to in my records. We’ll get you a tablet or laptop for note-taking in the future.”
“Oh. Right. Notes. Yes. Right. I can type up my notes, sir.” I walk double-time down the hall, trying to keep up with his long strides.
“You took notes like I asked, didn’t you, Ms. Thorn?” His pace slows, so I can catch up.
I grin pathetically.
“I saw you writing the whole meeting, didn’t I?” The corners of his mouth pull down.
“Not exactly writing, sir—” I clutch my notepad to my chest.
“What’s on your paper, Ms. Thorn?”
“Nothing,” I insist.
“It isn’t the notes from the two hour meeting where I convinced our CTO we cannot afford the many upgrades he’s insisting on? With the details of our lowered budget after negotiating for an hour?”
I shake my head, not wanting to answer.
Sacha scowls. The serious expression looks good on him. “Let me see.”
He holds out one leathery hand and motions at my chest. My heart squeezes; I glance down at my notebook and back at him. Saying no now would probably be an automatic dismissal, and I don’t want to get fired on my first day.
“Whatever you’ve written about me, I’m sure I’ve heard it before. I can imagine worse than anything you’ve said.”
“Oh no! Sir! It’s not about you!”
He raises one bushy eyebrow, a small movement that communicates that he doesn’t believe a word I’m fucking saying.
“I promise! I would never!” I lean toward him. I’d hate for him to think I was writing mean things about him. Even if he is a grump who hits on his employees.
His empty hand is still outstretched. “Prove it.”
I give him an awkward nod and hand over the notepad with a soul-crushing sigh. After years of rejection you start to notice the signs. This is about to be a classic Bailey Thorn, first day/last day job opportunity.
Sacha’s hot fingers graze against mine as he takes the notebook. His fingers flex as he examines the page I handed him. There’s a long moment of silence before he speaks.
“I see,” he says slowly.
I put my full attention on the floor. I know I’ll start crying if I’m looking at him when I get fired, and I’d rather not make a scene.
“Ms. Thorn,” Sacha takes a deep breath, “is this a rather skillful drawing of our CTO, Mr. Pleasant, wearing a diaper and holding a rattle?”
“Yes.” I sigh, pretending that there’s anything interesting in the pattern of the gray carpet.
“Hmph.” He makes the noise in the back of his throat, and when I finally glance at his face, there’s almost a grin there. “And what are these?” He points to the swirls around the drawing.
“Stink lines,” I admit.
A small scoff escapes his mouth.
“You’ve got talent, Ms. Thorn. That much is obvious.” He nods seriously, still staring at the paper, letting the silence hang between us.
“I used to run classes at a paint and sip place, down on Market street. I took a couple of art classes in college. I was never super great, but I was good enough to run those kinds of groups. Mostly bachelorette parties and wine-mom birthdays, but it was a good gig! Until the store closed, the owner moved to Belize with her fiancé. Not that any of that matters now—” My explanation crumbles to a halt when his eyes dart up from the drawing to my face, and the muscle in the side of his jaw twitches.
“Next time, I am going to need you to take actual notes, Ms. Thorn.”
“Of course, of course!” I insist. My stomach flips. I’m not in trouble at all?
“Just—send an email to Pleasant’s assistant, Kara. Ask her to share her notes with you.”
“Absolutely!” I breathe in a deep sigh of relief. “I mean, yes, sir.”
There’s another twitch in his jaw. I can’t stop myself from grinning. I can’t believe he isn’t going to fire me. He’s supposed to be a monster that no one can get along with, and here he is, laughing at my joke and letting me off the hook. I might be developing a little crush on him.
When I get back to my desk, I have an email from Chris in IT. He wants to set up a date for Saturday. I don’t think he’s going to be the one, but it’s a nice distraction from the guy I’m more interested in.