"That is the last time you'll talk back at me!" Lance yells... and I mean a very aggressive yell at Alexia, who I've known to be the manager of this particular tower. I see his veins struggling to rip his neck open when he screams again and the hairs on my body stand. "How can you forget that I sent for you seven minutes ago and you dare tell me you were attending to a guest's request?"
"I'm sorry," she says barely above a whisper, eyes on the tiles—a sign of submission.
"In my office. Now!" Lance yells back, pointing at her and then into his office. That phrase reminds me of Noah. Lance is to other employees here the way Noah is to me.
This is my fifteenth day at work and I've not as much as received a scold from Lance. But I sit here everyday; mornings, afternoons and evenings and watch him yell at almost every other staff, even Emma—the one that seems to adore him the most.
I'm starting to fear that they might notice this thing that seems like preferential treatment and begin to think something's going on between the both of us. I've taken more than ten minutes to answer Lance after he sent for me and my office is just adjacent to his door; he never chastised me for it. Alexia's office is on the ground floor, it's only normal she'd turn up later than I would. But he just rained hell on her for it.
This morning, he flared up at a cleaner for touching a file on his desk. And the morning before this, it was Emma that felt the heat straight from the oven. All I do is observe from my desk.
I'm more scared that when I'm like every other staff and no longer considered the newbie, all my excesses will be viewed with a compound lens and it'd be so easy for him to call me out and give me all the heat, cause like I said, my office is just adjacent to oven.
I sigh after Lance's door slams shut and bring my eyes back to my computer. A new email notification has me scrolling to check it out.
It's from this same email. Patricia Luna. She's been emailing Lance's all day. At first, it seemed too personal, so I didn't open any one of them. I planned to draw his attention to it, but I've been quite busy following up on this Rape Reports program on The Eagles Eye Station.
But now that a part of this last mail looks very inviting to a very curious person like me, I click the email and everything drops open.
"Lance why?"
"Don't do this to me!"
"Why are you acting like I did something wrong. You've blocked me on all social media platforms."
I skip some more of them because she's sent like twenty seven emails. I jump right to the one that made me open this thing in the first place.
"You had sex with me, Lance. You fucked me good the night before you broke me. Why did you do it if you knew what you had planned already? Just one more conversation. I need closure. Your house or mine? I'll be waiting for a reply this time. Please. I love you."
"Wow!" I mutter under my breath, looking up to make sure Lance's door hasn't opened since then.
Patricia Luna is Lance's ex fiancée I don't know how I didn't remember until just now. I've written articles on their relationship a number of times, at least when their relationship was still the talk of the city.
About eleven months ago, they stopped giving us those intimate pictures. I even thought she was sick. Until I saw that headline about him calling off the wedding, I still believed they'd go back to being the perfect couple if she got well. That is was a matter of time, they'd both stop dealing with whatever sickness it was and would go public again. She was the one who went quiet, so it was easy to think she was the sick one.
Well, I doubt she was sick at all. From what I can see here, this is just one of those failed celebrity marriages. And it's Lance, the more reserved one between the two of them, that called it off.
Now the big question is 'why?'
The door to Lance's door creaks a little before the handle swings downwards. Someone is sure touching it on the inside.
I immediately minimize my screen and go back to Lance's schedules for the evening, pretending like I care he has a meeting with all the front desk officers in twenty minutes.
Shortly after, the door to the office swings open and Alexia storms out grumbling. She halts where she can get a good look at my face, sends me a very cruel stare and then dashes towards the elevator.
I have a confused expression striking my face, but only momentarily. As soon as she disappears into the elevator and I hear the door close, I shove my seat back, pick up my laptop and march to Lance's office.
"What is it now?" He hisses after I push his door open. I didn't need to knock cause it wasn't closed.
"There's something you need to see," I mutter. I don't even know if he heard me, because he doesn't stop looking at the blank wall with his chin placed solidly in between the thumb and index finger of his left hand. "Is everything alright?" I ask softly. I contemplate a stride that I take almost immediately, then another as I try to get in front of him so I can place my laptop on his desk.
"What do you want me to see?" He brings his face to me and regards me silently. He appears to be on the verge of a breakdown. The instant he notices I can read him, he looks away snappily. "Come on in."
As worried as I may be about him too, I don't bother asking again, I know he'd not answer. He's never answered any of my questions that seemed personal.
Lance gestures me to drop the laptop in front of him. Before I do, I set the page I want him to see on the screen.
I retreat from near his desk so he can read everything. Truth is, I fear him flinging my laptop out of anger, so I back off completely.
His eyes. All I look at are his eyes as they move from left to right and from right to left. And his finger bristly moving the touchpad. He takes all his time, while I stand here going deaf from the silence.
At some point, he even slouches on his chair, with a look of disgust on his face. He springs off the chair again and leans on the desk, still reading and I but watch this carefully.
Then, I hear a snort. I see him shake his head. His face tries to hide the look of irritation he has on, but he doesn't do a good job. "Patricia is crazy!" He murmurs to himself.
But I reply him like it was meant for me. "Should I call her or something?"
"No," he cuts in with a frown. "Not even if I say yes should you respond to any of this by mistake." He pushes the laptop away from him. "Patricia is an actress. Don't join her crew or you might just end up being a co-actor."
Deeply, I breathe out through my mouth and pick my laptop. "Is there something you need before your meeting?"
"What meeting is that?"
"You asked me yesterday to call a meeting with the front desk officers. I had the mail sent at night."
"Yes, right," he says. Did it just click? Lance doesn't really forget his appointments. "Anderson, you'll do me a favor..."
I nod, watching him stand up to clear his desk. "What favor is that?" My voice trembles. It always does whenever I'm around him.
"Find a way to cancel that meeting, tell them something more serious came up. I'll leave this place in thirty minutes, I can't spare an additional twenty." He doesn't hesitate to assert his authority.
"That is doable," I assure him with rapid nods.
When I return to my seat, I check the messages again—the ones I skipped to know which ones made him uneasy. While I'm reading, another one comes in again, asking if he's not responding on purpose or he's actually busy.
Stubbornly, I place my hand on the keypad and begin to type. With lack of understanding of the situation, I type what I can, telling her her messages are obstructing work activities so she knows to stop the spree immediately. It's not a lie, I'm tired of reading her messages. How dumb will she be to not know his PA would see these messages before him? Or does she not even care?
After I hit send, I close my laptop and pick up my phone to follow the Rape Program there, because Patricia may reply, and I'm so not in the mood to read about how he shoved himself into her and made her feel good all night.