The next morning, I stumbled into the office, my head still foggy from the restless night's sleep.
I had just settled into my desk when I heard the click of heels approaching. I glanced up to see Sarah, one of the admins from my floor, standing by my cubicle.
Sarah.
Great.
"Morning, Norman," Sarah greeted as she perched on the edge of my desk, setting the files down. " I got a call for you earlier. They told me to give you a message."
I glanced up from my computer screen, my heart already starting to race. Interactions with coworkers, especially of the female variety, always had a way of making me feel off-balance.
"Oh, uh, okay. What's the message?" I asked, trying to sound nonchalant.
Sarah glanced down at the note. "It's from President Heath's secretary. She called earlier and said to send you up to his office as soon as you got in."
I felt a jolt of anxiety at the mention of his name. "Did she say what Sim... I mean, what President Heath wanted?"
Sarah raised an eyebrow at my slip-up, a curious look on her face. "No, she didn't give any details. Just that it was important and he wanted to see you right away."
Leaning in closer, she lowered her voice. "It's a little weird, right? I mean, our department is pretty low-key. We don't usually get a lot of direct attention from the higher-ups. So, what do you think he wants?"
I shifted in my seat, trying to ignore the way my palms were beginning to sweat. "I honestly have no idea. Maybe it's about a project?"
Sarah waved a hand dismissively. "Nah, that can't be it. He would've emailed you or had someone else talk to you. Since when does he do any of that himself?"
She went quiet for a minute before slamming her palm against the desk in a show of mock anger.
"Ah- you're so lucky~" Sarah whined, " I wish the president would invite me up there. Maybe I should start trying to catch his eye too. Wouldn't mind ending up as a millionaire's wife."
I made a noncommittal noise, focusing intently on my computer screen in the hopes that she'd take the hint and leave. But, true to her nature, Sarah wasn't done yet.
"Hey, while you're up there, why don't you snap a picture of him for me? Just a quick one, on the sly. I'd love to have a candid shot of the man in action."
Woman, what?
My eyes widened, my mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water trying to formulate a response that didn't come close to "you're insane."
"I don't think that's a good idea," I finally managed to say.
Sarah waved a hand dismissively. "I'm just kidding, Norman. Relax. But seriously, you better hurry up. You don't want to keep the boss waiting. Oh and be careful you don't make enemies with the women in the office, if they hear that you got alone time with the president they're gonna be pissed."
She sauntered away, leaving me feeling flustered and off-balance. I took a deep breath.
I had always been terrible at interacting with women, never knowing quite what to say or how to act. And Sarah, with her bold personality and lack of boundaries, was particularly challenging for me to deal with.
I glanced at the clock and logged off my computer, straightening my tie with shaky hands.
As I made my way to the elevators, a pit began to form in my stomach.
I tried to push those thoughts aside. I was probably just overreacting, letting Sarah's wild speculations get to me.
The woman's a gossip. Ignore her.
It was just a meeting with my boss, nothing more. And whatever it was about, I would handle it with the same professionalism and dedication I brought to all my work.
At least, that's what I kept telling myself as the elevator climbed ever steadily towards the executive floor.
When I stepped out, I immediately felt out of place. The lavish surroundings were a far cry from the drab cubicles and fluorescent lighting of my own department.
I made my way down the hallway, taking in the expensive artwork adorning the walls and the sleek, modern furniture. It was like stepping into a different world.
Groups of well-dressed executives stood around chatting, coffee cups in hand, their laughter echoing through the space. Others lounged on sofas, tapping away on their phones or flipping through magazines.
Looks like they're busy, I thought.
It was a stark contrast to the constant hustle and bustle of my own floor, where everyone always seemed to be buried in work, hunched over their desks with stress-lined faces.
I tugged self-consciously at my collar, suddenly acutely aware of the coffee stain on my shirt and the scuff marks on my shoes.
I sighed.
What the hell was I doing up here?
As if sensing my discomfort, a smartly dressed receptionist approached me with a friendly smile. "Was there anything I can help you with?"
I cleared my throat, trying to sound confident. "Yes. I was told President Heath wanted to see me? Norman Carter?"
Her eyes widened slightly in recognition. "Of course, Mr. Carter. Right this way."
Even the receptionist seemed to carry herself with an air of importance, her heels clicking authoritatively against the marble floor as she led me down the hall.
We stopped outside a set of large wooden doors, a plaque bearing Simon's name and title hanging on it. The receptionist knocked twice and then poked her head inside.
"Mr. Carter is here to see you, sir," I heard her say.
A beat of silence, then I heard Simon's smooth voice through the door. "Send him in."
The receptionist opened the door wider, gesturing for me to enter. I took a deep breath, steeling myself, then stepped inside.
The first thing I noticed was the sheer opulence of it all. Floor-to-ceiling windows, rich leather furniture, and gleaming metal accents screamed of Simon's power and success.
And there, sitting behind a massive mahogany desk, was the man himself. Simon Heath, looking every bit the polished executive in his tailored suit and perfectly coiffed hair.
He stood as I entered, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Norman, so glad you could make it. Please, have a seat."
I lowered myself into one of the plush chairs opposite his desk and Simon settled back into his own seat, steepling his fingers as he regarded me.
I shifted uncomfortably, the leather creaking beneath me, as I tried to meet his gaze. But I couldn't help but feel like there was something unnerving about the way he looked at me, the way his eyes bored into mine with an intensity that made my skin crawl.
Are all executives this intense?
The seconds ticked by, each one feeling like an eternity. I cleared my throat, about to break the silence, when Simon finally spoke.
"Norman," he said, his voice smooth and even. "Thank you for coming."
I nodded, trying to discreetly wipe my sweaty palms on my slacks.
Simon leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers under his chin. "I couldn't help but notice your shoes, Norman."
I felt my face heat up, my stomach sinking.
"I thought you said you had an extra pair," he continued. His tone was light, but there was an underlying sharpness to his words.
I swallowed hard as I tried to come up with a plausible excuse. I couldn't very well tell him the truth - that I had been too proud to accept his offer of new shoes, that I had instead chosen to make do with what I had.
"I, uh... I did have an extra pair," I stammered, my eyes darting down to my feet. "But they, um... they got ruined. I left them out on my balcony and they got rained on."
It was a flimsy lie, and I knew it. But it was the best I could come up with on the spot. My brain was too frazzled by nerves to think of anything better.
Simon raised an eyebrow, his smile widening. "The rain, you say? You must've left them out a long time, to ruin a perfectly good pair of shoes."
I could feel my face burning and I clenched my hands tightly on my lap. I knew I had been caught in a lie, but I couldn't bring myself to admit it.
"Yes, sir," I said. I could hear myself. I didn't sound convincing.
Just as I was about to squirm out of my seat, Simon reached down and opened a drawer in his desk. He rummaged around for a moment before he pulled out a box and set it on the desk between us.
I eyed it warily and Simon simply smiled, that same unsettling smile before pushing the box towards me.
"Go ahead, open it," he encouraged.
Hesitantly, I reached out and lifted the lid. Inside, nestled in tissue paper, was a pair of shoes. But not just any shoes. These were clearly expensive, the kind of luxury I could never afford on my meager salary.
I glanced down at the shoes in my hands, the box suddenly feeling much heavier than it had any right to be. I knew I should refuse, but something about the way Simon was looking at me made it hard to get the words out.
"I appreciate the gesture, Mr. Heath, but I couldn't possibly accept these. They're far too expensive." I went to hand the box back to him, but he merely waved me off with a chuckle.
"Nonsense, Norman. Consider it a token of my appreciation for your hard work."
I shifted my weight back-and-forth in the chair, acutely aware of the scuffed and worn state of my own shoes. "I could have just gotten a cheaper pair for myself, sir. There's no need for you to go to such trouble."
Simon leaned back in his chair thoughtfully, "A man's shoes say a lot about him, Norman. They're an investment in your future, your image. Trust me, it's no trouble at all."
I hesitated, torn between the desire to refuse and the nagging sense that doing so would be a mistake. Simon's gaze was unwavering, his smile never faltering, but I could feel the weight of his expectations bearing down on me.
"Why don't you try them on?" he suggested, his tone casual but his eyes intense. "I'd like to see how they fit."
My stomach clenched at the thought of bending down in front of him, of exposing myself in such a vulnerable position. It was a simple enough request, but something about it felt... off. Like I was agreeing to more than just trying on a pair of shoes.
But what choice did I have? I couldn't very well refuse without seeming ungrateful or, worse, suspicious. So, with a small nod, I reached down and began untying my worn-out dress shoes.
I could feel Simon's gaze on me as I worked, watching my every move with an intensity that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I tried to keep my hands steady, but I could feel them trembling slightly as I slipped off my old shoes and reached for the new ones.
The leather was soft and supple, the shoes clearly expensive. They slid onto my feet like a second skin, as if they had been made specifically for me.
I stood up and took a few, tentative steps. The shoes were undeniably comfortable, the craftsmanship impeccable. But I couldn't shake the feeling of unease that had settled over me, the sense that I was being watched, evaluated.
"I had a feeling those would suit you," Simon said, his voice cutting through the silence.
I looked up at him, trying to read his expression. But his face was inscrutable, his eyes dark and unreadable.
"Thank you, sir," I said, my voice sounding admittedly a bit small. "They're very comfortable."
Simon smiled, but there was no warmth in it. "I'm glad to hear it. I picked them out myself. I have a few pairs from the same brand, so I can personally vouch for the quality."
I felt a flush creep up my neck, a sense of discomfort washing over me. The idea of Simon taking such a personal interest in me, of him selecting my shoes as if I were a doll…
And then, suddenly, a thought occurred to me. A question that I couldn't believe I hadn't asked before.
"Sir," I said, my voice trembling slightly. "How did you know my shoe size?"
Simon's smile faltered, just for a moment. But it was enough for me to catch a glimpse of.
"I took an educated guess," he said smoothly, leaning back in his chair. " I tend to have a good eye for these things."
But his explanation did little to quell the unease that had settled in the pit of my stomach.
There was something off about the whole situation, something that prickled at the back of my mind like a warning.
"Thank you for the shoes, Mr. Heath," I said, forcing a polite smile onto my face. "But I- I should probably get back to work."
"Of course, don't let me keep you." Simon's smile tightened, his gaze following me as I made my way to the door.
Sitting back down at my desk, I tried to focus on my work, but every time I glanced down at the new shoes on my feet, a shiver ran down my spine.
I tried to focus on my computer screen, but the words blurred together as my thoughts kept drifting back to that unsettling office.
"So?" Sarah's voice startled me out of my reverie. I hadn't even noticed her approach. She perched on the edge of my desk, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. "How did it go? What did the president want?"
I felt heat creeping up my neck. The last thing I wanted was to lie, but how could I possibly explain what had just happened? "Oh, um, it was nothing really," I stammered. "Just some questions about a project I'm working on."
Sarah leaned in closer, clearly not satisfied with my vague response. "Come on, there has to be more to it than that. The president doesn't call people up to his office for no reason."
I shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant while simultaneously tucking my feet further under my desk. If Sarah spotted these new shoes, I'd never hear the end of it. "Really, it wasn't anything exciting. Just work stuff."
"You're no fun," Sarah pouted, but before she could press further, another voice cut through our conversation.
"Did I hear that right? You had a meeting with President Heath?"
My heart nearly stopped. I looked up to see Emily standing there, her piercing blue eyes fixed on me with interest. I'd been secretly admiring her for months, but she'd never so much as glanced my way before. Now, here she was, actually talking to me, and my brain decided to short-circuit.
"I, uh..." I eloquently managed, my mouth suddenly dry.
Sarah, oblivious to my inner turmoil, jumped in. "Yeah, he did! But he's being all mysterious about it."
Emily raised an eyebrow, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "Is that so? I didn't think anyone from our department ever got called up there."
I could feel my face burning, hyper aware of Emily's gaze on me. "It really wasn't anything special," I muttered, wishing I could melt into my chair. "Just a quick meeting about some reports."
Emily nodded slowly, but I could see the curiosity in her eyes. "Well, it must have been important if the president wanted to discuss it personally."
I shrugged, desperately wishing for an escape. "I guess so," I mumbled.
As Emily and Sarah continued to speculate, I sank deeper into my chair, the weight of my lie pressing down on me. I hated this – hated deceiving them, especially Emily. But how could I explain the truth? And what would I even tell them?
That the president gave me shoes?
Wouldn't that just make me look like a charity case?
When Emily finally excused herself to her desk, I felt a mixture of relief and regret. I glanced over, trying to be discreet. She was beautiful, with long dark hair and a smile that could light up a room.
As if sensing my gaze, she looked over, catching my eye. I quickly looked away, pretending to be engrossed in my screen. I could feel my cheeks heating up, my heart pounding in my chest.
God, I was hopeless. Here I was, a grown man, reduced to a bumbling mess by a simple glance from a pretty girl.
I sighed, rubbing a hand over my face. I needed to get a grip, to focus on my job and forget about all this weirdness.
But as the day wore on, I found it harder and harder to concentrate. My mind kept wandering, my eyes kept drifting to Emily's desk.
At one point, she caught me looking again. But instead of looking away, she smiled, giving me a small wave.
I felt my heart skip a beat, my palms suddenly sweaty. I managed a weak smile in return, my mind racing with possibilities.
As the day finally drew to a close, I found myself making my way towards the elevators.
Lost in thought, I heard the click of heels behind me. I glanced over my shoulder to see Emily, her eyes bright and a smile on her face.
"Hey, Norman!" she called out, quickening her pace to catch up with me. "I couldn't help but notice you got new shoes. They're really nice."
I looked down at my feet, suddenly self-conscious. "Oh, thanks. They were a gift, actually."
Emily's eyebrows shot up, her smile widening. "A gift? From who?"
I hesitated, not wanting to go into the details of my strange encounter with Simon. "Just... someone higher up. No big deal."
But Emily's interest seemed piqued. She stepped closer, her hand brushing against my arm. "Higher up, huh? Does this mean congratulations are in order? Did you get a promotion?"
I blinked, caught off guard by her sudden closeness, her interest. "What? No, nothing like that. I think it was just a... a token of appreciation. For my hard work."
Emily nodded, but there was a glint in her eye that I couldn't quite read. "Well, keep up the good work, then. Who knows where it could lead?"
With that, she gave me a wink and turned on her heel, heading back towards the office. I watched her go, my mind reeling.
Had she always been that friendly? That... flirtatious? I couldn't remember, couldn't think straight.
I shook my head, trying to clear my thoughts as I made my way to the elevators. I jabbed the button, tapping my foot impatiently as I waited for the doors to open.
Just then, I heard the ding of another elevator arriving. Without thinking, I spun around, rushing towards it as the doors started to close.
"Hold the door!" I called out, my voice echoing in the empty lobby.
To my relief, I saw a hand shoot out, stopping the doors just before they shut. I quickened my pace, slipping inside just as the doors began to close again.
I hunched over, trying to catch my breath, my heart pounding in my chest. "Thanks," I managed to gasp out, not looking up. "I really appreciate-"
But as I straightened up, my words died in my throat.
There's no way.
What are the chances of running into him twice in one day!?
Five years and I haven't seen this man once.
All of a sudden he's everywhere?!
Simon stood in front of me with his same, easy smile. His eyes flicked down to my feet, taking in the shoes he had given me just hours before. "Breaking them in already, I see."
I swallowed hard, trying to find my voice. "Yes, sir. They're very comfortable. Thank you again."
Simon waved a hand dismissively, his smile never wavering. "Think nothing of it, Norman. I take care of my own, remember?"
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. The elevator felt suddenly small, the air thick with tension.
Simon leaned back against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. "So, any big plans for the evening?"
I blinked, caught off guard by the question. "No, sir. Just heading home."
Simon hummed, his eyes never leaving my face. "A quiet night in, then. Nothing wrong with that."
I didn't know what to say, didn't know how to respond. I felt like I was being tested, like every word, every gesture was being analyzed and dissected.
But before I could gather my thoughts to form a coherent reply, the elevator jolted to a stop.