The next morning felt colder than it should have.
The lobby buzzed with the usual routine—security nods, hurried footsteps, the low murmur of early meetings—but I was aware of everything in a way that made it hard to focus. Every reflection in the glass reminded me of the night before.
I reached my desk and opened my laptop, determined to bury myself in work.
It didn't last long.
At exactly 9:12 a.m., her office door opened.
She stepped out wearing a different suit than usual. Lighter color. Sharper cut. Nothing dramatic, yet it changed the way people reacted to her. Conversations lowered as she passed. A few heads turned. Respect followed her like a habit.
She didn't look at me.
That, somehow, was worse.
"Conference room B in ten," she said to the team, voice steady and impersonal. "Bring the revised projections."
She turned and walked away.
I exhaled slowly.
The meeting was efficient. Numbers. Timelines. Clear instructions. She spoke to everyone the same way—me included. No lingering glances. No hesitation. Just clean professionalism.
If I hadn't been there last night, I would've thought nothing had changed.
But I had been.
And I noticed the details.
She didn't use my name once.
When the meeting ended, people filtered out in pairs, already discussing next steps. I stayed behind, organizing my notes longer than necessary.
She was the last to leave.
As she passed me, her voice dropped just enough for only me to hear.
"Good work on the projections."
That was all.
No eye contact. No pause.
She kept walking.
I sat there for a moment after the room emptied, staring at the blank screen in front of me. The comment shouldn't have mattered. It was standard feedback.
Yet my chest felt tight.
The day moved on. Emails. Calls. Deadlines. By the time evening came, I almost convinced myself the tension was something I'd imagined.
Almost.
I was packing up when I noticed the light still on in her office.
Again.
I hesitated at my desk, then shook my head and headed for the elevators.
Halfway there, my phone buzzed.
Sheldon:Did you revise the vendor summary?
I stopped walking.
Me:Yes. I sent it this afternoon.
A pause.
Sheldon:Come in.
No "please." No explanation.
I turned around.
Her office felt brighter tonight. Less shadowed. More deliberate. She stood behind her desk, reviewing something on her tablet.
"You're leaving early," she said without looking up.
"On time," I corrected gently.
That earned me a glance.
A brief one. Calculated.
"Sit," she said.
I did.
She set the tablet down and folded her arms. Not defensive. Just closed.
"I want to be clear," she said. "About boundaries."
I nodded. "I understand."
"Good." She held my gaze this time. "Because ambiguity causes problems. And problems cost people things."
Her words were measured, but there was something underneath them. Not anger. Caution.
"I won't let that happen," she continued. "Not to this company. And not to you."
That surprised me.
"You don't have to worry," I said. "I know my place."
The moment the words left my mouth, I realized they weren't entirely true.
Her expression shifted slightly. Something unreadable crossed her face before it disappeared.
"Do you?" she asked quietly.
The question hung between us.
"Yes," I said, after a second. "I do."
She studied me for a long moment, then nodded once.
"Good," she said again. "You can go."
This time, I didn't linger.
In the elevator, I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding.
She was drawing lines.
Clear ones.
And I was standing closer to them than I should have been.