"so anyways, i run down the stairs from the parking garage and make it inside, right? there's like a a group of people literally just a few feet in front of me. i know they see me. i'm literally right behind them. do you know what happens? they get into the elevator, and they don't even wait for me. they let it close! and you know what's worse? i tried to stop the doors and they just let it almost shut on my hand! ugh."
leah was quite animated as she retold her morning events to atlas, but now that her story had come to an end, she let out a huff and seemed calmer as she dug around in her bag to retrieve something. "anyway, i got you breakfast. i couldn't decide between the breakfast sandwich or the muffin, so i got both. i'll take what you don't want."
⟡ ݁. ⊹ ₊ unprompted ✦ @asocier ₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡
Leah is... something he can't quite name. Young, energetic, far too willing to speak to him like he is a normal person instead of the intimidating man most employees carefully navigate around. She fills space easily. Makes the office livelier in all the right ways; the endless meetings become slightly less insufferable, the long hours less stale.
Initially, Atlas assumed she would quit within the first month. Most people quickly become worn down by the pressure that comes with working beneath him. The expectations. The precision. The way a single look from him can make full-of-themselves men begin second guessing every life choice that led them into his office. He expected her to grow frustrated or uneasy and leave, eventually replaced by someone with more experience and a tougher resolve.
Instead she stayed. Worse, she adapted.
Somehow the two of them had become an unexpectedly efficient pair, and the office had noticed. Rumors spread quickly once people realized Atlas could tolerate Leah’s presence not only during projects and meetings, but willingly during lunches, and happy hours after closing. The stories only worsened when he leaned into them out of pure amusement. Leaning close when speaking to her. Taking her out for coffee between meetings. Ordering late-night takeout when they were stuck there past nightfall yet again.
He knows exactly what people say. He simply does not care. There was nothing inappropriate between them. Against all reasonable odds, she had become his friend. Someone he tolerated beyond necessity, someone he cared about.
Now she sits across from him in his office, animatedly recounting the disaster of her morning while Atlas listens in silence. His attention remains fixed entirely on her, cold gaze steady, posture relaxed back into his chair. He gives little reaction throughout the story beyond the occasional shift of his eyes, though one brow finally arches near the end.
❝ Do you know who they were? ❞ The question is asked calmly, the implication is dangerous. By the end of the day the entire office would likely be buzzing again when several employees mysteriously found themselves sitting through mandatory conversations with HR. Atlas technically lacked the authority to fire them outright for stupidity alone, their only saving grace.
His gaze drifts briefly toward the bag in her hands before returning to her face, amusement finally surfacing in the form of a muffled snicker.
❝ Oh, so you only brought me food because you wanted both. ❞ He accuses, entirely unbothered by it. ❝ Why don't we just split them in half so you can try each? ❞
