“Seriously, what kind of nonsense dream was that? Why the heck do you keep haunting me?” I mutter, swinging my legs over the side of the bed and rubbing my forehead with the back of my hand, checking for a fever. Whenever Gordon shows up in my dreams, it’s a bad omen—usually a sign of some impending disaster, a nasty cold, or a flood of tears. Dreams starring this parasite never bring anything good; it’s like a black cat crossing your path right in front of you. Might as well not even go to work today. It’s a surefire sign I’m going to step into some kind of mess. Three years! Three whole years have passed, and he still barges into my dreams uninvited! It makes my blood boil! There are thousands of miles of asphalt, forests, lakes, and skyscrapers standing between us like a fortress, yet this arrogant jerk, who poisoned my soul along with his unhinged mother, still manages to infiltrate my life!
I brush my teeth with a kind of feral rage, mentally cursing out my ex. My mood is sour, and I need to express it somehow, so I slip into my sexiest skirt and favorite blouse. My friend calls it the “lifesaver” because the men in our office can’t help but dive into my cleavage with their eyes—even the married ones, nervously sweating as they sneak a peek. Not my fault I’ve got a great figure. I’m not bragging or trying to seduce anyone at work, heaven forbid. It’s just fun to keep the guys on their toes, especially when I’m feeling down. It’s Friday, and nothing major seems to be on the agenda. Although, the old hag did mention something about an unscheduled meeting. Maybe she’ll finally announce her retirement—she’s long overdue for it, yet she keeps creaking along. Rumors about it have been swirling for ages, and the big office intrigue is who’ll take her place. Will it be her brown-nosing deputy, Nate, or the iron-willed Margaret from sales? People have even started placing bets just for laughs.
My car’s still in the shop, so I grab a cab and, half an hour later, hop out of the elevator onto our floor.
“Good grief, that killer blouse again!” Short and plump Marta is already waiting for me in the hallway with two large cappuccinos in hand. It’s our usual ritual—coffee and gossip first, then work. “The huntress is on the prowl. No prisoners! You look stunning! But your eyes are sharp as knives. What’s wrong?”
“Had a stupid dream. They didn’t issue a storm warning by any chance, did they?”
“Not that I’ve heard. What storm? I need good weather this weekend. We’ve got a family get-together—beer, barbecue, and planning Christmas gifts,” Marta says, shaking her head as she finishes her coffee.
“Pfft, Christmas is still six months away!”
“It’s a family tradition. You didn’t forget about the big meeting in the ‘I’m the boss’ office today, did you? She’s totally off her rocker. Get this—she smiled at me as she passed by. She’s never smiled at me, never even noticed me, and now suddenly, ‘hello!’ I nearly froze in terror.”
“Alright, let’s go. Hopefully, she won’t keep us long. I’ve still got a weekly report to finish.”
“We’ll chat more about the weekend later.”
“If you bring up your single cousin again, I’m saying no right now. I don’t want to risk our friendship if things don’t work out with him,” I say, fending off her third attempt to break through my defenses.
“And if they do?” Marta exclaims loudly, drawing attention to us.
“Shh, not now,” I whisper as I squeeze into the meeting room. It’s decked out in some ultra-modern, tacky style—no tables, no chairs, just a podium for the speaker. The whole office is already gathered, and, as usual, we’re the last to arrive. It’s convenient to hide behind everyone’s backs; I can listen to the boss lady while scrolling through social media, catching up on news, or reading something if the old bat decides to ramble on. I even pull out my phone, ducking behind Henry’s broad shoulders.
“I won’t waste your time,” she begins. Oh, Elsa, I’ll barely have time to check the weather. “Today is my last day, and I congratulate you on that! But don’t get too comfortable. You’ll miss me yet, mark my words, because the guy taking my place won’t go easy on you! Young, ambitious, demanding, straight from Boston. The head office has sent you a boss who knows exactly how to light a fire under you and get things moving. Gordon Forrester!”
At first, I think I’ve misheard or that Elsa misspoke…
“Pleased to meet you all!” But… when I hear his voice, the air in the room suddenly vanishes. My palms grow sweaty and shaky; I nearly drop my phone. I wish I’d fainted instead. …He’s here. It’s really him. My dream was a premonition!
“I don’t like how you’re all crowded by the door. Please, spread out so I can see everyone. We’ll get to know each other personally later—I’ll be conducting one-on-one interviews with each of you. We might be looking at a small reorganization to boost efficiency. I plan to introduce some important changes to the rules because, in the first forty minutes I’ve been here, I’ve already noticed several serious violations.”
The crowd shifts, lining up along the walls. Some move to the center, but I stay by the door, staring at the floor. I can’t look in his direction; my neck feels locked, and my heart seems to be racing toward the elevator. One thought bounces around in my head: “This can’t be happening, it can’t be real, it’s just a dream, I just need to wake up!”
He keeps talking about a new production line, updated report submission processes, and extra working hours, but I’m not listening anymore—or rather, I’m not processing reality. My emergency “freak-out mode level one” has kicked in. When the ghost from my past finally stops speaking, I bolt out of the room first, like I’ve been scalded. Marta barely catches up with me in the hallway.
“Ashley, are you okay? Looking at you, I feel like I should call an ambulance!”
“No, I’m not okay! It’s… him… you know!” I’m having a panic attack, unable to focus, unable to stop, not even sure where I’m running.
“Yeah, but I’ve only heard the short version of the story from you. And seeing him in person? That’s a first. My eyes nearly popped out of my head when Elsa said his name! Coincidences like this don’t happen often! Where are you rushing off to? We’ve passed accounting three times already. Come on, calm down,” Marta manages to grab me and pin me against the wall. “Take four deep breaths and pull yourself together. It’s not the end of the world. But now I want the full story! Sure, you’re all blotchy and couldn’t see straight, but that handsome devil was staring at you pretty hard. Good timing with that blouse. Let’s get you some water, cool you down, and at least pretend we’re working before we’re the first ones this superman fires. You’re not planning to lose your job over some old flame, are you?” She drags me toward the water cooler, casting spy-like glances in every direction.
“Marta, you don’t get it! This is a disaster! It wasn’t just a first love—I was going to marry him. He proposed, and then… I’ll never forgive him! I left Boston because of this jerk, and now, three years later, he’s back to ruin my life again?”
“Three years is a long time. A lot can change. Maybe he’s married now, has kids, a dog, and a beachfront villa. Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Marta, you’re not helping—you’re making it worse!” I grind my teeth in frustration. “I don’t know why, but when I imagine Gordon married, after all his passionate confessions, after our relationship… it makes me sick to my stomach. No, I don’t want to cry—I’ve cried enough. I want to punch him in the face. Hard. I think that would finally give me some closure.”
“Don’t turn around, don’t even think about it,” Marta whispers, gripping my arm. “Act like nothing’s happening. Try to smile. So what if an ex showed up? Every woman has an ex she’d like to spit on or slug.”
“But not every woman’s ex becomes her boss,” I mutter through trembling lips. “Now it’s either him or me. Damn it, I can’t believe this is happening to me. …Why are you suddenly blushing? Is he coming over here?”
“Hello, Ashley,” Gordon’s deep baritone resonates behind me. How does he even have the nerve to speak to me?
I need to turn around, square my shoulders, and look him boldly in the eye. …In those eyes I once loved, that smiled at me with secret tenderness, that I kissed in the sleepy haze of morning…
“Hello, Mr. Forrester,” I reply coolly, offering a tight, far-from-welcoming smile. We’re not pretending to be old friends, after all. “My colleague and I were just discussing work matters. You’ll have the weekly report on your desk by this evening.” Don’t look at him, Ashley—just a quick glance and that’s enough. He should already sense that his appointment doesn’t exactly thrill me.
“I plan to speak personally with every employee in the office. You’ll be the first, Ashley. So, please, follow me,” he says with a suspicious tone, as if summoning me to an execution.
He opens the door to what’s now his office, gesturing for me to go first, playing the gentleman. As if his polite manners don’t infuriate me right now.
“After you, Mr. Forrester. We’re not on a date, so no need to play the nice guy.”
Swallowing my sarcastic tone, he steps in first, clearly deciding not to react and escalate things. Otherwise, I might just explode right at the threshold. But something’s making him uneasy—he adjusts his shirt collar as if to loosen it, looking like he might rip off his tie and fling it onto the desk. He unbuttons his jacket, sits down in his chair. Suits always looked good on him, and not the cheap kind either—he dresses in the finest. …I should’ve figured out what kind of guy he was from the start and run for the hills. From now on, I’ll choose men by different standards. Before saying “yes” to a proposal, I’ll meet the guy’s mother first. Some characters like this one… ugh, I don’t even want to think about it.
“Please, take a seat,” he nods politely toward the chair across from him, but I stand rooted to the spot.
“Thanks, but I’ll stand. Keeps the legs toned. I’ve still got to drive men crazy with them,” I can’t help myself—the pent-up sarcasm just spills out.
“But I can’t sit while a woman stands. You’re making this harder than it needs to be, Ashley,” he says, standing abruptly, rounding the desk, and leaning against it with his firm backside, facing me as he taps his fingers on the edge of the tabletop.
“You’re wrong there, Gordon. You’re the one who showed up from Boston and complicated everything. I could breathe easy here without you. Let’s skip the chivalrous nonsense. What do you want? For me to quit? I’ll tell you right now—you’re not getting that! I’m a damn good economist, and I do my job well!”
“There’s no talk of firing. There’s no reason for it. Ashley, I just want to make sure our past doesn’t trip us up, doesn’t cause misunderstandings or petty conflicts. We’re adults. We didn’t part as enemies. We just parted ways.”
Speak for yourself, but don’t speak for me. Who said we’re not enemies?
God, how it all started with such a bang! He splashed me with muddy water from a puddle, speeding past in his shiny new SUV. That same evening, I grabbed a hefty nail and scratched up his precious toy from the bottom of my heart. Oh, how he lost it! He hunted me down for days until he caught me on the beach. But when he saw me in a bikini, he forgot why he was mad—or rather, he turned his anger into an excuse to introduce himself. Stop, hit pause on the memories. No time for nostalgia. I need to show this macho man that he means nothing to me. I look into his eyes and force myself not to think about those times, about the other Gordon, because the man standing before me now is an ambitious boss, a lover of expensive things, order, and his jealous mother, who probably never taught him to share—say, love. Turns out, we’re both terrible egoists.
“I don’t know about you, but nothing’s tangled up between my legs or under my feet. So, there’s no talk of conflicts tied to the past. Getting to know you was a mistake in the first place, but since I’ve grown past and moved on from that sad chapter, there’s nothing to regret. Strictly business, hierarchy, and distance.”
“Great, I’m glad we understand each other,” he says with a biting tone. Did I just bruise his fragile male ego? Yet his eyes can’t help but dip into my cleavage, lingering on my chest, sliding down my hips and my long legs that any model would envy. All of this was once yours, but now it’s off-limits. For you, I’m wearing signs that read: “No Entry,” “Keep Out—Danger,” and “Detour.”
“I’m glad we’ve cleared things up, Mr. Forrester. Am I free to go?”
“You may leave, but one last thing—I have a serious note for you. Dress more modestly, stick to business attire. This isn’t a travel agency or an escort service; it’s a reputable firm, and we need to uphold our image. Do you understand?”
Is he implying I’ve dressed like a hooker??! Oh, Gordie, you shouldn’t have said that!
“You see, Mr. Forrester, no matter how much you try to stuff a beautiful woman into a strict business suit, no long skirts or buttoned-up blouses can hide natural sex appeal. You can look stunning even in a nun’s habit if nature blessed you with the right curves. Of course, I’ll take your wishes into account so as not to wound your delicate sensibilities, but the reason for such a remark probably lies in the fact that you haven’t gotten any in a while. But if Mommy doesn’t allow you to mess around with just anyone, then tough luck. I hope that remarkable woman followed you here, since her darling boy needs looking after?”
His brown eyes narrow, the muscles in his chiseled jaw tighten, the nostrils of his perfect nose flare. The boss is angry. The past just spat right in his face.
“I’m not entirely sure what’s behind your hostility, but this is the first and last time I’ll overlook your rudeness,” he hisses through clenched teeth, the knuckles of his hands gripping the desk turning white. I’ve gotten under his skin on day one. He doesn’t get it!
“A very wise stance. Every time you look at me, just close your eyes, Mr. Forrester,” I say, turning on my heel and gliding out of the office with grace. He didn’t even ask how I’ve been, what’s going on in my life, or how my personal affairs have turned out. No, all he cares about is that I don’t cause him any trouble! And this is the man I was going to marry, for whom I wrote a heartfelt wedding vow, dreaming that my children would look like him? Thank God you didn’t let me make such a foolish mistake! But how am I supposed to endure him at work now, seeing him every day, smelling his cologne in the air, hearing his voice, and pretending nothing ever happened? That I didn’t wear his shirt on my bare skin, that we didn’t make love, that I didn’t shred my wedding dress with scissors?
“Did he bite you?” Marta asks cautiously after I storm into our office on wings of fury.
“No!”
“Did you bite him?”
“Can you believe this jerk said I look like a prostitute?”
“He said that outright?”
“Not in those exact words, but that was the gist!” I growl, furiously clicking my mouse. “He claims he doesn’t understand why I’m so worked up! It infuriates me that you give your heart to someone who doesn’t value it, and then you have to claw it back, usually in pieces! Marta, I need to come up with a strategy,” I say, spinning toward my friend, who’s already holding out the calming pills her doctor prescribed last month when she suspected her husband of cheating. I silently swallow two at once, take a big gulp of water, and continue. “I need to come up with some affirmations to repeat every time I see the boss, to stay calm and indifferent inside.”
“Or just picture him picking his nose,” Marta snickers. “I don’t know what’ll help. Clearly, the splinter’s buried deep. The love for this guy hasn’t left your system yet, and no matter what words you come up with, your memory will keep throwing images at you. You need to find someone new, shift your focus to other hands, lips, and, well, other fun body parts.”
“That feels kind of wrong,” I frown, trying to imagine that scenario. “Hooking up with just anyone…”
“Why just anyone? A nice, attractive guy or man. You’re not even looking, but they’re out there. And you’ll forget Gordon in no time. So what if he’s a rich pretty boy? Guys like that aren’t interesting to anyone anymore, especially if they’ve got snake-like mothers. Go on the hunt intentionally. Maybe we’ll find someone in the office or on the fourteenth floor with the IT crowd—there are some real catches there. I went to them for help recently, remember when I needed to revive my computer urgently? While I was sorting that out, I noticed a few hot prospects. Or we could hit a club, though that’s always a 50-50 shot. You might run into creeps, depending on how much you drink. There are options, Ashley! You’ve got to do something. Keep my cousin in mind too. Plus, when your ex sees you all flirty and happy with someone else, he might choke on jealousy. Men cool off fast after a breakup, move on, but when they see their ex with another guy, their possessive instincts get poisoned instantly.”
“I’ll think about it. Maybe I’ll ‘accidentally’ break my computer and run up to the fourteenth while I’m still rocking this killer blouse?” I smile, relaxing a bit—probably the pills kicking in.
“And you’ve got to tell me the full story behind this mysterious history of yours.”
“Fine, fine. We’ll get together over a bottle of wine soon, and I’ll spill everything,” I say, trying to dive into my report, but my thoughts scatter in every direction. In the end, surprising even myself, I give in to a reckless impulse and make my laptop ‘malfunction’ a little. No point putting off the crazy. If I’m going to do something wild, might as well do it today!
“Where are you off to?” Marta asks, surprised, as I clutch my laptop to my chest and head for the door. “Just like that?”
“Why drag it out?”
But an ambush awaits me in the hallway. Why can’t he just stay in his fancy leather chair?
“Miss Woods, may I ask why you’re carrying a computer out of the office?” Gordon, the boss, is not someone I’m fond of right now, especially since he’s blocking my path to the elevator.
“Because it’s glitching, and I need to finish a report urgently. So, I’m heading to the fourteenth floor. There’s an IT company nearby, in case you didn’t know. They’ve got sharp guys who can fix it in a snap,” I reply with pointed irritation.
“Have you lost your mind? This is company property. It might contain valuable and confidential data. Don’t we have a specialist in the office who can handle this?” He shoves his hands into his pockets, glaring at me with the annoyed look of a displeased superior.
“You have to submit a request to tech support, and that’s a long process. It’s Friday—best case, they’ll show up on Monday, and I’ve got a report due!” I stand my ground.
“I forbid it!”
I return to the office, place the laptop on my desk, and head back toward the elevator. But this watchdog is still standing in the hallway.
“I don’t understand! Why are you wandering around the office during work hours?”
“I’m not wandering, Mr. Forrester. I’m solving a problem. I’ll go upstairs and explain the issue to the guys in person, see if they can give me some advice on fixing it. Are you picking on me?”
“No, I’m trying to bring some order here,” Gordon hisses. “I have a spare laptop. I can lend it to you so you can finally get to work.”
“No need,” I say, glancing at my watch. “I’ll temporarily use a colleague’s computer, and in two hours, during lunch break—when we might be allowed to step out—I’ll swing by those geniuses on the fourteenth. Can I at least use the restroom, or do I need to submit a written request for that too?”
“You promised me there’d be no issues,” he says almost in a whisper, simmering with anger. Probably my blouse is getting to him. Now I’ve got to figure out what to wear on Monday.
“And I’m not creating any issues. All the problems are in your head, Gordon.”