Page 38 of Forty, Flirty & Fired

I pretend not to hear as I take a seat, pulling out my tablet. Two can play at the professional distance game.

"Ms. Gallo." He ends the call, and suddenly the office feels very small. “So, about last night?—"

"Keith's presentation actually raises some valid points about resource allocation," I cut in, because we are absolutely not discussing last night. "Though his methods are... unconventional."

"You mean his plan to 'seize the means of caffeination'?"

"His passion for beverage equity is... admirable."

"Is that what we're calling it?" He leans back in his chair, and I definitely don't notice how his shirt pulls across his shoulders. "Because HR is calling it 'concerning behavior requiring immediate intervention.'"

"HR calls everything concerning behavior." I pull up my latest analysis. "Besides, he's not wrong about the coffee machine settings being unnecessarily complex. Did you know it has seventeen different options for foam texture?"

"I'm more concerned about the meditation room incident."

My heart definitely doesn't skip. "The power outage? Maintenance is updating the backup generators."

"Mac."

Oh no. Not the first name. Not the way his voice drops lower when he says it.

"Mr. Drake?—"

A commotion outside saves me. Through the glass walls, we watch Keith march past with what appears to be a procession of developers, all carrying coffee cups and chanting something about "bean liberation."

"Should we..." I gesture vaguely at the parade of caffeinated rebellion.

"Emma's handling it." He doesn't look away from me. "You're avoiding the conversation."

"I'm prioritizing crisis management."

"The only crisis here is how hard you're working to pretend last night didn't happen."

"Nothing happened."

"Because the power came back on."

"Because it would have been incredibly unprofessional."

"Like your blog posts about our corporate culture?"

I freeze. "We've been through this. You have no proof?—"

The office door bursts open, saving me from what was definitely about to be another dangerous conversation. Brad stumbles in, clutching his wellness journal and looking distraught.

"Mr. Drake! Ms. Gallo! There's a situation in the meditation room!"

"Again?" we say in unison, then carefully don't look at each other.

"Keith's turned it into a 'temporary autonomous zone' for 'corporate resistance poetry readings.'" Brad's air quotes are impressive for someone having an obvious meltdown. "He's wearing a beret. And using my emotional support cushion as a podium!"

I check my watch. 10:15 AM. Definitely too early for this level of creative rebellion.

"I'll handle Keith," I say, standing. "You deal with..." I gesture at Brad, who's now over-hugging his journal.

"Actually," Alex stands too, "I think we should both assess the situation. Given last night's... security concerns."

The look he gives me makes it clear we're not talking about security at all.

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