Page 39 of Forty, Flirty & Fired

"Fine." I head for the door. "But if he starts reciting beat poetry about agile methodology again, I'm leaving."

"That's fair."

We follow Brad to the meditation room, maintainingcareful professional distance. Which would be easier if I couldn't smell Alex's cologne, or if my traitor brain would stop remembering how lickable he looked.

The scene that greets us is... unique.

Keith stands on my least favorite meditation cushion (the purple one that makes philosophical squeaking noises), wearing both his Post-it note crown and a beret at a jaunty angle. Around him, various developers sit cross-legged, some holding candles (against every fire code we have), others snapping appreciatively as Keith recites:

"Oh Captain, my Captain of Industry,

Your profit margins bring me misery,

Your KPIs are chains upon my soul,

While JIRA tickets take their corporate toll..."

"Is he..." Alex whispers, "rewriting Whitman as tech protest poetry?"

"Could be worse," I whisper back. "Yesterday it was haikus about sprint planning."

Brad makes a distressed noise as Keith switches to what appears to be a freestyle rap about workflow optimization.

My phone buzzes – a text from Roberto: "Can we talk about the baby news? Maybe over coffee?"

Jesus Christ on toast.

I can’t catch a break today. And now this? A coffee with my ex while he gushes about his younger girlfriend's pregnancy.

Been there. Loved that. Hated that, and then divorced that.

And I’ve got the therapy bills to prove it.

"Absolutely not," I mutter, typing a quick 'busy with work' response.

"Everything okay?" Alex asks quietly.

"Fine." I straighten my shoulders. "Just... life stuff. Nothing relevant to this current situation."

He gives me a look that suggests he doesn't believe me, but before he can push:

"And now," Keith announces grandly, "my latest piece: 'Ode to an Almost-Kiss in the Meditation Room' - inspired by true events!"

Oh hell no.

"Keith!" I use my best 'I've managed developers for twenty years and I'm not afraid to use that experience' voice. "That's enough performance art for one morning. Everyone back to work."

"But I haven't performed my interpretive dance about sprint retrospectives!"

"The revolution will have to wait," Alex adds, and I try not to notice how commander-voice sounds on him. "Unless you'd prefer to discuss your performance metrics with HR?"

The room clears faster than the break room during a mandatory team building exercise.

"Well," I say into the awkward silence, "that was..."

“An innovative use of literary devices?"

"I was going to say 'career-limiting,' but sure."

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