Page 216 of Callan

She talks to me as we stroll down the long corridor.

It’s something about how many days a week my new boss usually works. How they have work for me to do when he’s away. How he is a nice man, but everybody––for some reason––is afraid of him.

“You’ll know what I mean when you meet him. Just try not to get too intimidated by him,” she continues, a pang of humor flashing through her voice, and I’m envious that she has such a great boss.

And now I’m about to meet him.

She pulls up in front of a solid wooden door and knocks on it.

A faint‘Come in’travels from the other side.

She opens the door and whispers to me to stay put before stepping in and pulling it closed behind her.

They exchange words––that much I know––but none of them mean something to me. It’s all muted in my head.

A few seconds pass, and the door opens.

The woman pushes it to the wall and invites me in.

“You can go in,” she says, and I do just that.

She must not have given her boss much information about me, as she turns to the man drinking his coffee with his back turned to us and his eyes on Manhattan. And then gives him the following introduction.

“This is the woman I was talking about. She’ll tell you everything you need to know,” she adds in a cutesy tone, and I have a half smile on my lips as I pull my eyes from her and look closely at the back of the man rocking an expensive suit.

The recognition sets in immediately, zipping through me like fire, yet the disbelief is stronger, making my lips pull apart and my voice get stuck in my throat.

Mrs. Goodman lingers a little longer to make sure her boss and I connect eyes.

And when he glances over his shoulder and meets my horrified eyes, his expression changes so quickly it’s like dark clouds hover over Manhattan, wreaking havoc and bringing more snow.

His eyes look like tar, his expression stern and unforgiving.

He must have had a sip of coffee in his mouth since he swallows so quickly before setting the cup down at so much speed that I’m afraid the porcelain might get shattered.

He coughs.

The hot coffee must’ve scalded his mouth.

And somehow, the woman next to me misses her boss’ reaction.

He regains his composure immediately.

“Who’re you?” Callan asks in a voice that can’t conceal his displeasure, yet again, his employee misses the nuance.

“I’ll let you two talk and get the conference room ready.”

Smiling, Mrs. Goodman walks out and closes the door.

Once she’s out, Callan closes the distance between us, goes straight to the door, locks it, and turns around, his stormy eyes almost knocking me over.

“What the hell are you doing here, Mackenzie?” he pushes through his clenched jaw, grabbing my shoulder and shaking me as if wanting to pull me out of a dream or something.

This is a nightmare. I will agree.

My eyes prick with tears.

Of all the things I’ve been through these past few days, seeing him now here, pissed, my chance of getting a job gone, and the prospect of starting all over looming over me, this is the worst.

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