Page 126 of My Boss

I can feel myself sweating. My heart rate is pounding like crazy. A text message arrives:

I’m standing in front of your building. May I come in?

Oh, shit! I glance down at myself. I’m wearing panties and a crumpled T-shirt. The apartment is a mess.

Now?

Now.

The place is a mess and I’m not dressed.

I don’t care about the first, and I missed the second.

The intercom sounds. My pulse speeds up, a swarm of butterflies rushes in my stomach. I put the phone down on the table, wipe my sweaty palms on my T-shirt and walk to the door. The doorbell rings again. I take a deep breath and let Jan into the stairwell.

In theory, I could quickly get myself ready, comb my hair, put on pants, and make the bed, but I’m unable to move. What is he doing here? What should I say to him? Ask him directly if he suffers from autism spectrum disorders? What if he doesn’t even know about them? Toska said that most adults with Asperger’s are undiagnosed. What if he knows he’s autistic, but doesn’t want me to know? Or maybe he’s ashamed of it? Or he’s completely normal, and I’m making him look disturbed?

A knock on the door. A wave of heat hits me. I reach for the handle; my mouth is dry. I open the door and… my heart stops at the sight of Jan.

Holy crap, but he’s dressed to the nines. Undeniably, he is the only man I know who looks like a runway model in a three-piece suit. And that masculine scent that makes my lower abdomen tingle.

“You cut your hair,” I state, looking at the new hairstyle. It is shorter than usual, and it suits him.

“Yes.” He moves his gaze down my bare legs. The vein on his forehead pulsates. “May I come in?”

I open the door wide and let him in. Jan starts to pull off his shoes, and I recall that the room is full of potato chip crumbs on the carpet.

“You’d better not take them off. The place is a mess. You’ll get your socks dirty.”

He hesitates for a moment.

“Good manners dictate that you should take off your shoes before entering someone’s apartment,” he declares uncertainly.

“And logic dictates that you should keep your shoes on if the hostess’s carpet is a pigsty,” I smile.

“Good point.”

“Come in, Jan.” I point to the room.

“Ladies first.”

I laugh.

“Why is this visit laced with charming gentlemanliness?” I sit down on the couch.

Jan undoes the buttons of his jacket and takes one of the chairs. He sits upright, focused, and I can see that he intends to make some kind of longer speech.

“I’d like to share some thoughts with you, and I’d ask you not to interrupt me while I’m talking. If you have questions, please save them till the end. I will answer them all.”

I told you so!

“Fine.”

Jan pulls a piece of paper from his jacket pocket. He unfolds it, glances over it, and adjusts his tie. Sweat appears on his temples. I feel sorry for him. He’s so damn upset. I know I wasn’t supposed to speak, but I have to loosen him up somehow, or the guy here will croak before he utters his first word.

“Are you nervous?”

“Yes.” He doesn’t take his eyes off the page.

---