Caught by the Boss

11

HENRY/HECTOR

I collect Leila's helmet and take it into my office. I've already requested four other employees to submit theirs, but I'm awaiting their replies.

I set the box on my desk and retrieve my spare laptop. The programs are already running. I wirelessly connect the helmet to the computer, going directly to the analytical tools.

A thought strikes me. What does Leila use The Machine for? There are thousands of servers, dedicated for all sorts of things, but a popular option is for virtual sex.

I chuckle. Skittish little Leila, having virtual sex with a stranger? Impossible. The woman is adorable, sneaking me chips as a meal and writing messages on the bag. Her soft giggles often fill the office floor when she takes a break and scrolls through memes on her phone. I've found myself getting distracted by her laughter, not realizing how silent the floor had been until she appeared.

There is no way she's a sex fiend. She probably uses The Machine for virtual book club meetings.

The laptop presents a few errors with her helmet. Error codes that I haven't diagnosed yet, but they involve the sensors. Once the helmet detects that it's on, it's supposed to disrupt the hippocampus to pause the creation of new memories. Leila's helmet is reporting issues with this function, but I doubt it's anything serious if she hasn't mentioned anything.

I will have to look into this later.

I disconnect the helmet and get back to work. The lawyers are getting nervous about the leak, and the public announcement must be made tomorrow before we reach negligence grounds. I'm not looking forward to the negative press, but the company will survive like it has other scandals.

Although I try to write an email, my eyes keep trailing over to the letter Grace wrote me. I'm distracted by the mystery.

With a frustrated sigh and a tug to my tie, I rip the letter open.

In neat, script words is written: "Thank you for the beautiful flowers. I will miss being a part of the company, but I know it will excel with your vision. I dread this being the last time I hear from you. –Grace."

I cough when I catch myself smiling like a fool.

This woman is special. I must see more of her.

I write a note, inviting her to meet me at the top Italian restaurant in the city, and I list the date and time that works with my chaotic schedule. I seal the note in an envelope and I walk outside to meet Leila.

"Can you get this to Grace, please?" I ask. "Oh, and book a reservation. I'll send you the details."

She accepts the letter. "What if the reservation time isNy available?"

"Mention my name in the details. The restaurant will clear the time slot for me."

She nods, her eyes widening slightly in an endearing manner.

I return to my office and set her helmet back in the box. Then, I send Leila the email with the restaurant details. Tomorrow can't come soon enough.

– • –

Leila emails me in the morning that Grace accepted my invitation, and the reservation is set. I spend thirty minutes frowning at my closet, actually caring about what suit I'm going to wear today. It's ridiculous.

Frustrated, I shrug on a random black suit and drive to work. My fingers tap on the steering wheel, and the radio talk show doesn't distract me from the faint, unfamiliar nervousness in my gut.

I can't remember the last time I felt like this.

Work drags on for hours. I can't concentrate for long before remembering Grace. When four rolls around, I lock my devices and straighten my suit.

This time, my tapping on the steering wheel comes faster. I don't even remember my drive to the restaurant. I just hand the keys to the valet and enter.

I'm seated by the windows, the beautiful view of the city keeping me distracted. When Grace is led to our table, I immediately stand.

She smiles at me and lights up the room. She's still in her work attire— slacks and a white button down, but she's stunning.

I pull her chair out as I return the smile. "Thank you for meeting with me. I hope the drive wasn't too bad?"

"It's a pleasure!"

I sit across from her and study her features. Her faint freckles are practically begging me to kiss them.

We begin light conversation. I ask about the new company she's working at and what she does in her free time. Of course, I already know these answers from our virtual meetings. But I must act like this is all new.

Her answers confuse me. She mentions hobbies she hasn't before, like gardening and playing a guitar. But she's a spontaneous woman—that much I learned from our virtual chats, so I figure she's trying out new things.

She mentions having two dogs, and maybe I missed this detail in our conversations.

When it's my turn to answer, I tell her I spend my time working and testing out The Machine. Seeing how passionately I talk about the device, she tells me that she also uses it.

It's hard to hold back my smirk. If anyone knows about her using the machine, it's me, because I'm the one always meeting her.

(A/N: Grace lied here. She has never used The Machine but wanted to impress him)

After the dinner ends, we exchange phone numbers and part with a hug. Her perfume lingers on me even as I walk away. I run a hand through my short hair, feeling content, but oddly empty. Perhaps it's because I already miss Grace.

I drive home, and pathetically don't want to change out of my clothes and lose her scent. I chuckle at my own ridiculousness as I pour myself a drink. There is work I have to complete, but for a few moments, I want to enjoy the memory of my date with Grace.