~
He didn’t.
It’s the end of the week and Asher is still wearing that halo around his head. He’s been bringing me coffee. He’s been helping me with work. He’s been letting me go home early. And I’m really curious why.
Maybe I should just ask him?
Just then, I hear a knock on the door to my office. I look up and find Asher standing outside the glass.
Speaking of the devil. Or should I say the angel?
I open the door. “Sir?”
“I think you should go through these numbers again.”
He hands me the tablet. I look at the screen, which displays a chart from the report I submitted earlier. It takes me only a few seconds to see the error and gasp in dismay.
How could I have made such a glaring mistake?
“I’m so sorry, sir,” I apologize at once. “I’ll correct it right away.”
I wait for the scolding. Instead, I get a look of concern.
“Are you feeling alright, Ms. Cleary?” Asher asks me. “You don’t usually make mistakes like this.”
“I know. I’m fine. I just… had a mental lapse, I guess. And no, I’m not making excuses. It’s a mistake, my mistake, and I will fix it.”
Asher smiles. “No worries.”
‘No worries’? Before this week, it would have been ‘You better’ or ‘It better not happen again’.
Asher’s eyebrows furrow. “Is something wrong, Ms. Cleary? You look a little confused.”
I am. More than a little.
“Any questions?”
Who are you and what have you done with Asher Hawthorne?
“I was just wondering…” I pause to draw a breath. “If there’s something you wanted me to do.”
He nods. “Yes. I want you to fix that mistake.”
“No. I mean yes, I will do that. But is there… anything else you want from me?”
He scratches his chin. “Let’s see. That data analysis I mentioned the other day?”
“I mean something that’s not related to work,” I clarify as simply as I can.
“Oh.” He pauses for a moment to think, then shakes his head. “No. I can’t think of anything. Why?”
“Nothing,” I answer quickly.
Maybe I shouldn’t have asked.
His eyes narrow. “Did I, without my knowledge, make you think I want something from you, Ms. Cleary?”
I suddenly feel stupid. What if I’m reading too much into his behavior? What if he’s just being kind? There’s no reason required for someone to be kind, right?
“No, sir,” I tell him. “Please forget what I said.”
“Are you sure?”
I nod.
“Because just to be clear, I’m not expecting anything from you apart from your hard work.”
Of course. I’m just imagining otherwise because I can’t accept the fact that I suddenly have a nice boss. I’m the one who’s not right in the head. Not Asher.
“I understand.”
“What about you, Ms. Cleary?” he asks. “Is there something you want from me?”
I pause. Is there?
I shake my head. “No, sir.”
“Not even another cup of coffee?” he offers.
“No, thank you.” I glance at the cup on my desk, which is still a quarter full. “One is enough.”
“Okay.”
Asher walks away, then stops and glances over his shoulder.
“By the way, Ms. Cleary…”
I lift my chin. “Yes?”
“Nice dress.”
~
Nice dress?
I take a moment to examine how it looks in the mirror of the women’s restroom as I wash my hands after lunch.
I guess it does look nice. A white pencil dress with blue orchids, a boat neckline and a gold lace sash. It’s Friday, after all. I usually wear my nicest dresses on Fridays.
What doesn’t happen usually? Asher paying me a compliment. What’s next? Is he going to buy me flowers? Ask me out on a date? And if he does, what do I do? Can I still refuse after how kind he’s been to me? Has that been his plan all along—to be so kind to me that I’ll feel indebted and do anything for him? I know he said he wasn’t expecting anything from me, but I can’t help but feel that I’m obliged to do something in return.
I shake my head. Now I’m really confused. I don’t know how to deal with this kind Asher. I’ve never been good at dealing with kind people. That’s why I barely have friends or go home to spend time with my family.
I can deal with jerks. I can deal with envious colleagues. I can deal with arrogant superiors and incompetent subordinates. But kind people? Their very existence confuses me.
And now, Asher is one of them. So what on earth do I do about him?
The mirror doesn’t give me an answer so I get out of the restroom. As I pull the handle of my purse over my shoulder in the corridor, I nearly bump into a woman on her way in.
“Sorry,” I mumble.
The woman, an auburn-haired, pear-shaped thirty-something in a rust-colored top and black skirt, says nothing. She just stops and stares at me.
My eyebrows crease. “Do I know you?”
“No.” She continues in a softer but somehow resentful voice as she gets out of my way. “But I know you.”