After Hours (Fluff; Conversation Heavy; Coworkers; Power Imbalance)
The ache in my back tells me it's time to clock out. To be fair, it's been screaming that at me for hours, but we're just now making the final crawl to 5 pm. Blue light has been searing my eyes, through page after page of data, line after line of code. Riveting.
And a problem for Monday. My heels clack against the tile as I take the elevator to the roof. I should head home, but every Friday, I take a moment to enjoy the view of the city. The lights, the traffic, and the evening air. A moment to clear my mind. And the moment I make it through the doorway, I almost run into Vanessa Greeves, some upper management figure in marketing.
"Easy there. Somewhere important to be?" she asks, an amused expression coating her merlot-painted lips.
"Sorry, no, I'm actually headed home. I just thought I lost something up here. Goodnight," I state, turning for the door.
"Wait," she calls, stopping me in my tracks. "Since you're not headed anywhere important, I'd like to talk to you for a bit."
The last thing I want to do is talk.
"Okay, sure," I reply, resting my bag from my shoulder to the crook of my elbow. "What did you want to talk about?" We settle at the banister near the edge.
"Do you like your job?"
"W-what do you... I mean, of course. I'm very fortunate to have my position." Is this a threat? Did I do something wrong?
"Relax," she laughs, "I just ask because it always seems to put a furrow in your brow. Stress isn't good for your heart, or your wrinkles."
"I do not have wrinkles!" I gasp, raising a hand to my face. This seems to amuse her even more.
"No, you don't, but keep it up and you will. Although..." she murmurs, circling me once. "You'd make them work in your favour."
"And what the hell does that mean?"
"Some people age gracefully. I predict you'll be one of those people, if you're current glamour is anything to go by."
"Goodnight, Ms. Greeves," I mutter past my flustered thoughts, turning to head home.
"Hold on, I'm joking. You come up here to clear your head right? So do I. Let's just... sit. I won't say anything."
I guess I don't have a claim to this part of the building, as much as it's begun to feel like mine over the year I've been working here. But the silence is nice. Feeling the wind against my skin and watching the twinkling in the distance, it settles something in me. I lose track of time, but something like twenty or so minutes of peace pass by, and it's just what I needed.
"This isn't what I thought I'd be doing tonight," I murmur.
"Oh yeah? And what did you think you'd be doing?" Greeves asks, turning to look at me.
"I don't know, sitting by myself until I got bored and then heading home to microwave something or the other. I just didn't expect to be up here with... you know, you."
"Don't sounds too disappointed. Might bruise my ego," she chuckles, and I swear she's gotten closer.
"I don't mean it like that. I just mean..."
"I'm going for dinner at Riviera Blanc. Come with me."
The request (statement?) takes me by surprise. We've been going at it like this for almost four weeks. Ever since I bumped into her at a symposium, she's been popping up here and there to go through this routine of cheeky banter. Well, not so much banter as it is her dropping some unwarranted flirtatious line and me deflecting everything for the sake of my job. I can only guess how much my own managers will be up my ass, with an HR agent in their back pocket, if I even look like I'm hugging up to Greeves of all people.
"You know I can't do that."
"Sure you can. I'd bet my life they've got better food than what you're about to microwave at home. Come on, my treat."
"I appreciate the offer, but I should head home."
"One drink then. If you're in that much of a rush."
I meet her gaze with exasperation. I'm trying to be polite, but she's never struck me as someone who takes the answer no easily. And despite being out in the open, the environment has begun to feel so much more intimate under these conditions.
"Ms. Greeves-"
"Call me Vanessa, please. We aren't in a meeting. You don't have to be so formal with me."
"We're at work, Ms. Gr-"
"Ah ah- what did I say?" she chastises. I can't help but roll my eyes.
"Ms. Vanessa, I want to go home."
"Is that what you want? Or is that what sounds like the right thing to do?" she probes.
"Okay, what is it you want then?"
"I want to take a smart, well-mannered, gorgeous woman out for dinner and drinks so I can get to know her better."
"If that's who you think I am, you really don't know me."
"Oh, I know quite a bit about you, but if you'd let me, I'd like to take my time finding out the rest. I want to see where all those little puzzle pieces fit," she purrs, closing the space between us. Her perfume coils around me, fogging my willpower.
"Fine, one drink."
"Excellent. I'll drive."
"No, no, I need to go home and change first. Give me thirty minutes and I'll meet you there. You said the Riviera."
"Need to change? For what?"
"I look like a rat. I've been in my work clothes all day, my hair is a mess, and these shoes... I'll meet you there."
"Hey," she hooks a finger under my chin, "you look perfect. I didn't ask you in your Sunday best. I asked you like this, and this is what I want. Now you can either let me drive you straight to the restaurant, or if you absolutely must be difficult, you can let me drive you to your place to change, and then to the restaurant. Which would you like?"
She's forward in a way that puts a tremor in my pulse. It makes me squirm in a way I can't help but like.
"My place first, please."
"Good. Lead the way."
The elevator ride to the lobby is silent, as is the car ride aside from a gentle jazz on the radio. When we pull up to my apartment address, nothing but the word "stay" comes out of her. She gets out and opens my door for me. I'm about to panic about my place not being company-ready, but she closes the door behind me and leans against the car.
"Take your time," she assures before scrolling on her phone.
I do nothing of the sort. I run upstairs, throw on a nice cocktail dress and some nicer heels, refresh my lipstick, brush out my ponytail, and spray on a new layer of deodorant and perfume before tapping back downstairs as fast as I can. I take a few deep breaths before stepping outside and walking towards the car.
She smiles and opens the door to the car again, closing it once I'm in and taking her place in the driver's seat.
"Thank you," she states, backing out and heading to the restaurant.
"For what?"
"As much as I was in favour of saving you the trouble, now I've gotten to see you in a new outfit."
Once we make it to the restaurant, I realize this isn't the sort of place I would ever frequent. My circuit of fast food places and family-run diners are an entirely different realm. We follow the waiter through the sea of tables and past the bar, making it to an isolated table on a quiet terrace.
"What's on your mind?" she asks, taking a sip of her water.
"This just... isn't what I thought I'd be doing tonight."
"So you've said. Finding it any more preferable to a quiet night with microwaved leftovers?"
"Maybe. We'll see when the food comes."
"You're really not gonna take the bait, huh?" She straightens her posture and leans towards me, capturing my full attention. "Then let me be clear. What do I have to do to keep a pretty thing like you on my arm?"
I can't keep the look of shock off my face.
"Don't make this- thank you... Don't do this." I whisper once the waiter finishes dropping off the food.
"Do what?"
"This. Don't ruin this. Things have been nice. They've been uncomplicated. They've been friendly."
"I'd say more than friendly," she cuts in.
"No, no, you have been more than friendly. I have been maintaining my composure through this whole ordeal, or trying to. I mean, don't get me wrong, I like you, you're a stellar woman, I'm sure, but you know we can't do this."
"And why's that?"
"Why? W- Are you- Seriously? Let the sharks in our firm scent blood in the water and it'll be my ass on the street without a job. They won't take you down, they'll have HR snooting around every move I make until they create a reason to fire me. Please, let's just-... keep it cute."
"Keep it cute," she repeats, relaxing in her chair. "You know, I'd believe you if you weren't sitting across from me at dinner in a slutty little number, begging for my attention."
"SLU- ahem, slutty?!" I hiss. "This is a tasteful evening dress, as though you'd know anything about being tasteful- the way you act."
"Well, if I'm honest, everything looks slutty on you. I swear, you could make a nun's habit ravishing with that figure," she jokes, clearly satisfied with my reaction.
"You're not taking this seriously. I'm going home. Have a good night." I stand to take my leave, and her tone shakes something in me.
"Sit."
I find myself lowering back into my chair on command. I know I shouldn't. I know this is irresponsible. But sometimes she takes all the air out of my lungs.
"Now keep that pretty mouth shut while I explain something to you. I've been in this company for five years. I am the sole entity keeping our marketing department off of life support and everybody knows it. You keep your head down and do your job like you usually do, regardless of what happens between us, your job is safe. No one needs to know what we do in our free time and if anyone tries it, it'll be me they deal with and I'm more connected than you know. That being said, I think I've been extremely clear about what I want, so maybe, instead of drowning in all the ways something could go wrong, answer me this. What do you want?"
I'm not immediately sure what to say. All I can think of is how badly this could go for me. That the instant gratification of being with someone like this isn't worth the long term desolation that will be my future.
"Hey, what did I say? I can see you panicking over there. Answer my question. Don't think about it. Answer. What do you want?" she pushes.
"Okay! I- I want to- I want to see where this goes. I want...you?"
"Is that a question?"
"I want you."
There's a moment of silence that makes me squirm. I don't know what she's thinking. Maybe this was some elaborate prank and my coworkers will pop out from the side, pointing and laughing. Maybe this was for her own amusement and she doesn't find me attractive. Why would she anyway? This is absurd. I knew it then and I know it now.
"Good. Then stop worrying, let me take care of you, and eat."
I had almost forgotten the plate of steaming food in front of me. Three cheese lasagna with grilled asparagus. I've lost my appetite, anxiety wracking my system, but I don't have the heart to refuse her. After the first bite, I realize why this place has the status that it does and my hunger quickly returns to me. We eat without speaking, and the silence no longer feels dangerous. It gives me time to regulate just casually spending time with her. I ignore the prolonged looks she gives me, and she doesn't say anything to spike my heart rate. When we're done, she orders dessert for the both of us and uses the wait time to ask me about my plans tomorrow. The usual chores, I tell her, and in the same way as before, she tells me she's going for coffee in the morning, and to come with her. Not quite a request. Just a roomy statement. And I accept, because she's Vanessa, she's impossible, and she doesn't like to take no for an answer.
And because I want to.