Messages pop up on my screen, one after another in quick succession, but none of the names belong to my boss with an explanation for his tardiness. Instead, it’s Luisa and Maria blowing up our sisters’ group chat with text after text about their college admissions essays and all the help they need.
Help they want from me.
This is not a conversation I have time for, and as much as I love them, nerves chew apart my patience. They can wait until after the meeting.
It’s not like I asked for the rough drafts two months ago and they waited until the last minute to write the two-thousand-word essay. That would becrazy.
The brass bell above the café door dings, and my head jerks up to identify the patron, but I dismiss them after scanning over the collared shirt. Jett is not a collared-shirt man. He’s more of a “worn-out band t-shirt, cargo shorts, and scuffed-up Vans” type of guy.
Wait a minute.
I slide my gaze over the loose strands of brown hair, half pulled back into a bun. Along the line of his jaw and the well-groomed beard. I’m greeted with a goofy grin, warm hazel eyes flecked with green and gold, and a version of Jett I hardly recognize. His energy is the same, chaotic but somehow welcoming, but his appearance has morphed.
Gone is the unruly hair, replaced by a tidy, well-maintained chop at the collarbone. Where I expected his beat-up wardrobe from the research trip, I’m greeted with a clean, casual style. The clothes themselves aren’t flashy. Khakis and a simple button-down shirt with tiny blue and green flowers, but the quality of the material is evident. All that remains is the pair of lace-up Vans, but the shoes are new, lacking the tiny hole in the toe.
While he orders, my heartbeat kicks up as potential topics of conversation fly through my mind. He reaches the booth, but instead of sitting across from me as social norms would dictate, he rounds the table, swings his arm over my shoulder, and rips me into a tight hug.
The muscles in my body seize, then loosen as the scent of fresh, earthy tea wafts through the air. “I’ve missed you,” he mutters. “How’s my favorite employee?”
“I figured Doug was your favorite employee” are the first words out of my mouth after the change in style and unexpected hug.
One thing has remained since we disembarked—he still flusters me. It wasn’t a three-week fluke. His candid, upbeat, curious nature surprised me at every turn on the research vessel.
I’d bet money this job will be no different.
“He’s been replaced by my newest hire.” His smile grows, and he nudges my shoulder. “How’s the first week been?”
“I, uh, I was hoping we would talk about that,” I stammer, unsure how to navigate this. The dynamics of our relationshipare murky to begin with, and Jett is the most hands-off boss I’ve ever encountered. “I need more structure.”
His brows pinch. “Did I do something wrong?”
“No.No.” I wave a hand in the air. “I need more guidance about what you expect me to accomplish in my role. I can tell you what I’ve done so far, and then we can talk about goals and deliverables?”
Nerves flutter in my stomach as I slide the briefing I prepared for him out of the folder. It outlines the tasks I’ve accomplished, where I think I could be of help, and areas where I’m inexperienced but willing to learn. Jett chews on his lower lip while he reads, pausing on words and dragging his finger beneath the lines.
He makes it through a third of the list before his ears grow pink. Understanding tickles the back of my mind, so I take a different approach.
“Why don’t we go over each one?”
He scratches at the back of his neck, his lips ticking up in a timid smile. “I’d like that.”
I pick up the paper with flair and list out my bullet points:
• Organized his email, categorized invoices, and flagged important replies
• Updated his branding and website to include material from the “Aliens of the Deep” documentary he helped produce, and reconnected broken links
• Reviewed and updated contracts, health insurance forms, and employee benefits
His mouth falls open. “You did all this in a week?”
“Yes, but I was hoping to complete less…menial tasks.” I pause when the barista delivers a massive sugar-packed concoction topped with whipped cream and chocolate flakes.
Jett lifts it into the air, and my teeth ache from looking at it. It’s zero percent coffee, one hundred percent added sugar.
“Cheers,” he says, tapping his drink against mine before taking a gulp. When I don’t take a sip, he frowns. “You’re not drinking your green thing.”
“It’s not right.” I push the offending sludge farther away from me. “It’s fine. I’ll make one when I get home.”
