Page 14 of Emil

“I’m sure they’ll be excited about that,” I said with a small, tentative smile.

“It shouldn’t have been an issue to begin with, but it’s handled now. But there was another issue I wanted to speak with you about.”

I stayed quiet.

“From now on, you report directly to me. Not John. Any issues or concerns, come to me and bypass him entirely. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir. I understand.”

“Now that that’s out of the way, where’s the new apartment?” He waited like he genuinely cared, which confused the hell out of me.

“It’s close to the office. Close enough to Rory’s that I can get over there quickly. And best of all, it’s cheap,” I said with a self-conscious laugh.

“Where exactly?”

“Off First Avenue.”

“And then you were going to go get your car?” At my nod, Mr. Magnuson shuffled some papers on his desk. “Perfect. I have errands near there. I can take you to the apartment and then drop you off at your car. Sound good?”

“Oh, I don’t want to put you to any trouble.”

“You’re not making me do anything. I’m volunteering. Let’s go, shall we?”

Without waiting for an answer, Mr. Magnuson came around the desk with a look that said follow me. So I did.

As we walked by John’s office, I caught his glare. If looks could kill, I’d be dead on the spot. His mouth twisted into something ugly, and a chill ran down my spine. If I didn’t know better, I’d have thought he hated me.

John’s expression spurred me to walk faster behind Mr. Magnuson. John had given me a twenty-four-hour deadline to have my things out of the apartment, and I was pressing up against it. My things needed to be moved, and I had a little dignity left.

Hopefully, the apartment would work out because I needed a win.

“You don’t have to go up with me if you don’t want to,” I said when Mr. Magnuson turned off the car and started to get out.

“But will you let me?”

I was almost afraid to trust the smile he gave me. It seemed open and friendly, but John had been too when I first met him. Except for the boys in the group chat, my judge of character wasn’t the greatest.

“You are my boss… I don’t think I can say no,” I answered, but I wasn’t able to completely hide the hitch in my voice.

Mr. Magnuson’s face turned somber. “Anders, I want you to listen to me very carefully.” I nodded, and he continued, “You can always say no to me. If I give you an instruction you don’t think you can do, you talk to me. If you’re concerned about an instruction I give you, you talk to me. You will never be in trouble or reprimanded for clarification. Are we in agreement?”

“We are.” I took a deep breath, then added with the tiniest bit of hesitation, “If you want to come up with me, you can.”

The weight of his permission hit me hard. It was impossible not to compare it to John, and really, most of the men I’d dated. Even though I wanted to feel like I was helping them, any pushback made them upset. With John and work, no pushback was permitted. Ever.

“Thank you.” Mr. Magnuson had a self-deprecating smile, as if he were a little embarrassed about something. “I have this weird secret love of real estate. It doesn’t even have to be property I’m an investor in. I just love the whole thing. Back when I was in college, I used to go apartment-hunting with my friends. I pore over house-plan websites. It’s a whole thing with me.” When he smiled like this, he seemed years younger. Gone was the self-assured businessman, replaced by just a guy with a dorky hobby. I liked it. At my skeptical look, he added, “Cut me some slack. It was a cheap hobby, and I never gave it up.”

I couldn’t help but laugh a little at the way he described it. Maybe he was serious, but it seemed wild for a guy like him to be joking about a cheap pastime of tagging along while his friends looked at apartments.

“Then I guess we’d better get up there.”

I hefted myself out of the low car, and before I could even move, Mr. Magnuson was right there next to me. He chirped the alarm and looked around. I knew exactly what he was seeing. It was a rundown neighborhood on the edge of an industrial area. There were no grass or trees, and more than a few illegally dumped trash bags were tossed near the sidewalk.

“It’s not that pretty, is it?” Mr. Magnuson sounded dubious.

“The price is good, though, so maybe the inside will be better?” I suggested as we went up the cracked sidewalk to the low apartment building in front of us. There wasn’t a parking lot, so I’d have to park on the street and hope for the best.

At the door, there was some graffiti on the building, but the intercom mostly worked. The buzzer was fine, but the speaker was pure static. Eventually, the potential landlord figured out who I was and let us in. The hallway clearly smelled of stale food and mildew. The landlord was waiting for us at the apartment door.