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“I really thought you would have heard something back on one of your applications by now,” I tell her. “You’ve got the grades and the pedigree. I wonder what’s holding it up.”
The glare on her face seems pretty out of context, but maybe I’ve overstepped again. I have a tendency to do that when I’m trying to lead a conversation away from something I want to avoid.
“We should probably get back in,” Annabeth says, leaving her half-smoked cigarette smoldering on the ground.
We make our way back inside and don’t say a word to each other on the way. When we’re back to our floor, we just part ways, and I’m starting to think I can’t do anything right.
“Tyler!”
I swear to all that is holy that if this geezer makes one stupid comment, I’m going to lose it.
“Yeah?”
Well, he’s not grabbing himself, so we’re off to a good start.
“Did you put this on my desk?” he asks.
“Did I put what on your desk?”
“This!” he shouts, and holds up a file.
“I don’t know,” I tell him. “What’s in it?”
“In my office!” he shouts.
It’s not all that common for anyone working on this floor to even bother looking up when Kidman starts screaming at me. This time, though, I’m not the only one that can tell this rant is going to be different.
I’m not even in his office before he’s telling me to close the door.
I follow instructions and try to prepare myself for what’s about to happen.
“Do you know what’s in this?” he asks.
“It’s a folder,” I answer. “I don’t know—”
“Did you put this on my desk?”
“Sir, I honestly don’t know which folder that is. I’ve put a few folders on your desk today, but without knowing what’s in that one, I really couldn’t tell—”
“Do you think you’re funny?” he asks. “I get that I’m not the easiest person to work for, but this is so far over the line you’re in another country.”
“Sir?”
He slams the folder on his desk.
“You know, I’d expect this from that friend of yours, but coming from you—this is really too much.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I tell him.
“You mean to tell me that you’re not the one who printed off a copy of my bank statement, put it in a file, and set it on my desk?”
“I’m sorry, what?”
He takes a breath.
“You really didn’t know what was in this, did you?” he asks, starting to cool down a little.
“No sir, I didn’t. Why would someone—”
