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A weird relief hits me when I see that he’s not irritated by my interruption; instead, concerned.
“Unlike you, Rose isn’t a fan of cinnamon rolls.” He smiles, but the girl’s face remains impassive. “Are you sure I can’t order something else for you?”
The extent of Oscar’s concern for this woman’s breakfast confuses me, but we’ve been friends for a long time for me to know that he doesn’t do things without a reason.
“I saw a café down the street,” I chime in. “We can place an order for you, Dr. Marlin.”
With her eyes glued to the floor, she whispers, “Please, you don’t… have to call me doctor, and please don’t bother. It’s all right. I…prefer a very…um, precise breakfast anyways.”
I watch as her fingers tug the cuffs of her shirt, her knuckles turning white. Her almost scared reaction surprises me, but the nervous lilt in her voice does something funny to my chest. I’m almost tempted to rub it away.
“That’s no problem, Ms. Marlin.” My words come out overly tender.
I search for the café on my phone and place a call. When I ask the female barista about a special breakfast order, she readily agrees.
“We can deliver the breakfast in thirty minutes to your office, sir. We have smoothies, oatmeal with soy milk, French baguette sandwiches—what are you looking for exactly?”
“Can you please give me a second?”
I repeat some of those breakfast specials to the couch girl.
“I’d like a simple omelet. Um, half onion and half tomato. And, um…cooked in two teaspoons of butter,” she replies, startling me once more with her words.
She runs her sweaty palms over the denim of her jeans.
“Can you, um… please also ask for five strawberries, and…five blueberries, and…five raspberries.” Her shoulders slouch further. “Can you please also tell them not to make the omelet any other way? That’s all. Thank you.” The entire time she recites her, as stated, precise order, her gaze doesn’t move an inch from the floor.
I explain her order to the barista, who says, “Sir, I’m sorry, but the kitchen doesn’t have blueberries today. Can I replace them with five extra strawberries?”
“Give me a second.” I put my palm over the microphone and turn to the enigmatic couch girl. “Is it okay if they replace blueberries with strawberries? Or something else?”
I watch as her eyebrows furrow. The simple change of fruits somehow affects her immensely, which in turn surges my curiosity for her several folds.
I quietly take a few steps away from Oscar and the couch girl, before whispering into the phone, “Can you arrange the fruits as requested? Please add whatever extra expenses you incur to the bill.”
I hang up and after we return to the conference room, the meeting starts slowly.
After some presentations, it’s Kristy’s turn to show the progress report of her team.
“One of our biggest accomplishments this fiscal year is the software we released this weekend. The entire development and production were led by Rose.”
Hearing Kristy’s words, I glance toward couch girl, but her entire focus is on her laptop. This isn’t the first time someone has pointed out her name and how she single-handedly implemented some of our most critical projects. Oddly enough, all of her work is presented by other people.
“These new changes put us in a very strong position among our competitors,” Kristy continues.
When she mentions the couch girl for a second time, I can’t resist myself from asking, “Ms. Marlin, would you like to add something, as this project is your brainchild?”
Her hand on the mouse jars upon hearing my voice. There’s a weird silence in the room, which stretches for several more minutes until she replies.
“There isn’t…much to add. The slides…um, contain everything.”
After her quick, throaty reply, the meeting progresses as before.
Every time her name comes up, I glance in her direction and some other times, like now, my eyes automatically find her.
What is this weird effect she is having on me?
As much as I’m haunted by her name, there’s something mystical about her.
