THE OFFICE VISIT.....
1790 Words
The faint, bitter scent of burnt coffee lingered stubbornly in the cramped accounting office where Jannella spent her weekdays. It was Monday and not the easy kind.
This was the kind of Monday that began with an inbox so full it felt like a personal attack and a dull, stubborn ache in her neck from tossing and turning through yet another restless night.
She sat hunched over her desk, the pale morning light filtering weakly through the half-closed blinds, casting striped shadows across her cluttered workspace. Her glasses slid a little down her nose as she focused on the glowing screen, fingers moving steadily over the keyboard.
She was putting the finishing touches on the quarterly report for one of the firm’s most demanding clients, the sort who called twice in an hour if a number didn’t look the way they wanted.
Around her, the familiar sounds of the office filled the air: the low, constant whir of the ancient ceiling fan overhead, the rhythmic clicking of keyboards, the occasional shuffle of paper. The hum of routine. For a brief moment, she let herself settle into it, the illusion of normalcy wrapping around her like a thin blanket.
And then the glass door swung open.
The metallic chime above it gave a short, sharp ring that cut through the room’s steady noise. Chairs squeaked as heads turned toward the entrance, curiosity flickering in their eyes.
Jannella didn’t look up right away, not until the quiet in the room shifted, that subtle, charged silence that always followed when something… or someone… was out of place.
When she finally raised her head, she saw him.
Don Smith.
He didn’t belong in a place like this.
Everything about him was too sharp, too intentional, as if the ordinary world couldn’t quite contain him. The tailored black suit he wore fit with surgical precision, the fabric catching the light in a way that spoke of obscene expense.
A heavy gold watch gleamed against his wrist , not the flashy kind meant to draw attention, but the kind worn by men who didn’t need to prove what they could afford. Even his cologne was deliberate, a cool, understated fragrance that somehow sliced clean through the stale office air thick with paper dust and burnt coffee.
He carried the room with him as he stepped inside, not just entering but altering the space itself. Conversations died mid-sentence. The steady hum of typing faltered. Chairs shifted slightly, their occupants subtly turning to get a better look.
From behind the reception desk, the young receptionist blinked up at him, visibly startled.
“S.....sir, can I help you?” she asked, her voice hitching in that polite, practiced tone reserved for strangers who felt like trouble.
Don didn’t even flick his gaze in her direction. It was as if she hadn’t spoken at all. Instead, his eyes made a slow, unhurried sweep of the room....scanning, assessing.....until they found her.
Jannella.
His focus locked on her with the precision of a marksman. There was no warmth in the look, only recognition and ownership, like a man spotting something he already considered his. The corner of his mouth curled upward, but it wasn’t a smile, not really. It was something colder, a silent message she understood far too well.
Her stomach dropped, the air in her lungs tightening until each breath felt shallow. She could feel it then, the weight of her colleagues’ eyes flicking between her and the stranger in the doorway, the unspoken questions hanging in the room.
They didn’t know him.
But she did.
He moved toward her desk with the unhurried precision of someone who knew exactly how much space he commanded. Each step seemed louder than it should have been, the sound of polished soles striking the worn linoleum echoing in Jannella’s ears like a ticking clock. By the time he stopped in front of her, the air felt heavier, as if the whole room was holding its breath.
“Miss Carter,” he said at last, his voice smooth and unhurried, the faintest thread of amusement woven through it.
“I was beginning to think you were avoiding me.”
Jannella’s hands tightened subtly on the edge of her chair. She forced the corners of her mouth upward into something that might pass for a polite smile if you didn’t look too closely.
“Mr. Smith… I didn’t expect.....”
“Of course you didn’t,” he cut in, his tone making it clear that was the point. Leaning forward slightly, he rested one broad hand on the edge of her desk, his fingers splayed like a man staking a claim. His gold watch caught the fluorescent light overhead, flashing briefly before disappearing back into shadow.
“If you had, maybe you would’ve prepared something for me.”
The room seemed to shrink, the steady clack of keyboards from her coworkers fading into a tense, watchful silence.
From behind the glass walls of his office, Mr. Hayes emerged, his brow furrowed. He crossed the room with a purposeful stride, the authority in his voice matching the frown on his face.
“Is there a problem here?”
Don turned his head slowly, the motion deliberate, and gave him a smile that was all teeth and no warmth.
“Not at all,” he said lightly, though the words carried an edge.
“I’m here on… personal business.”
His gaze slid back to Jannella, pinning her in place.
“Miss Carter owes me something.”
The air in the room seemed to thicken, pressing in on all sides. Conversations had stopped entirely; even the steady hum of the ceiling fan felt muted under the weight of what was unfolding. Jannella’s fingers curled in tight against the edge of her keyboard, her knuckles pale.
“It’s not what you think.....” she began, her voice strained, but the words were barely out before Don cut across her.
“Oh, I think it’s exactly what they’ll think,”
he replied, his tone light and almost conversational, the kind of casual cruelty that was more dangerous than shouting.
His eyes drifted lazily over the faces turned toward them, his lips curling in satisfaction at the silent audience.
“Debt is debt, Miss Carter. And when someone fails to pay, well… it says unfortunate things about their reliability.”
The word lingered in the air like a stain.
Mr. Hayes’s expression hardened, his eyes narrowing as he looked between them.
“Miss Carter,” he said slowly, his voice laced with suspicion, “is there something I should know about?”
Heat flared at the base of her neck, creeping upward until it burned her cheeks. Every instinct screamed at her to explain.... to defend herself ..... to tell her boss the truth before Don could twist it into something worse. Her lips parted, but before she could speak, Don shifted closer, his shadow spilling across her desk.
He leaned in, just enough that his cologne brushed against her senses, and his words would be for her ears alone. His voice was low, deliberate, and edged with warning.
“Go on,” he murmured, his tone so soft it was almost gentle, which only made the words sharper when they came.
“Tell him,” he continued, his breath warm against her ear, “that your sick father came to me, borrowed a small fortune, lost it all, and now you’re grinding yourself into the ground for pennies while I wait for the rest. Tell him you’re drowning in crumbs while the real debt just… sits there. Go on, Miss Carter, see how they look at you after that.”
Jannella swallowed hard, her throat tightening until it felt like something sharp was lodged there. She didn’t need to imagine the looks her coworkers would give her, pity laced with judgment, the way people’s eyes shift when they think they’ve finally uncovered the truth about you.
She forced herself to turn toward her boss, keeping her voice level despite the burn in her chest.
“Mr. Hayes… it’s a private matter,” she said, the words tasting like surrender.
His gaze lingered on her for a moment, searching her face for answers she wasn’t willing.... or able..... to give. At last, he gave a short, stiff nod and stepped back toward his glass-walled office, though the furrow in his brow didn’t fade.
Don Smith straightened slowly, the satisfaction on his face unmistakable. He had won this round without raising his voice, and they both knew it.
His gaze drifted down, catching on the thin silver chain resting just above her collarbone, the necklace her mother had clasped around her neck on her eighteenth birthday, whispering that it was “something to keep close, always.”
“I’ll take this,” he said suddenly, the words abrupt enough to make her blink. Before she could react, his fingers moved with a disconcerting swiftness, brushing the back of her neck as he unclasped the chain.
The cool air hit her skin where the necklace had been only seconds ago, the absence feeling like a violation.
“Consider it,” he said, slipping the chain into his pocket with casual finality, “a partial payment.”
“Hey…!” The word burst out of her before she could stop it, half protest, half disbelief. But Don was already turning away, his long strides carrying him toward the door with the unhurried confidence of a man who knew no one here would dare stop him.
The chain caught the light as it swung lazily from his fingers, a brief, mocking flash before he slipped it into his palm and disappeared through the doorway.
The glass door eased shut behind him with a soft click, but the sound carried like the slam of a vault locking. For a heartbeat, the entire office was still. No typing, no phones ringing, nothing but the thudding rush of blood in her ears. She could feel her pulse hammering in her throat, so loud it almost drowned out everything else.
Then, the murmurs began.
Low at first, like the rustle of paper, then growing in small waves as whispers darted from desk to desk. Some voices carried the sharp edge of curiosity; others were tinged with the pity she dreaded even more.
A few coworkers pretended to keep working, eyes fixed firmly on their screens, but she could feel their attention, like heat against her skin.
Jannella didn’t turn to meet their stares. She didn’t trust her face not to give something away,anger, shame, or the flicker of fear she could already feel settling deep inside her.
Because she knew, without question, that this… was only the beginning.
- Writer
