𝐇𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒 ✓

TEN

-

The next week, all I do is try to prove to my boss that I'm worthy of the promotion. I work my ass off, and every now and then, I bicker with Sebastian. We haven't talked about the hug, nor about the fact that he had brought me home at all when I was too drunk to stay normal at the gathering. We simply went back to the normal routine of teasing and insulting each other while trying to get our work done as well as possible. And the bad thing is: we both do a great job at that.

"Emmons, Stan, to my office, please," our boss peeks into our office space and leaves the milk glass door ajar so we will follow him instantly. Sebastian groans quietly as he gets up. I lock my computer, look up at the clock that tells me the shift is almost over for today, and shuffle my way to the boss's office right behind Golden Boy. A queasy feeling overtakes me as we come nearer and nearer — What if he decided who gets the job already?

The door to our boss's office is closed, and I ask myself why, but before I can even try to think of an answer, Sebastian knocks on the door. A grunt tells us to come in, and the brunet pushes open the wooden door, and then holds it for me.

"Thanks," I mutter, slightly confused at the nice gesture and too uneasy to make a sarcastic comment. It's like all the sarcasm is drained from my body and I will need to wait for tomorrow to get a refill. With a blank stare and sweaty hands, I sit down on one of the chairs and smooth my pencil skirt. A few seconds later, we both sit and wait for our boss to speak to us. However, he is still typing frantically on his little keyboard, his glasses almost falling off his nose.

I glance over to Sebastian, who has his hands folded in his lap, fiddling with his fingers. He's also nervous but tries to hide it. His jaw is clenched and his gaze fixated straight ahead, waiting patiently for the boss to break the silence that seems to grow more and more uncomfortable by the second. 

"So," he eventually sighs, taking off his glasses. He folds them and puts them in a little case, a leathery one that looks insanely worn off. Maybe his glasses are from the '60s. 

"Both of you have been working really hard for that new job," he finally continues. My knee is bouncing up and down and I have to hold it down with my hand. I inhale deeply and sit as straight as possible. If I don't get it, I don't wanna cry. He can't see me crying.

"And both of you did a rather spectacular job."

The anticipation rises instantly and I feel my hands cramping up. One is wrapping around my restless knee, the other around the chair's armrest. Sebastian has leaned back in his chair and acts like the confident and cocky man he is. But I can see that his hands are still fiddling. You can try to hide it, but I can tell. 

Our boss can't. But on the other hand, I doubt he even knows our first names. 

"So my decision is more difficult than I had anticipated."

Speaking of anticipation. Get to the point, old man.

I try to breathe deeply and rhythmically. Otherwise, I would have hyperventilated already. For sure. My gaze is focused on the piece of paper in front of him. A ballpoint pen rests atop it and covers most of the printed text from my sight. 

"I have decided," our boss slowly says, his eyes flicking from me to Sebastian and back, "That I'm not going to decide."

What.

I look over to Sebastian, my eyes widened and my forehead furrowed in surprise. He arches a brow, side-eyes me briefly, and leans forward, his hands grasping the edge of the boss's desk.

"How exactly do you mean that?" he asks for the both of us. My throat is dry from trying to breathe normally. I clear it with a faint cough and then wipe one palm across my neck. It's also sweaty. Great.

"You two are going to write an article on the same topic," our boss begins to explain, "and our dear readers will decide via poll who's better."

I scrunch my nose and shake my head, trying to process this. All of the hard work led to... more hard work? I inhale, preparing to say something, but Sebastian cuts me off.

"On what?"

"Oh, that's a good one." Our boss grins and kicks the pen from the paper with his finger. Then, he gets his glasses out again and positions them so low on his nose that I almost wait for it to fall off again. It doesn't.

"Life in a cabin: The perfect summer vacation? The readers will love it."

"What?" I finally manage to blurt out. "A cabin?"

"Yes, indeed, Ms. Emmons," the boss nods, "You two are going to live in a cabin and write about it."

"Each, right?" Sebastian asks quickly, "Live in a cabin as in each of us gets one."

The boss laughs. His chest is shaking, along with his shoulders. The glasses now fall down as I anticipated. I press my lips together and glare over at my colleague, who seems not too excited about this idea. Who am I kidding? Neither am I.

"You're a funny one, Stan, I always knew that," the boss chuckles and shakes his head. He picks up his glasses again and puts them back into their case.

"I booked one cabin. Two weeks, an hour away from the next town, in the middle of nature. The view is amazing, Lake Michigan is great in summer. Nothing but forest around it. Gorgeous, if you ask me."

"Two weeks?" Sebastian blurts out. He almost sounds disgusted. When he glances over at me, I frown and look at him in utter disgust. Two weeks of living with him, in the middle of literal nowhere? I won't survive this bullshit.

"Wi-Fi is included. And don't worry, it's for two people. Enough room to avoid each other, eh?"

Our boss looks at us expectantly. As if we're supposed to congratulate him on this idea. Sebastian lets out a surrendering sigh and falls back in his chair, his hands in his lap. 

I sniff, trying to make peace with the fact that I'm living with this living piece of evil for two whole weeks. But what else can I do? If I want that job, I have to endure this. It's only two weeks, Charlie.

"So, when do we leave?"