Guard of heart

The call

I was deep into drafting a report for the Healthcare division, each keystroke feeling like a tiny victory in the war for perfection. My nose was practically grazing the screen, eyes locked on the same sentence for the fifth time. *This report needs to sparkle—no, it needs to shine.*

Just as I was about to hit send, the desk phone blared like a fire alarm. I nearly jumped out of my skin, slapping my hand over my chest. *Who’s out to give me a heart attack today?*

"Ms. Hailsin?" Mr. Wilkins' calm yet firm voice cut through the chaos.

"Yes—yes, Mr. Wilkins?" I replied, doing my best to sound like someone who hadn’t just been startled half to death. *Please don't be bad news. Please don't be bad news.*

"Come to my office."

*Oh, great.* My stomach twisted into knots as I grabbed my notepad and pen, scrambling to get my act together. *Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe it’s a disaster.* As I stood up from my desk, I rushed to move, but then it happened.

In my haste, I managed to hook my heel on the edge of the chair mat—*of course, in these ridiculous heels*—and I lost my balance. Time seemed to slow down as I flailed, my arms doing some kind of weird windmill motion, trying desperately to grab onto something—anything. My notepad flew into the air like a frisbee, and I careened sideways, knocking into my chair with a dramatic thud.

*Oh no, no, no!*

Instead of a graceful recovery, I toppled straight toward the floor. My hand caught the edge of the desk just in time, but not before I let out a sound somewhere between a squeak and a yelp. My legs scrambled beneath me as I tried to save myself, only managing to do an awkward half-split, one foot still hooked under the mat.

For a moment, I just froze there, tangled and ridiculous. *Please let nobody have seen this.*

I peered around the office. The sea of executives and employees were completely absorbed in their work, heads down, typing away or focused on documents. Not a single glance in my direction. *Not surprising. They’re too busy to notice if someone set off fireworks in here.*

I hurriedly collected myself, picking up my poor notepad, which had landed upside down on a nearby desk. I smoothed my skirt down and tried to pretend like nothing had happened, even though my cheeks were burning with embarrassment. *Right. Just act like you're composed, Elara.*

Still, I couldn’t help but let out a small laugh at myself as I straightened up.

I approached his door and knocked lightly before stepping inside. Mr. Wilkins barely glanced up from his papers, his focus unwavering. As I entered, I immediately noticed a tall woman standing beside his desk. Her posture was immaculate, her hair neatly tied in a bun, and she held a tablet with a precision that suggested it was an extension of her arm. *Great, another super-professional I need to impress.*

Mr. Wilkins looked up briefly, his expression a calm study in control. He set his pen down with deliberate care and adjusted his glasses, a gesture that spoke to his methodical nature. His office was neatly organized, reflecting his attention to detail and efficiency. He had an aura of quiet authority that was both commanding and understated.

"This is Jennifer Dawson from Human Resources," he said, his voice steady and measured. "She'll be showing you around the office today."

I nodded and took a step closer, feeling the weight of trying to appear composed—especially in the presence of *Ms. Hyper-Efficient.* Jennifer gave me a polite, if slightly restrained, smile. *Okay, she’s HR. No need to freak out.*

Then, Mr. Wilkins’ gaze shifted to me, his eyebrows furrowing slightly. “Ms. Hailsin,” he said, raising an eyebrow with a note of concern. “Are you... alright?”

I realized then that his attention was on my hair. I reflexively ran a hand through it, only to feel the static-charged mess sticking out in all directions. Thanks to my earlier windmill-worthy flail session, I now looked like I’d just stepped out of a wind tunnel. *Fantastic. I’m basically a walking science experiment.*

“Oh! Yes, yes,” I stammered, my fingers desperately trying to flatten the mess. “Just... a little run-in with the chair,” I added, attempting a sheepish smile. *Can this day get any worse?*

Jennifer’s professional demeanor wavered slightly as she tried to hide her amusement. “Your notepad,” she said, tilting her head toward it.

I glanced down to see my notepad—a crumpled mess from when I’d grabbed it during my near-fall. *Oh, for crying out loud.*

I tried my best to smooth it out, but it was clear this was not the polished, ready-for-anything impression I’d hoped for. Jennifer’s tone was light, though her eyes revealed her amusement. “Happens to the best of us,” she remarked.

Mr. Wilkins, despite his high status, showed an unusual kindness. He took a moment to adjust his posture, sitting back slightly in his chair, a gesture that made him seem more approachable. “Take a moment if you need it, Ms. Hailsin. I’d prefer my team stay injury-free,” he said, his voice gentle yet firm.

I managed a small smile. *At least he’s not completely made of steel.* “No injuries, just... a warmup,” I quipped, hoping to lighten the mood.

Meanwhile, Jennifer’s sharp eyes gave me a once-over, as if evaluating a fashion model who had stumbled into a boardroom in mismatched shoes. Her gaze lingered on my hair, and I could almost hear her mentally noting how to handle 'disheveled' employees. *At least I didn’t trip into her.*

“Well,” Jennifer said, smoothly transitioning back to her professional mode, “let’s begin the tour, shall we?” She gestured toward the door, her efficiency palpable. I gave a small nod, silently cursing the moment my heel got caught on the chair mat. *This day couldn’t possibly get any better, could it?*

Jennifer guided me through the expansive corridors of Wilkins Enterprises, each floor tailored to its respective department. We began on the 7th floor.

"This is the Finance department," Jennifer said, pointing to an office with a large glass window where Mr. Johnson Reynolds, the Chief Executive of Finance, was buried in paperwork. The floor also featured staff cabins, a small meeting room, a vending machine stocked with snacks, and a lounge area with comfortable seating. The low hum of fluorescent lights filled the space, and the smell of paper and ink was faint but persistent. *If anyone here looks like they’d have a meltdown over a misplaced paper, it’s definitely him.*

I couldn't help but recall my previous encounter with Mr. Reynolds. *Ah, good times.*