Pay Your Rent

Chapter 6: Arabella

The ride back up in the elevator was eerily quiet. My reflection in the polished metal doors looked back at me, the coffee cup gripped tightly in my hand as if it were a lifeline. When the familiar ding went off, signaling my arrival on the floor.

Stepping out of the elevator, I made my way through the office, feeling the gazes of a few colleagues. His office door was still slightly ajar, but the man himself was nowhere to be seen. Great, I thought, how am I supposed to bring up reimbursement if he's not even here?

I carefully stepped inside, crossing the threshold with hesitation. The silence was almost unnerving, broken only by the soft thud of the coffee cup as I set it down on his desk along with the receipt. I took a moment to look around now that I wasn't under his scrutiny. The office was spotless—almost unnaturally so—except for his blazer haphazardly thrown over the back of his chair and a mountain of disorganized papers cluttering his desk. Despite the mess, the room felt sterile, devoid of anything personal. No photos, no awards, not even a houseplant.

I let my gaze wander across the walls, taking in the few decorations, though most of them were bland, corporate paintings. One, however, caught my eye. It had the same abstract, textured quality as the ones hanging in the lobby. Intrigued, I stepped closer, narrowing my eyes to search for a signature in the corner. Sure enough, there it was—'W.H' scribbled sharply in the bottom right.

I couldn't help myself. Lifting a finger, I lightly brushed the edge of the frame. Even the frame was exquisite, its dark wood polished to a high sheen. But what really grabbed my attention were the brushstrokes—actual, tangible brushstrokes. My fingertips grazed the paint. It's not a print, I realized. Either it's an impeccable forgery or an original piece.

Just as I was drawing my hand back, lost in thought, a voice cut through the quiet and startled me.

"So, you just touch things that aren't yours now, huh?"

I jumped, quickly stepping back from the painting, my heart pounding as I turned to see him casually sauntering into the room. He shut the door behind him with a soft click, his eyes glinting with something I couldn't quite read.

"I—no, I didn't mean to, I was just—" I stammered, searching for an explanation. "It's just really pretty... Do you like his work? You seem to have several pieces."

He glanced at the painting, his expression bored, almost dismissive. "I think they're ugly," he said, walking past me and heading straight for his desk. He picked up the coffee, tossed the receipt aside without even looking at it, and took a sip. His lips twisted slightly in a grimace. "I've seen better. Plus, art's not really my thing."

I watched him wince a little, probably because the coffee was too hot, and for a brief second, I felt a flicker of satisfaction. Serves him right, I thought, though I quickly masked my expression.

"You have these paintings, but you don't even like them?" I asked, genuinely curious now.

He shrugged, setting the cup down and leaning back in his chair. "They were a gift. Some people seem to think art adds 'culture' to a space." He practically rolled his eyes as he said it. "But frankly, I think it's pretentious. Just another way for people to show off without saying anything of substance."

I blinked, not sure how to respond.

"Well, I thought it was beautiful," I mumbled, glancing at the painting again before quickly retreating toward the door, hoping to make my escape without further embarrassment. But of course, as my hand reached for the handle, he spoke up again.

"You're really this fascinated by a few brushstrokes?" His tone was light, almost teasing, but there was an undercurrent of something else—like he was amused by my interest.

I paused, turning back toward him. "I guess I just appreciate things that show effort and passion," I said, my words more pointed than I intended. "Even if it's something small, it matters."

He raised an eyebrow, looking at me thoughtfully for a moment, then chuckled under his breath. "Effort and passion, huh? Well, don't get too attached to this place. Not everything here is as pretty as it seems." His words lingered in the air like a warning, but before I could ask what he meant, he waved me off.

"Thanks for the coffee. You can go now."

And just like that, I was dismissed. I didn't need to be told twice. Without another word, I slipped out the door.

The rest of the workday crawled by at a snail's pace. After delivering the coffee and enduring his dismissive wave, I'd returned to my desk, hoping to spend the remaining hours quietly catching up on the mountain of emails I'd be But of course, the universe—or rather, *he*—had other plans.

Not even thirty minutes after I sat down, my computer buzzed. An email. My heart sank a little when I saw his name flash across the screen.

"Grab a printout from the 14th floor. It's for the meeting tomorrow. Need it on my desk."

I groaned internally. My role wasn't supposed to involve running errands, but he didn't seem to care. I briefly considered ignoring the message, but with the memory of the coffee run still fresh in my mind, I figured it wasn't worth the argument. With a sigh, I pushed back from my desk and headed for the elevator.

The trip to the 14th floor was uneventful. The printers were tucked away in a small, stuffy room that always smelled vaguely of ink and burnt paper. I found the document he needed and rolled my eyes at the sheer length of it—This could've easily been emailed. I snatched it from the tray and headed back upstairs.

But, of course, when I arrived at his office, he wasn't even there. The door was closed, and the lights were off. For a split second, I entertained the idea of just leaving it outside, but I figured that'd somehow come back to bite me. I sighed and slipped it under the door, hoping he'd find it before tomorrow's meeting.

I had barely made it back to my desk when my computer buzzed again.

"Pick up a package from the mailroom. It's urgent. Bring it to my office as soon as possible."

I wanted to scream. I glanced at the clock—still an hour left until I could leave. I debated ignoring this one. After all, the package could wait until tomorrow, right?

Shaking my head, I typed out a quick response and shot off a quick, passive-aggressive reply: "on it" Then I dragged myself back to the elevator, feeling more like a personal assistant than anything else. This is so not what I signed up for.

After I grabbed the package and made my way back, I noticed the door was open this time, and he was sitting at his desk, phone pressed to his ear. His eyes flicked up as I approached, and he gestured for me to come in without pausing his conversation.

I placed the package on the edge of his desk, careful not to make too much noise. He didn't acknowledge me beyond a quick nod, his attention focused entirely on whoever was on the other end of the line. I stood there for an awkward beat, waiting for him to dismiss me, but it didn't come.

Instead, he snapped his fingers and pointed toward the printer in the corner of the room. I followed his gesture and saw a stack of papers had already begun printing out. I sighed but walked over and grabbed the freshly printed documents, stacking them neatly before placing them next to the package.

"Good. That's all for today," he said abruptly as he ended the call, finally looking up at me with a faint, almost bored smile. "You can go now."

I didn't need to be told twice. Without another word, I turned and left, grateful that this latest round of errands hadn't spiraled into yet another request. As I made my way back to my desk, I checked the time again. Just ten more minutes until I could clock out. Ten more minutes of staring at the screen, pretending to care.

When the clock finally hit five, I gathered my things and made a quick exit, not bothering to say goodbye to anyone. My phone vibrated again as I was walking to the elevator, but I didn't check it. I couldn't deal with any more nonsense from him today.