By the Book

Chapter Four: Always On Duty

The office buzzed with its usual energy when I arrived at 7:45 AM. Phones rang, the printer whirred, and Chloe's fingers clacked away at her keyboard as she balanced her phone between her shoulder and ear. 

"Morning, boss!" she chirped, pausing long enough to flash me a bright smile.

"Morning," I said, nodding toward her with a small smile of my own. Her desk was already a chaotic mess of sticky notes and folders, but somehow, she always knew exactly where everything was. 

Chloe ended her call and leaned back in her chair, one eyebrow raised. "Let me guess: coffee first, then the Anderson call?"

"Always," I replied, heading into my office and shrugging off my overcoat. My desk, in contrast to Chloe's, was immaculate—everything in its place, not a single paper out of alignment. I slid into my chair, booted up my laptop, and grabbed the folder I'd prepped the night before.

As I reached for a pen, my eyes caught on the framed photo sitting on the corner of my desk. It was from my college graduation eight years ago, taken on the front lawn of the Cascades campus of Oregon State University, down in Bend. Tyler, my younger brother by three years, had his arm slung casually over my shoulder, already looking like the confident law student he was about to become. Ben, then only eight years old, stood on my other side, grinning awkwardly with a big gap between his two front teeth. Our parents flanked us, my dad in a too-big baseball cap and my mom wearing the proudest smile I'd ever seen.

I let my fingers brush the edge of the frame for a moment before shaking my head and turning back to the task at hand. The photo had been on my desk for years, a silent reminder of the people who had supported me—and, occasionally, driven me up the wall. Today, it felt heavier somehow, like it was nudging me toward something I didn't have time to think about yet.

By the time Chloe brought in my coffee—a perfect triple-shot latte—I was knee-deep in emails, answering a particularly convoluted question from Anderson's team about tax implications. 

"They're still dragging their feet on the Q3 updates?" Chloe asked, setting the mug down gently. 

I didn't look up. "Dragging their feet would imply they've moved at all."

Chloe snorted, perching on the corner of my desk. "Should I call and pretend to be some terrifying auditor? It might light a fire under them."

I paused mid-typing to glance up at her, one eyebrow raised. "Terrifying? You? You're more sunshine and lattes."

"I can be scary," she protested, crossing her arms. "You forget, I've worked for you for three years. You'd be surprised what you learn when you work for... well, you." She gestured to me with a smile. "Besides, you haven't seen me before my morning coffee."

"You're implying I'm difficult," I said, leaning back in my chair and crossing my arms, though the smile tugging at one side of my lips betrayed the pose of nonchalance.

"I'm saying you have high standards," Chloe replied, her grin unflinching. "And there's a difference."

I couldn't help the smirk anymore. I shook my head. "Nice save."

"Always," she quipped, hopping down from the desk. "Seriously, though. Want me to hound Anderson for an ETA?"

"No, I've got it," I said, turning back to my screen. "But thanks."

Chloe lingered for a moment, watching me with a thoughtful expression. "You know, for someone who says she doesn't like people, you're actually pretty good with them."

I blinked, caught off guard by the comment. It wasn't untrue—I didn't like people, not generally—but the observation still stung, like she'd peeled back a layer I didn't realize was exposed. "What are you talking about? I don't like people."