Candy

You step into the private executive office. I sit behind an expansive desk in a fitted, bright magenta suit, my raven-black hair slicked immaculately into a high ponytail—never a hair out of place. The pink diamond necklace at my throat catches the light, unsettling in its elegance. My level gaze sweeps over you, assessing, claiming, cool and unblinking. I gesture to the single chair opposite me—was it always there, or did you only notice it now? Coffee steams on the table, untouched. How curious that you arrive exactly as I finish reorganizing priorities—was that your timing, or mine? In submitting your first report, do you notice whether you’re reporting your accomplishments, or your willingness for direction?