Elixir

I walk in and join the queue. Everyone has their head bowed, faces slack like victims of the zombie apocalypse. As we shuffle forward, steamy warmth seeps into tired muscles. An intoxicating smell wafts up nostrils. Colour seeps into faces, a glimmer of alertness flickers in the eyes, and heads rise. 

Anticipation makes me twitchy as I rehearse my order. The zombie brain doesn’t work well so early in the morning. I have to gear up. My impatience, the people behind me’s impatience, can’t be denied. It leads to grumpiness and hangry meltdowns.

Already the person behind me is getting on my nerves. They’re inching forward, their bag bump, bump, bumping against my back.

Ignore it, ignore it, rehearse order, count people ahead. One business man in pin stipe suit, one lycra clad jogger, one young man with giant headphones, one girl in a fluffy pink jumper, then me. Now lycra clad jogger, young man with giant headphones, girl in a fluffy pink jumper, then me. Next man with headphones, girl in pink jumper, then me. Next fluffy jumper, then—

‘Yes ma’am, can I help you?’

‘C.c.c.coffee!’ out like a shot, bypassing the brain.

‘Small, medium, large? Espresso, latte, or flat white? Syrup or ice?’ 

She has a smile, more than I can manage at this hour, and cheerful for somebody who has to say the same thing every single day, tedious hour after tedious hour.

‘Medium decaf latte.’ 

Rehearsal and daily repetition finally kick in. 

I pay and move along the counter, half focused on grinding, filtering and steaming Because I’m still twitchy and irritated I flick a glare at the shuffler behind me with the sharp bag. The message — you know what you did. Don’t be so rude next time!

But my face freezes. It’s only Michael Stone, our blooming Chief Financial Officer. I hastily tuck my dangling company ID inside my shirt. Then I face away and pray he hasn’t noticed me. 

Our CEO is the charismatic one, all smiles and motivational speeches. The gossip is the CFO is the one that actually knows what he’s doing and runs the company. Since he’s a finance man, I believe that. 

It should be okay. I’m a lowly junior accountant. He won’t know me and he’ll be even less likely to want to speak to me even if he did. This is coffee shop etiquette. No need to act friendly to work acquaintances, go about your business, nothing to see here. Just the way I like it.

I don’t love work, and I don’t love my company. It’s a job. It pays my bills and gives me time off for vacations. I won’t spend a minute longer than I have to under its cold neon lights, at my open plan desk, under arctic air-con with the boring navy nylon carpets and even more boring catalogue art boringly arranged on white walls. That’s why I’m here wrapped in heavenly aromas, in the warm brown interior, sipping my coffee. It takes exactly 75 seconds to walk from here to the front desk. I always arrive bang on time.

I huddle into my usual morning seat in a corner of the cafe. It’s a perfect spot for people watching. I close my eyes, both hands wrapped around the warm paper cup, and take a deep sniff. Ah, heaven. Eyes still closed, I take my first sip. Frothy, creamy, milk-infused coffee envelops my tongue. Caffeine hits my bloodstream like paddles to the heart. The patient lives, well done, doc! 

I open my eyes on my second sip and spew coffee across the table. Michael Stone is only flipping sitting opposite me! He blinks, like he’s surprised. Him?!

‘Shit, I’m sorry,’ I say, pulling handfuls of napkins out of the dispenser while running my eyes over his suit, thankfully untouched. 

So I mop up the spillage on the table.

‘Did you choke?’ he asks, tilting his head. 

He doesn’t look or sound concerned.

‘Is there something you wanted, sir?’

‘You’re Agnes Hastings. Accountancy team.’

Holy crap, he knows my name and my department! Second thought: damn, he’s good looking. I can see why he’s been voted best face in the company three years in a row by the secret administrator’s committee. 

‘Yes, sir, I’m Agnes. Is there anything—’

‘Four thousand five hundred and twelve hours contracted and four thousand five hundred and twelve hours worked, not a minute more and not a minute less.’

Is he pissed that I work to rule? Does he think I should do more hours? Think again. If working too few hours can get you fired for defrauding the company, then too many hours worked is the company defrauding me.

‘Do you have an issue with my performance, sir?’

If he does, I wish he’d take it up with me in the office.

‘You’re the most accurate accountant in the company, excluding me.’ 

‘Okay?’ I say, although I’m completely lost now.

‘Do you have a boyfriend, partner or husband?’

I nearly spew a second mouthful of coffee over this man.

‘I beg your pardon? That’s hardly an appropriate question.’

‘It is not an appropriate question during office hours or within the company premises. But currently it is neither office hours nor are we at work.’

‘Are you trying to pick me up?’ 

Mike’s body language does not gel with his words. He also hasn’t touched the small expresso he arrived with. I suspect he never wanted it to start with.

‘I have observed you buying coffee every morning for the last year,’ he says, pointing to our building and the general direction of the top floor.

‘You’ve been watching me for a whole year?’

‘It took a while to work out your name and what you do. But you have a very interesting employment record.’

This is getting surreal. I know senior staff and the rich can be major league odd balls, but this guy is something else.

‘How did you get my name in the end?’

‘I waited at the front desk. After you tapped in I asked the receptionist for your badge details. After that I asked HR for your CV and work record.’

‘That feels like an invasion of privacy.’

Mike just stares at me and I wonder what’s going on behind his dark eyes.

‘That’s possible. I considered following you to your desk, but I thought that might look like stalking.’

‘But why do that at all? You could have just spoken to me without doing a background check.’

‘I am not very good with people. Dave has told me to leave the talking to him.’

I assume he means David Chester the CEO. It’s weird to hear him being called Dave.

‘So?’

‘So I need to prepare.’

‘I see.’

‘You haven’t answered my question.’

I wrack my brains for a question. This definitely requires more coffee. Oh yes, how could I have forgotten?

‘No, I currently don’t have a boyfriend, partner or husband.’

I take a tiny sip of coffee. There’s a good chance I’ll spew all over again with whatever he says next.

‘Would you be open to having a relationship with me?’

I mean, it isn’t a totally unexpected question, but most people sidle up to this kind of thing. They’re a little vague to give a person room to manoeuvre or a chance to let the other person down gently.

‘Why me?’

‘You are attractive, good with numbers, meticulous and punctual. Just being attractive was sufficient, the rest is value added.’

‘Wow,’ I say, because nothing else comes to mind. ‘Are you going to drink that espresso?’

‘No,’ Mike says and slides it across to me.

I down it in a single gulp and follow that with a couple of sips of my latte.

‘As it happens, I also think you are attractive.’ Since he’s already said it, I can get away with it. ‘But I don’t know anything else about you. Your approach is also weird and makes me a little uncomfortable.’ 

I hope this won’t lead to harassment or getting fired. I may not love my job, but I can’t afford to lose it.

‘Would you like me to prepare a briefing for you?’

‘A briefing?’

‘Similar to the HR file I got on you.’

‘I mean… don’t you think it will be awkward to date a member of staff, especially when you’re so much more senior?’

‘I don’t see the problem. Dave has dated twenty-three members of staff so far.’

This is news to me, and unexpected since Dave has been married for the last ten years. Then again, he has a reputation for being handsy.

‘How about you?’

‘I have never dated.’

Most people, especially men his age, would hesitate to divulge this sort of information. Mike delivers it with the same neutral inflection as when he’s delivering the end-of-year financials.

‘I see.’

I’m staring at the bottom of my paper cup. Somehow the coffee’s all been drunk.

‘Take your time, and think about it,’ he says, glancing down at his fancy, high-tech watch that’s just beeped. ‘Time to go to work. I’ll see you for coffee tomorrow morning.’

I gather my bag and hurry after him, his ominous words ringing in my ears. Usually, as I merge with the last few stragglers into the office, I regress to a zombie like daze. Not today.

#

True to his word, the following morning Mike is outside, leaning against the wall, arms folded, contemplating his shiny leather shoes.

‘Not one word until I’ve had some coffee,’ I say, holding up my hand, face height, as I sail past him.

Mike follows close behind and I’m so distracted I notice neither the queue nor the heavenly aromas. In fact, all anticipation is erased by the insistent prodding of his case into my back, a rhythmic reminder that the CFO is right behind me, right, right behind me.

‘Medium decaf latte,’ I mutter to yet another fresh faced smiling barista, a young guy this time.

I don’t look back as I pay, shuffle forward, collect my drink and head for my nook. His simpler order means that he’s still right behind. He sits down opposite and slides his coffee across the table.

‘Thanks,’ I mutter and add his espresso to my latte. 

Then I take a deep sip, watching him over the lip of the cup as he watches me. He is very obedient and doesn’t say a word until my coffee is half drunk.

‘Have you considered my proposal?’ Mike asks.

‘I have.’

This counts as the world’s biggest understatement. I haven’t been able to think of anything else and have talked it over with a dozen friends I called on a relay until it was too late to decently ring another.

‘I have brought my briefing.’ 

Mike digs into his sharp-edged briefcase, liberates a folder and places it before me. 

‘It’s quite thick,’ I say as I pick it up. ‘Did you write a novel?’

‘I had to make sure you had sufficient information to make a decision.’

I flick through the file and notice there are even pie charts and graphs. Whatever, I’m not going to look at it now.

‘And what if I decide I don’t want to date you even after I’ve read all of this?’

Mike blinks at me. I swear a neon sign above his head is flashing, does not compute.

‘Why wouldn’t you?’

‘Listen, Mike—’

‘Michael.’

‘What?’

‘I prefer Michael to Mike.’

‘Ok, Michael, it isn’t about the facts and figures of a person. It’s about the emotion, the… the chemistry. Like this coffee, see. I like my coffee with milk. You don’t.’

‘I don’t actually drink coffee at all.’

‘Well, there you go then,’ I say, as if all is explained. I lean back and take another sip of coffee. Mike, no, Michael is looking nonplussed. ‘And another thing: it’s rude to poke a person in the back with your briefcase. You did it yesterday and again today. It’s extremely annoying.’

I’m babbling now, working to keep Michael unbalanced so he can’t try to persuade me, and trying to run down the clock so he can’t put me on the spot again.

‘Time to go,’ Michael says as his watch gives a discrete ping.

I slowly sip the rest of my coffee, using that as an excuse to linger so that I won’t be walking into the office with him.

#

Day three and I’m not at all surprised to see Michael waiting outside the coffee shop. He says nothing, just falls in behind me as I march inside. I need a triple or quadruple coffee this morning. This is due to a super long night of reading Michael’s briefing and then the proverbial tossing and turning, trying to decide what to do. 

Judging from the file, and not a surprise, Michael is meticulous, details orientated and excellent at highlighting points of interest. These include his financials: earnings, savings, investments, pension, severance package, the works. Based on money alone, he would be a great investment. Also, a full medical: he’s in tiptop condition, according to his doctor. Education: he did well academically at school, university and grad school. Work history: his rise was meteoric. Family: only child, deceased parents. Friends: not mentioned.

It’s only when I get to the nook that I realise I wasn’t prodded in the back. This man pays attention. 

He also waits again until I’ve had my first few gulps of coffee before he asks, ‘Did you have a chance to read my briefing?’

‘It read like the bid for a major contract. One you really, really want to win.’

‘That would be correct.’

There are benefits to a straight talking man. I can say things clearly, without having to soften the blow. The corollary is that he’ll assuredly do the same to me and I’m not sure I could handle that. At the same time, it is kind of intriguing. On the plus side, he’s good looking, well off, and powerful. On the minus is his abrupt manner. 

He’s going to turn up every morning, though, until I give him an answer, so there’s no point in trying to avoid the subject.

‘I’m still undecided.’

‘Would you be willing to attempt a trial date?’

‘Actually, that’s not be a bad idea.’

‘How about this evening?’

I barely avoid spewing coffee over him, but then I think, why not? I don’t have plans and won’t be able to concentrate on anything else, anyway.

#

Three weeks later I stagger trance like into the coffee shop, bypass the line and head straight for my nook. Michael lives closer than me and has perfected the art of exiting the queue just as I sit down. He arrives carrying my latte and an orange juice. I’ve told him he may as well buy something for himself that he actually likes. He also places a cinnamon encrusted pastry down before me. These little acts of affection occur now and then. He’s better at this than displays of emotion.

I force a smile, the most I can do when I’m only half compos mentis. Silence reigns until I’ve nearly finished my coffee. Michael doesn’t mind. He’s not the chattiest man to begin with. 

Things are going really well. We have coffee every morning, and dinner three or four times a week. We’ve already talked about moving in together.

The ping from his watch signals the end to my morning bliss.

‘Shall we go?’ Michael asks, holding his hand out.

‘Let’s,’ I say with less work related reluctance than usual.

Today is the day we’re going to tell everybody in the office about us.