Ours to Keep || Anakin Skywalker

4 - Diamond

2k words

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Here I am, riding up the elevator at 6:58 in the morning with two coffees in hand—one of which not being as strong as I needed it to be—since my new boss thinks coming an hour early will be beneficial somehow. Today is our first official day working together and it's safe to say that I was not looking forward to it; actually, being thrown in a wood chipper sounds more appealing.

When the doors to my floor opened, it was empty and dead silent. I expected it to be this way, but it was still unsettling compared to the constant telephone rings, printers, and voices that I usually hear. I wasn't used to the silence. The lights weren't on either, but the room was made visible through the sunlight from the rising sun that shines in through each wide window.

I walked towards his now office with a sigh, already suspecting he was in there since I parked next to his car, in my usual spot. I half-expected him to be an ass and take up both of the spaces, luckily he's not that petty or there's also the possibility that it never crossed his mind.

I reached the door and lightly knocked before pushing it fully open since it had already been open just a crack, "Good morning," I greeted Skywalker in a monotone as soon as my eyes landed on him. He wore a dark navy suit today with a white undershirt that had a few undone buttons, and his blazer to the suit was folded and hanging over his chair. He was standing behind his desk with his palms resting on the wood, his gaze fixated on the multiple manuscripts that were covering nearly every inch of the mahogany wood.

His eyes moved, shifting his gaze to the watch on his wrist, "You're late," He removed his hands from the desk and stood straight, his eyes now on me.

I furrowed my brows and looked down at my own watch, "It's barely 7:01, and I've been on property for well over ten minutes," I defended myself with an eye roll before stomping to the desk and aggressively setting his coffee down on one of the papers. It spilled out of the small opening, only slightly, but the very few small drops that occurred was enough to vex him.

He took a seat in his chair that rolled back as soon as he landed in it, and he placed his feet up on the desk, dirtying a few of the scripts, "When I say seven, I mean that I want my coffee on my desk by or before that time, not after." He held his hand out towards the cup, "Hand it to me."

I scoffed at his entitled behavior, "You're a big boy, get it yourself." Maybe if he said thank you in the first place or even said please, then I probably would have abided. But unwarranted behavior is always going to be met with warranted behavior.

To my surprise he didn't push or berate me further. He chuckled as he leaned forward and grabbed his drink himself, momentarily putting his feet down to do so. But he placed them right back up and got comfortable in the chair again — the very one that I bought Fred two years ago for his birthday, and this man doesn't deserve the luxury.

"Are you always this feisty in the mornings?" He asked, taking a drink and immediately making a face of disgust. He opened the cup and spit the liquid back into it like a dramatic child, "What the hell is this?" He complained, staring into the cup.

"One I'm not feisty, I am retaliating to the attitude you gave me when I first arrived and second, that is what you ordered, black coffee." I said sternly.

He furrowed his brows, glancing up from the cup, a sly smirk appearing on his face for only a second before it was gone, "I never said I wanted that," He shrugged, setting the cup down, "I like it sweet, not bitter."