I. O. U.

Full Disclosure Agreement

He has an expression, from what I can deduce, of amused disgust on his face. It's like someone gave him a whiskey, warning him it would taste like burnt rubber and upon drinking it he discovered, unsurprisingly, it did. Humans seem to have a perverse interest in disgusting novelties and Magnus, despite his godlike appearance and supernatural ability to moisten female underwear, is human. Shocking, I know!

The problem is, he has that expression because he took a sip from the cup of coffee I brought up. I think I remember him looking curious when I handed him the cup, but I was distracted by the marvellous story I was telling and the zealous apologises I dropped between every sentence.

Mr Axton stops me with a hand. "You don't drink coffee, do you." I hold up my cup.

"I just started today, actually."  As he raises his eyebrow, I feel shame curdle my stomach. "I woke up early to... study." excellent non-lie, good job brain! He sighs and drops the cup into what I assume is a bin behind his desk. God help the cleaners otherwise.

"You may wish to take a break from your studies to research coffee. An espresso is very different to a long black and it usually comes in a much smaller cup. Similar to a shot glass, if you need a comparison." Oh god - he's known I fucked up since I walked in here. My face feels hotter than a sunburn. Of course he wouldn't drink something as inefficient as a 'long black'. I can't picture Mag... I mean Mr Axton sipping from anything. I bet he just gets right in there and goes for the kill, demanding absolute submission without apology.

"Should I grab you another coffee?" I ask, picturing the smug barista belligerently. He shakes his head and presses a button.

"Shirley. Could you bring up my usual? Thank you." I try not to hang my head.

"Is there anything in particular you need from me today, Mr Axton?" A thin veneer of professionalism should help me return to his good grace.

"No thank you, Ms Johnson. I am expecting some important documents, so please check your emails." I nod my head, then make like a kicked dog and run the hell out of there.

Seated at my desk, I open my email and holy fuck there is a shit tonne of junk to wade through. Mostly people trying to pitch what seem to be bad business or investment ideas, plus a number of charities which probably don't achieve half of what they claim. The lift doors open as I scan the first one, ready to sort it into "important", "business proposal", "charity" or "junk". Fuck, that blonde bitch secretary is efficient. Without looking up from my screen, trying my best to look busy and important, I say: "Take it right through." I press the intercom, "Shirley is bringing your coffee in." I wait for a response. It doesn't come. I proceed to have a mini panic attack as I mentally review my research on intercoms. I'm sure I did it right!

Shirley prances back through. "He said to congratulate you on your technical expertise." She gives me an ineffable smile and walks into the waiting elevator. Well, fuck me, he has a weird sense of humour. Now that the last of my energy has been spent on a pointless panic attack, time to fucking work. I suck on my mocha and suppress a gag as the taste of coffee crawls over my tongue. Emails! Exciting!

I create a word document and summarize important information, or at least information I hope isn't not important. About fifty emails in, I find the one Mr Axton was probably expecting. It goes on about acquisitions (or something) requiring his personal approval. There are attachments with numbers and graphs which involve words such as "revenue" and "profit margin". Fuck me - they involve just way too many zeros to contemplate. I'm beginning to have a better appreciation of just how stupidly wealthy and powerful Mr Axton is.

Just as I'm about to forward the email, the corporate phone decides to throw an incredibly loud tantrum. I grab for the receiver and narrowly avoid dropping it and the call.