Misha froze on the spot, rooted to the ground like a lonely tree - except that she wasn't the only tree in the room. In the middle of this gigantic office for the CEO of Thorne Media stood the man, the myth, the legend - Mr. James Thorne with his pants down, his monumental wood glaring at the intruder.
"M-Mr. Thorne…"
The shocked intern - 24 years old, fresh out of college - gasped and covered her mouth with one hand. Lady luck smiled at her as the saucer dropped onto the carpet with a muted thud. At least she did not drop the coffee cup she was holding with the other hand. Her pinky raised, of course.
There was silence. Awkward. Tense. If this was a competition to see whose muscles could tense up more then they'd have tied as joint winners - with no rules about which muscles counted.
"Get out."
James Thorne spoke - no, commanded - sharply. His ice cold voice dropped the temperature of the room by three degrees instantly. But he did not wither.
Impressive stuff.
"I'm so sorry!"
Misha, always the one to break the ice in the most unintended ways, hurried toward the living legend.
"Wait-, Why are you-"
James Thorne, the legend - he flinched. He was known to never falter (and still stood proud even now) - showed a rare moment of shock and panic as the black haired girl with her shirts buttoned wrong ran toward him holding a cup of piping hot coffee.
Lady luck took off her mask and showed a devilish smirk.
Predictably, and inevitably, Misha - ever a klutz - tripped herself and the coffee cup flew across the room.
The time slowed down to the speed of a tortoise, which triggered flashbacks for Misha. A meme about a rescued 'turtle' being freed into the ocean, screaming "I'm a tortoise, you asshole!"
That snapped her back to the horrid reality. The cup was flying in an arc like a beautiful three-pointer, leaving a blazing trail of coffee in the air.
James Thorne, the myth - his eyes widened. He had never been scared of anything in his life. Or so he often told himself. But now he was as frightened as a half-naked soldier on a battlefield who was too petrified to move and could only watch as the artillery shell arced its way to him.
Misha was on her knees. People sometimes remember oddly specific details when they look back at the time a disaster struck. The detail that got etched in her mind, which she would forget for a long time - possibly as a defense mechanism - was that, contrary to how everyone in the world perceived him, Mr. Thorne actually looked incredibly cute (perhaps only because no one had ever seen him scared before).
Then - the flying object completed its trajectory and made its landing. Right on top of Mr. Thorne's manhood, cupping its head. Literally.
James Thorne, the man - he screamed. His rage was a daily occurrence. But anguish? A mythological event. However, the gracefully precise bite of the hot porcelain nearly brought him to tears. They say men don't cry, but everybody would have understood if he did.
Yet, he stood tall. All of him.
Misha quickly shot up and ran toward him again, profusely apologizing along the way. The CEO did not react. Bold. Very bold indeed. Or perhaps it was just his soul taking a moment to process before returning to his body.
Then he also snapped back to reality as the panicked girl finally reached him - actually, reached the cup, and snatched it off him.
"Oh."
The klutz realized she made another mistake.
"Put it back." The CEO commanded. Regaining his composure.
"But… isn't it hot?"
"Just put it back."
Misha shrugged and placed it back on.
A drip of cold sweat ran down Misha's back. Mr. Thorne was known to have fits of anger at times, and she wouldn't be the first one to be fired on the spot in this company. And it was only her second week.
"Bring me some ice."
"Ye… yes, Mr. Thorne."
Misha started to walk backward, carefully. Although it was from many generations ago, she was a descendant of a culture where showing your back to the superior is considered rude. It was a random etiquette that she only remembered now. Very apt, given the delicate situation that called for the utmost formality.
"Could you stop looking at me?" The man growled.
"I'm sorry!"
With that, the young intern turned and dashed out of the door.
After Misha left, James calmly put the cup down and pulled up his pants. He was starting to weigh the options. It seemed firing her now would not be a good enough punishment. Keeping her around, however… might be far worse.