I opened the document at lightning speed. It was the piece I had written while goofing off.

Luckily, it was still there.

I set up my snacks and water, all geared up. Ready to burn the midnight oil and hit the ground running.

I would deal with the voluntary layoff and the severance package later.

Being liked had not been easy, but getting on someone's nerves was a piece of cake.

The cool night air wafted in through the window.

After a sneezing fit, my nose started running.

Another cold.

I went through tissues like water, and the trash can got full quickly.

Fighting off drowsiness, I sent out messages and files.

[Worked my tail off tonight. I'm sore all over, and now I think I've caught a cold. Could use some TLC.]

My editor and I were close, and I often chatted with her like that.

I waited for the file to arrive.

However, no luck.

With heavy eyelids, I messaged the editor again, [Is my far-off baby still mad?]

It was quite the tale.

A while back, my editor got a nasty email in the wee hours, and it upset her so much she cried to me for hours.

So, in a daze, she decided not to check her emails after dark.

She probably forgot that today was my deadline because of my constant procrastination, so she had not made an exception for me.

Yawning, I sleepily sent the new draft into the chat box.

Trying to smooth things over, I added, [Don't be mad, I've got something good for you.]

With that, I crashed.

I missed the flood of messages that came in, only to be retracted one by one.

…

The next day, well past dawn, I finally woke up.

To my surprise, I had a cold.

Janice had messaged that the whole company was meeting up for a meal.

I passed.

[Stayed up all night, I'm aching all over, and I've got a cold.]

In the company's ladies' chat, the onlookers were having a field day.

[You've only been off for half a day, and you're already going overboard. Come on, get ready to be lectured!]

[Ditching your pals for a pretty face, huh?]

[Wow, that intense? Hook me up, too!] they joked.

I just shook my head, a rueful grin on my face. Recommending those racy novels to my friends was a mistake. After that, their heads were filled with nothing but naughty thoughts.

My phone pinged again. It was Edmund, of all people.

"Feeling under the weather? Taking any meds? Better rest up."

I almost replied on impulse, but then I remembered my goal: I needed Edmund to want me gone, to be the one to cut me loose from the job.

So, I left him hanging and turned back to the group chat. I sent a cheeky voice message, [Yep, I could go another three hundred rounds.]

That set my colleagues off. They were all chatter and no filter, every other word bleep-worthy. I scrolled through their messages, laughing so hard I was a mess, rolling around on my bed.

Once I had had my fill of fun, I tried to message Edmund back.

[Done and done.]

One more time. [Done and done.]

Message not sent. The guy had blocked me.

I bolted upright. What happened? Who ticked him off?

After a quick mental replay, I messaged Janice.

[Is Mr. Lynch with you guys for dinner?]

She replied, [Yeah, he was asking about you. Told him you were too sick to leave bed.]

I could not believe it.

[He's got no heart. I'm laid up here, and he blocks me?]

[Uh oh, might be 'cause of that voice message. He might think we're playing him.]

[What voice message?]

[The 'three hundred rounds' one... I accidentally blasted it on speaker.]

I was speechless.

…

I wanted to cry but had no tears.

There was an old saying that fortune and misfortune were two sides of the same coin. Well, I had certainly made an impression.

No turning back at this point. I might as well go all in.

We had both hit the block button on each other, but I could not resist stirring the pot. I fired off a message with a bit of historical flair.

[Back when lords ruled and serfs labored, even a capitalist wouldn't have made a dime.]

The message zipped through cyberspace and landed with a ping.

When did he unblock me?

I froze for a second, then scrambled to soften the blow, [But you're not like the rest; you've got a heart for the humanities.]

The chat bubble teased me with a constant [Typing…] at the top.

It felt like an eternity before Edmund's reply popped up.

[Let him look after you. Don't worry about winning me over, we're not exactly tight.]

That confused me. I mulled it over for a hot second.

He was even shrugging off the whole boss-employee thing. Was my plan to shake up the staff actually working? I wondered.

Then he hit me with another message.

[If you're under the weather, take it easy and let him nurse you back to health.]

[I'm done sending messages.]

…

'Him'?

I chewed on that for a beat and ventured, [Who? My place is empty right now.]

Then the phone rang.

Edmund sounded like he was on the move, the wind howling in the background.

It settled down after a moment.

His tone was dead serious. "Cecilia, what are you getting at?"

I straightened up, startled. "What do you mean?"

"You said your place is empty 'right now.' What's with the 'right now'?"

I glanced around, a shiver running down my spine. I dove under the covers, my voice tinged with uncertainty, "Am I supposed to have someone here?"

"And what about last night?" he asked.

"Empty then, too."

Silence hung on the line.

I racked my brain.

The 'three hundred rounds'...

I snapped to and blurted a hasty excuse: "I was just talking crazy. You know, grown-up banter...

"We've known each other for ages, and you know I'm not that liberated..."

Edmund's voice came through, skeptical, "Maybe, maybe not."

A sigh, laced with the crackle of static, drifted from the phone's earpiece.

I insisted, "You've got to trust me."

Silence greeted me once more.

Trying to get that across to Edmund felt oddly surreal. I was on the verge of just hanging up, putting an end to the discomfort.

Then, a gentle voice broke through, "Should I come over?"

A shiver of excitement shot from my toes to my spine, an odd and ticklish sensation.

"Nobody was home last night, and it's the same now. I guess I could come over, right?

"If it's not a good time, though, just say so..."

It would not matter if someone was home; he could still visit.

My grip on the phone tightened, my palm damp with sweat.

Edmund's voice, puzzled, "Hmm?"

I managed a dazed, "Oh... sure."

…

Perhaps it was his kind heart that kept him on the line. "How bad is it? Why the silence?" he asked.

After a long pause, I managed, "Gotta watch the road."

"Talking to you matters, too." His words caught me off guard, sending a flutter through my chest, my heartbeat pounding loud enough I feared he would hear.

I buried myself under the covers, seeking silence.

Memories cascaded through my thoughts.

I was one of the first to join the company.

However, despite the years, he had never introduced a girlfriend to us.

He was gentle, good-looking, and fit. Surely he would be a catch anywhere.

Why was he still single?

"Edmund, have you ever dated?"

"Hmm?"

"Nothing. Didn't you have some grand college romance?"

"No."

"I don't buy it."

His light laugh came through. "What's on your mind, really?"

"Just wondering. Your family's place–is it far from here?" I asked.

"Are you digging into my past? It's close by. Want to check it out?"

I pondered our familiarity, feeling a bit perplexed.

I peeked out and sneezed.

I snuggled deeper into the covers. "Edmund, something's off with you today."

"That so?" His voice was light, almost chipper, as if he was in high spirits.

All that, and his last text had been laced with sarcasm.

Men were nothing if not enigmas.

Wrapped snugly in the soft blanket, drowsiness crept over me.

"When are you getting here? You're taking forever...

"Don't bother coming. I don't feel like getting up to open the door."

Edmund's laughter rang out again. "Okay, I'll speed up."

Maybe it was the sickness talking, but I was rambling.

"When you asked if I'd taken my meds, I answered, but you'd already blocked me."

"That's why I lashed out at you. I'm not usually like this. Honestly, you're a good guy in charge…"

…

Half-asleep, memories from years ago surfaced.

Back when our company was just a small operation.

Edmund took us, the veteran employees, out for what was supposed to be networking.

However, it was hardly that since he never let us women drink.

We were there to make up numbers, to prevent other firms from thinking they could push us around for being small.

Then, one day, Edmund snagged a huge contract.

We were ecstatic and went to celebrate.

I was the product evangelist, confidently holding forth at the table. However, the client's director was less than thrilled.

I knew what he wanted: a toast from me, a nod to the unspoken rules of the game.

No big deal.

I told Edmund to relax.

I raised my glass, delivered a few well-chosen words, and finally got a grin from the big shot.

However, he was not satisfied and took things a step further, his hand creeping toward my waist.

In a flash, Edmund pulled me back and offered a placating smile to the man. "She's allergic to alcohol. I'll take her place."

The client's expression darkened.

We did not close the deal that day.

In fact, it left them holding a grudge, and they started aggressively crowding us out of the market.

When things got really bad, Edmund could not even make payroll. We sat there on the curb, silent, each of us drowning in our own guilt.

I knew he was blaming himself because that person had messed with me, yet our company had not come out ahead.

I also knew that part of the reason he looked out for me so much was because of that.

Because of that, I tried to lighten the mood. "You know, life's a series of tough breaks for folks like us.

"I landed here fresh out of school, the kid of the group, and you were the one who gave me a chance, Edmund. Without you, I'd probably have had it way worse."

We poured our hearts out that night, clinging to the hope that someday, the tides would turn in our favor. We did, eventually.

Edmund always made sure we were taken care of, with decent benefits and holidays. So when the layoff rumors started, nobody pointed fingers at him. He had earned his reputation as a stand-up guy.

How could I not fall for someone like that? Nonetheless, I was scared–too scared to admit it might be more than just admiration.

He was kind to everyone, and I could not bear the thought of not being special. With that, I kept my bold fantasies locked in my writing, where I could be the brash heroine, shamelessly smitten with his charm.

However, that was it.

…

The sudden rev of an engine snapped me back to reality. Edmund was driving faster.

"Take it easy on the road," I called out.

"Yeah, open up," he replied. The doorbell echoed through the room.

I scrambled to the door and swung it open. "Here already?"

There he was, standing tall, looking effortlessly cool. Even in casual clothes, he could not hide his... assets.

Edmund's eyes met mine, and he flashed that slight, knowing smile.

The air was thick with tension, charged with an unspoken promise.

I extended my hand to him, an invitation.

To my surprise, he seized it, pulling me forcefully toward him.

His hands, warm and large, settled on my waist.

I looked up into his eyes.

Slowly, deliberately, his fingers weaved through my hair, cradling the back of my head.

My heart raced, pounding against my chest.

That was not the direction I had anticipated.

"Do you still feel bad?" he asked.

"I'm... I'm okay."

"You're burning up. Why is it so hot?" he asked.

"The bed's cozy... Want to give it a try?"

Oh no, my thoughts were muddled again.

I fumbled over my words, "I didn't mean that! You just came in from the cold, and you could warm up in my bed..."

Edmund's laughter was a soft rumble, his eyebrow raised in amusement.

"I'm not... I'm not asking you to sleep with me... Uh..."