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in front of me and perching himself on the edge.

 
    “That was…” he began as he searched for
the right words. “Extraordinary.”

 
    A smile burst across my face. There was
no hiding it. “Thank you.”

 
    “For a beginner like you, that was some
intermediate work,” he said. “I’m very impressed, Mirabelle.”

 
    The way my name slipped off his tongue,
like silk, made my heart race. For a split second, my mind wandered to a
naughty place. It wasn’t intentional. It just happened. I knew Preston didn’t
doll out compliments very often, and that only made me desire to please him in
every which way I could.

 
    Snap
out of it, Mirabelle!

 
    “That said,” he continued, his arms now
crossed over his chest. “I think you can do better. Yes. In fact, do better.
Next time we reconvene, I want you to bring a little more to the table.”

 
    “More?” My eyes scrunched in confusion.
“Can you please elaborate?”

 
    He sighed, seemingly annoyed with me, and
said, “You’re giving me ninety-five percent, Mirabelle. I want two hundred
percent.”

 
    That cloud I had been floating on seconds
earlier suddenly evaporated and dropped me from the sky. How could he say I was
extraordinary one minute and then tell me I need to do better the next? My lip
trembled, but I fought it back. I didn’t want him to see me shaken. I didn’t
want to be lumped in a category with all other interns who couldn’t handle him.

 
    I’d slaved for hours over that project.
For days on end, it was all I thought about. I went to bed thinking about it. I
woke up thinking about it. I poured every ounce of creativity and know-how into
it. I didn’t know how I could possibly do any better than I’d already done.

 
    “With all due respect, Preston,” I said
as I stood up. I opened my mouth to finish my sentence, but the look on his
face stopped me. The way his eye lit up when he was so proud of me seconds ago
was incomparable. I wanted to see that look in his eyes again, and I decided
then and there to do whatever it took.

 
    “Yes?” he asked, his eyebrows raised .

 
    “Never mind,” I said. I stood up to
leave, grabbing my notebook from his desk, and strutted out of his office.

 
    “Close the door behind you,” he called
out.

 
 
 
    ***

 
 
 
    “Monica?” I said as I peered into her
doorway. I had to get off the sixth floor. I needed a change of scenery, and I
needed to talk to someone other than Preston and Ruthie.

 
    “Oh, hey, there stranger,” she said
distractedly. She looked up at me quickly then returned her stare to her
computer screen as she feverishly typed an email. “How’s life on the top
treating you these days?”

 
    I laughed. “It’s…alright.”

 
    “Does Mr. Woodfield know you’ve unshackled yourself from your desk?” she asked playfully. She sent
her email and turned her chair towards me, motioning for me to have a seat
across from her. Though I’d only known her a day or so, she was the closest
thing I had to a friend in that place.

 
    “Who knows,” I said with an eye roll.
“That’s sort of why I wanted to come talk to you. I was hoping you could give
me a little insight on him.”

 
    Monica leaned back in her chair, a
mischievous grin forming across her red lips. She tucked a strand of blonde
hair behind her ear, revealing a hidden streak of gray in the process.

 
    “He’s so hard to read,” I sighed. “I want
to make him happy. I want to show him that I’m not an idiot intern, but it’s
like nothing I ever do is good enough for him. I worked my ass off for the
Johnston account, and he seemed pleased. Very pleased. Then he told me I could do better.”

 
    Monica laughed as if I was some naïve
little girl. “Oh, sweetie. Sweetie, sweetie, sweetie.”

 
    “What?”

 
    “If you could figure out what makes Mr. Woodfield tick, you’d have the whole world eating out of
the palm of your hand,” she said.