Page 25 of Claimed By the Boss

Andrea opens the door and steps just inside. Her hair is pinned back neatly, her posture straight, and her expression unreadable.

“He’s here.”

I nod. “Send him in.”

She disappears without another word.

A moment later, Rick walks through the door.

He looks confident. Stupidly so. He wears his cockiness like a badge, as if he actually believes his job is secure because of whatever half-useful code he’s committed over the last few months.

I gesture to the chair across from my desk.

“Have a seat.”

He does.

I don’t bother with pleasantries. I reach for the thick folder Andrea left on the corner of my desk and open it. It’s paper, not digital. I want the weight of it. I want the sound of each page turning to remind him that what’s in here is documented and not easy to make disappear.

“Do you know why you’re here?” I ask.

He shifts in the chair. “Not really. I mean, I figured maybe it’s about the security thing earlier this week. A lot of people were pretty rattled.”

I look up at him, my expression blank.

He clears his throat. “Or maybe, uh, just a check-in?”

“You’ve been with this company how long?”

He shrugs. “Almost six months.”

“And in that time,” I say, tapping the first page, “you’ve missed twelve deadlines, logged thirty-six late arrivals, filed two sprint updates with copied content from a previous cycle, and submitted three bugs to QA that weren’t reproducible because you didn’t actually run your own tests.”

The color drains from his face.

“I’ve also spoken to my HR director about a comment you made to another employee this week,” I add.

He opens his mouth. I hold up a hand.

“This isn’t a discussion,” I say. “This is a courtesy.”

He swallows hard.

“Sir?” he asks.

“A courtesy,” I repeat. “Because if this were any other place I conduct business, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

I close the folder and set it aside.

“You’re done here,” I say. “You have ten minutes to collect your things and get out of my building.”

“Mr. Morozov, I?—”

“Ten minutes. Any longer and I’ll call in those men you saw on Monday and have them personally escort you out.”

It’s an empty threat, of course. Those men are long gone. But I watch as the words hit him hard.

He hesitates only a moment. Then he catches something in my expression that makes his spine go rigid. He nods once, stands slowly, and backs toward the door.