“I’m sure you’ll figure something out,” I said. I finally looked up from my computer - slowly, to make a point out of it - and gave him a fake smile. “I-I think the restaurant’s closed already, sir,” he tried. “Go get me some actual coffee, from the restaurant on the first floor. “Not the tasteless crap from that machine, Jenkins,” I said. He’d been working overtime for hours now, busying himself with some boring reports that weren’t even really part of his job, and he had me to thank for that. It was way past closing time already, getting close to midnight. He hesitated for a moment - it wasn’t exactly his job to make me coffee - but he knew he was better off just doing what I said. “Actually, Jenkins, now you’re here, why don’t you get me some coffee,” I said, without looking up from my computer. “If you don’t need me for anything else tonight, I’m gonna head home-“ “Hey, I, eh, got those reports you asked for,” he said, holding a folder in his hand. Our eyes met, and he awkwardly cleared his throat. He was standing there in that tight shirt of his, 6’2” of pure muscle and virility. Someone knocked on the door of my office and walked in.
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