"Careful, Ollie," I whisper. "You just called your adored boss a nitpicking idiot. Maybe using some other words, but still."

Ollie laughs, touching my shoulder with her forehead. She's sitting next to me, at my desk, with a bunch of papers in her hand. We're making corrections on a detailed study I wrote the day before, just to be sent back by Mr. Warren, qualified as rubbish. He used some other words too, like it needs some improvement, but I got the hint.

"He wouldn't send this back to anyone else, babe," Ollie says. "I hope you know that."

"I don't mind," I tell her. And it's true. I like to work with Ollie. She teaches me a lot by just going through Mr. Warren's notes.

"What the fuck does he mean here?" Ollie asks, pointing on some handwritten signs.

"To put the same things in a different order, I guess? Like this."

I rearrange the sections, and I read them again.

"See, he's right," I admit. "It's much better this way."

"You're no fun," Ollie protests. "We could at least run him down while doing it. Such a waste of time!"

"Come on, Ollie, I'm a terrible influence on you."

She laughs again.

"Okay, I know it's not a waste of time. All this helps you to prepare for that fucking exam. I'm sure you've never ever opened the books I gave you."

"Not yet, babe." I shrug. "But don't be angry with me. Now you have my full attention. You have this beautiful, soothing voice, and it's much better to listen to boring stuff than to read it. You should sing, really. Have you ever thought of singing? You should. And start with Bad influence, by Pink."

She chuckles and starts to hum the song, replacing some of the lyrics with legal gibberish.

"Or Bloody mother fucking asshole, by Martha Wainwright," I add with a poker face.

Ollie bursts out laughing. I lean very close to her ears.

"It goes something like this: I will not pretend, I will not put on a smile, I will not say I'm all right for you," I hum. "It's great, isn't it?"

She can't stop laughing. Now everybody's watching us.

"Mira, you're a workplace hazard," she whispers, wiping her tears away.

"And a bad influence," I admit. "Just a few weeks ago you'd rather bite your tongue than say something bad about him."

"Still I would. I just... look, I know for a fact, that if this was written by me, or anyone else, it would pass. Even Liam's. It's not even a question. And yes, I find it annoying that he's picking on you."

"He's not picking on me," I inform her. "He just cares for me."

"What?!"

"It goes like this: My baby don't care for Liam, My baby don't care for Thelma, My baby just cares for me."

Ollie's laughing so hard she's falling off of her chair.

"If you want a singing career, darling," I say in a deadpan manner, "you should get used to hearing famous songs, and react appropriately."

"Like what? Like a natural woman?" she brays, still unable to get up. "Looking out on the morning rain?"

"No. Rather like a virgin. Touched for the very first time," I help her out.

I still have several great song titles in my head, but while I try to collect Ollie from the floor, I meet Mr. Warren's gaze. He's standing by his desk, watching us goofing around.

"Fucking transparent walls," I mutter to myself. "What kind of moron chooses to sit in an aquarium, without being obliged to?"

"Why? What else could he do?" Ollie asks, coming down slowly from a laughing fit.

"Having normal walls at least. He's not some senior, he's the owner, right? He can do whatever the fuck he chooses. No need to be exposed like this all the time. Or, still better, not to be here at all. Not every day. Not all day. Not taking cases himself."

"This is how it's done here, Mira. You're far from home, babe. It's a different continent. With different customs."

"I know."

"You know, but you'd prefer him spending his precious time elsewhere," she sighs. "I heard you were fighting again."

"It wasn't a fight. Just a talk."

"A talk." She grimaces. "Concluded with what?"

"He informed me that since his baby had left him, he had found a new place to dwell."

"What?"

"Well, it's down at the end of Lonely Street at Heartbreak Hotel."

"Mira, stop it," she says. "Now I'm serious. And I want to hear the truth."

"Okay," I agree. "I have a serious version too. And true. It goes like this: women are throwing themselves at him everywhere, and it's never him who finds that new place to dwell, it's them. We need a fitting tune, and—"

"Mira!" she groans. "To the point. You had a fight... excuse me, a talk, concluded with what?"

"With a mutually satisfactory agreement on the basics of my conduct code for the future," I answer with a smile.

Ollie furrows her brow.

"Which is?"

"Everyone is so interested in what we talk about lately. Why don't you go and ask him?"

Ollie answers with a frustrated growl. I just sigh.

"Okay. He told me that he didn't need my approval. Which is a fact. And he told me to remember it until I draw my last breath. Which is a wise piece of advice. I certainly won't fail to take it. Happy now?"

"Very." She pouts. "So that's why you take every opportunity to call him Mr. Warren in each and every sentence of yours, when he's present?"

"I'm being polite now."

"You know, he can be a bit of a hothead. He—"

"He wasn't like that at all," I state. "He was rational and constructive. Even accepted one of my propositions." I refrain from adding more details, or mentioning Liam's name. He's sitting too close. And even whispering, I want to make sure he can't hear it. He seems kind of relieved since yesterday.

Ollie, on the other hand, looks more and more frustrated. I touch her shoulder.

"Hey, babe, stop worrying all the time. I'm okay with it."

"But it's not true!"

"Which part is not true?" I ask her. "I'm confused. Listen, let's get on with the corrections. It feels like we've been doing it since always. And I really need you to enlighten me on these obnoxious estate cases of yours, because I don't have a clue. It's like my blind spot. No joke, really."

"Oh, okay. But—"

I never get to know what Ollie was about to say. A long shadow is casting over our monitor. Too long to belong to anyone else, but Mr. Warren.

"I'm glad you're having a good time. But I can't wait forever for you to finish."

"Another five minutes, and it's ready, Mr. Warren," I answer with a polite little smile.

"What do you find so funny exactly?" he asks. "The fact you need to rewrite something you didn't succeed with for the first try?"

I prepare a completely meaningless answer to explain my inapt behavior, when something terrible happens. Something I never expected. Something that catches me unprepared.

Ollie slams her fist on the desk.

"Excuse me, I'm in charge here, being a senior, so if you have anything to say, say to me!"

Mr. Warren's eyes narrow. I realize at once that I made a serious mistake. Not by angering him again. By allowing Ollie to take sides openly. Even more, to take the wrong sides. The very first time in her life, probably.

I put my hand on her shoulder, and stand up.

"I'm sorry to disagree, but I have something really important to say."

Mr. Warren raises his eyebrows.

"Go on then."

Now we are in front of everyone. The good people of the office can't seem to decide whether to be entertained or scared.

I'm afraid it's going to be the latter today.

"I'm grateful for this job," I start honestly. "It's making my life easier. I'm also grateful for the enormous help from you and everyone else. But. It doesn't mean you own me. Or my time. Or my thoughts. Or my laughs. Or anything else my salary doesn't cover. I don't need your help with these."

"I already know that." He shrugs impatiently. "The very first thing you told me was you'd rather be dead than depending on me."

"Almost. I never talked about you, I guess. I talked about everyone, in general."

He shifts uncomfortably from one foot to another. I go on.

"I'm also grateful for the clarification you gave me yesterday, regarding the basics of our communication. I will remember it, I promise. And I also want to give you something to remember in return."

My colleagues are holding back their breaths. Now they look positively nervous. I feel almost sorry for them. But I am calm enough for all of us. I don't raise my voice. I don't flinch. I don't even stare. I carry on in a quiet, conversational tone.

"You can fire me, but you can't order me around. You can fire me, but you can't make comments unrelated to the quality of my work. You can fire me, but you can't ask me questions about what I do and what I don't. See, it's a binary system. Easy to remember. One or zero. Yes or no. And nothing else."

I don't ask him if I made myself clear. I don't need to. I know I did.

I see Liam out of the corner of my eye. He's as pale as a corpse. Ollie looks like she's about to faint. Bill is leaning against a doorframe with an unusually sad expression on his face. Even Mr. Warren seems a bit shaken. Not much, like a normal person would be, but maybe a little. Or maybe it's just my imagination.

I sigh and ask him.

"So. Do you want to fire me?"

He nods. Closes his eyes for a moment. Nods again. Then he clears his throat.

"No," he states, in an absolutely calm tone.

"Okay." I shrug.

"I never said a word about firing you," he goes on. "I have no reason. You're doing your job better than anyone after so little time spent here, quite close to flawlessness, so—"

"Thank you," I stop him. "A no will suffice."

He takes a deep breath. I expect him to burst out, but he just nods again.

"Noted," he says, then turns around and stalks to his office. In a second he turns the darkening on too.

I'd find his new habit amusing if I weren't busy with hating myself a little for the last comment I made. Everything else was necessary. Unless that last stab. That was uncalled for. It was a fucking overkill. Aimed only to hurt him.

As if I had a chance.