Fierce by Rosalind James

text. 
    Thanks for taking them. What made you do it?
    I hesitated, set the phone down, and went back to work. Ten minutes, fifteen, and I was picking it up again, my fingers clicking despite themselves. The guy’s job.
    What guy’s job?
    He said he’d get fired if I didn’t.
    I could almost see that bare hint of a smile tugging at one corner of his mouth as he typed out his reply. I should have known.
    I knew it was wrong of me not to thank him, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Instead, I typed, Who chose the flowers?
    No wait at all for the reply. Me.
    Is that normal? I knew it was weak to ask. I asked anyway.
    No. That’s never. Will you meet me on the roof?
    I stared at the tiny screen. The roof?
    Public space, he typed when I didn’t answer. 
    For what? I typed.
    Lunch. I don’t know. It was all I could come up with. 
    That one made me blink. Now?
    Yes. 
    A long pause, and then,
    Please.
    I shouldn’t. I couldn’t. No, I really couldn’t.
    I can’t take lunch until one-thirty , I typed. Nathan and I switched off on our lunch breaks, and anyway, I had a report to finish.
    One-thirty works. Bring the salmon.

Staying on Track. Or Not.

    I was late to meet Hemi. It had taken me a while to find the right elevator to go to the roof, and I hadn’t wanted to ask Nathan. I didn’t need to answer any more questions today.
    I looked around uncertainly, holding my box of lunch. It was high up here, which wasn’t my favorite thing, but surprisingly lush. Potted trees cast dappled pools of shade over long wooden benches that curved in sinuous shapes, offering a welcome respite from the warmth and humidity that still lingered in September. Other planters held flowers and greenery, and a chest-high balustrade ran around the entire area, to my relief.
    A few late lunchers were scattered around, some of them glancing up at my approach. Was it all right for me to be up here? I looked around for Hemi, but couldn’t see him. But I did see one person I recognized.
    Hemi’s assistant Josh was heading over from a seat on one of the benches. To tell me Hemi wasn’t coming, probably. Or that I was in trouble again for being late.
    Note One: Maintain dignity.
    “Hi,” he said. “This way.” 
    Oh. Maybe not.
    He led me around the high central structure through which I’d entered, and I realized that the garden extended farther than I’d thought. All the way around the roof, in fact. One entire section in a back corner was set up as a sort of grotto, with a fountain bordered by palm trees providing delicate water-music, containers of ferns resting in the trees’ shade, all managing to look surprisingly natural, like a piece of tropical paradise transplanted into midtown Manhattan. Flat rocks provided resting places by the edge of the pool, and it was on one of those that a man was seated.
    Hemi. Of course. 
    He rose at my approach, and I found, when I turned my head to say goodbye to Josh, that he’d already melted discreetly away.
    “Thanks for coming.” Hemi gestured me to a shady spot on the rocks beside him. “Please. Sit.”
    “I didn’t know this was here,” I said, more to make conversation than anything else, because the sight of him, as usual, took my breath away. He could rock a white dress shirt and dark slacks like no man I’d ever seen. And his sleeves were rolled up again.
    I sat, tucking my dress under me, then took off my jacket and set it on the rocks beside me, trying not to notice the way his gaze lingered on my bare shoulders. “Is it for anybody?” I asked. “I mean, anybody to use? Am I allowed?”
    “Yeh. You’re allowed.” He gave me a faint smile that was really just a softening of the eyes. “I’d like to say it’s because you’re with me, but I have to admit that you’re allowed anyway. Although some of my team say it should be strictly an executive perk. What d’you reckon?”
    “I reckon they’ve got some perks already, and maybe the rank-and-file need it more. I