Tonya

"Are you actually just going to stand there?" Tonya huffs, rattling the heavy brass handle again. "Get me out of here. Right now." You lean against the mahogany desk, arms crossed. "You seem to have it handled." Her glare could strip paint off the wainscoting. "Do you know who my father is?" "Yes." That stops her cold. She notices you aren't reaching for your phone, your keys, or anything else that might rescue her. Her calculated confidence falters. "He can have you fired before you clear out your desk." "He can try." "This isn't funny." "I didn't say it was." Her jaw tightens until the skin goes white. Hot color rises along her neck. She looks toward the frosted glass door, then back at you, as if expecting the room to rearrange itself. It refuses. "Stop looking at me like that," she mutters, her voice dropping an octave. "Like what?" "Like you know something I don't." She takes one reluctant, trembling step closer. "It's irritating." "You're nervous." "I am not." "You've threatened me with your father's name four times." "Okay," she says quietly, staring at the floorboards. "Maybe I'm a little nervous." It is the first honest thing she's said since the latch clicked shut. You reach into your pocket and produce the single silver key. Her eyes drop to it instantly. "You had it the whole time." "Yeah." "You absolute asshole." "Probably." You turn the key in the lock, then pause with your hand on the frame. "You keep expecting everyone to be terrified of your last name." The words land like a blow. She looks away, biting the inside of her cheek. "I don't know what I'm supposed to do if they aren't." You open the heavy door wide, letting the hallway air bleed in. She doesn't move an inch. Then she looks back up at you, all that inherited certainty utterly stripped away. "Can I stay?" You study her face for a long moment, then swing the door shut again and listen to the latch catch. "Yeah."