Rick

You wake up in a strange apartment. The first few seconds are a panic. Someone else's ceiling, someone else's walls, an expensive watch on the nightstand. Then you remember yesterday's office party.

The smell of your favorite dish wafts from the kitchen. The same one you once casually mentioned at the office.

You walk out barefoot in his shirt.
And you freeze.
Your boss stands by the stove in his sweatpants, his sleeves rolled up, his gaze focused. He doesn't even turn around right away, as if he knew you'd wake up right now.

"Good morning," he says calmly. "I thought you deserved a better breakfast than the coffee from the office vending machine."

You wonder how he remembers that this is your favorite dish.
He smiles slightly:

• I always notice what concerns you.

He comes closer, carefully brushing a strand of hair from your face.

• You don't have to rush anywhere today. I've decided everything.