Comma ignores what I have said and continues, ‘You also took a rather long time learning the content management system we use in office. You lack initiative. You hardly come up with ideas. You never stay back late. You—’

‘I do my hours and I’ve only left work early on some occasions when it has been imperative—you gave me permission to do so,’ I cut in.

It seems Comma is determined to find flaws with my work. I am not going to make it easy for her.

‘If it was me instead of you and I wanted to make a mark at my new office I would’ve stayed back to see how the newspaper is put to bed. You only do the barest minimum and run back home,’ Comma says accusingly.

‘But I do what is asked of me!’ I reply exasperated. ‘And I am married and have a husband!’

‘That’s not my concern, it’s your problem,’ Comma says and starts rifling through the sheaf she’s been carrying with her. I spy my resumé amongst the sheets.

Really now, if she wants to fire me, why doesn’t she just do it? Why is she playing this tiresome game? What’s really irritating me, though, is how different this office-Comma is from the terrace-Comma. Why did she say those nice things when all she wants is to fire me?

‘You said I had potential—the other night,’ I say softly.

‘Sorry I didn’t get that?’ Comma says, still reading the papers.

There’s a knock at the conference room door then—it’s a rather apologetic-looking Mita. Comma gestures for her to come in.

‘Hi, hi Leena. I really didn’t want to interrupt but Ed wants you real bad,’ Mita says and then blushes furiously. ‘Sorry, sorry, I mean Ed wants you in his office, as in, Ed is calling—’

‘I get what you’re saying, girl,’ Comma says, rolling her eyes.

She scowls at me as if this interruption is my doing and follows Mita out of the room.

Since Comma didn’t ask me to leave, I assume I’m supposed to await her return. Comma’s left her papers on the table and I am sorely tempted to have a look but I don’t—the conference room has glass walls.

Ten minutes later Comma comes back inside. I notice she keeps the door open and she—she looks thoroughly shaken up. She doesn’t say a word to me but takes her time gathering her papers. Once done, she takes a deep breath and looks at me. I wait for the axe to fall.

‘Did you know?’ Comma asks me.

‘Pardon me? Did I know what?’ I ask; I am getting sick of riddles.

‘Did you know about—,’ Comma seems to hesitate—quite unusual for her.