"That bastard!" Kim cursed over the espresso machine. He over-poured the water in the mug and growled as the liquid sloshed to the carpet. "How could he just spring something like that up to the execs? Don't you guys know what cutbacks mean?"

The small group fell silent.

They all knew what it meant.

Marinette grimaced as Kim dropped the ruined cup onto the sink and faced them, fuming.

"We're getting fired! And it could be any day now! You heard them talking about the North Branch as if they were a waste of money! What are we compared to an entire sector? We are just analysts and admins! We have nothing to protect us from getting canned!"

"It doesn't necessarily mean that," Alya spoke up - always the voice of reason. "Executives can't operate without us. We hold value to the company."

"Yeah, right," Kim snorted. "You think they're going to cut back on corporate spending? I just saw on the calendar that HR has plans for a Hawaii trip! And first-class flights naturally!"

Alya sighed, her ombre hair falling over her shoulder. "It had to be pointed out to them somehow. We could all be out of a job if that accountant hadn't done the presentation."

"He could have told the CFO first before-"

The door to the rec room opened, cutting off all conversation. Marinette glanced from Kim's scowl to spy soft green eyes. The handsome accountant, his expression impassive, walked in as if entering a silent courtroom and moved to the coffee stand behind her. They all stared as he grabbed a short paper cup and poured hot water into it. Grabbing a tea bag, he headed swiftly to the exit.

"Hey, you!" Kim called rudely and the accountant stopped with his hand on the door handle. Without turning his head, he waited.

"If the numbers were that bad, you should have done that presentation a long time ago! You call yourself an accountant?"

Marinette quietly tapped her fingernail on the ceramic mug in her hands and the temptation to step in crept up. The man was simply doing his job. A shiver of shame burned her stomach as she stayed quiet - her own curiosity getting the better of her.

"These projections were presented multiple times to the Controller and CFO throughout last year," the man answered clearly, still not turning to look at their group. "They had ample amount of opportunities to present it themselves. But, as you can see, no one wants to be the bearer of bad news." He snorted to himself with dark laughter. "Since I did the investigation, it was up to me."

Kim paused, but the frown never left his face. "So the CFO knew, but made you present it."

"I volunteered actually," the accountant said softly. "I found out the numbers and they hated the results. If I get the heat then at least I know the presentation showed correct numbers. Now, if you'll excuse me."

Kim growled, taking a step forward. "I'm not-"

"Thank you for the presentation!" Marinette called out, surprising everyone - including herself.

She felt her cheeks grow hot as the young man turned to glance at her with a blink of wonder. A weird spark ignited between them. The accountant's face slowly grew less dark, his pink lips curving upward. His broad shoulders straightened and he nodded to her silently.

As the door closed behind him, Marinette saw Alya's studious gaze slipped over her face. Before her friend could read anything into – whatever that was – Marinette pivoted on foot, set her mug in the sink, and headed out the door.

The morning held a sense of dread, like an executioner's axe waiting to fall, as Marinette plopped into her swivel seat and pulled up her emails. Shifting through the numerous messages and inquiries over calendar scheduling, her eyes slid from the screen to stare at her keyboard in disbelief.

Fired. Could it really be possible? Kim was probably still in the rec room shouting about it.

She had started this job two years ago. Not much tenure, but enough to prove herself as a solid partner for Monsieur Couffaine. She knew how he liked his coffee, what type of flowers his mother preferred, even what kind of gas his Benz ran on. Glancing up from her cubicle, she saw him staring out the window to the downtown traffic below, his hands folded gently behind his back.

Resting her elbow on her desk, she nudged a piece of folded paper that she hadn't seen before lying on her desk. Eyes slipping with curiosity, she reached for it and unfolded it carefully.

It was a typed poem?

"Professional to end
Keeping vigilant
It is done, so I bend
Yet blue eyes
Births anticipation

"Caught in a stare
But can't compare
My gratefulness
For your defense"

"What in the-" She turned the note over and saw nothing else. No name? Nothing. Just a simple font on printed paper.

Blue eyes slipping back to her boss wonderingly, she put the note in her drawer and frowned.

Who in the world would write her a poem?