I enter a room the size of a football field. I had no idea that this floor was even that big. I thought that our room was unnecessarily large for two people, but this one is even bigger. The ceiling is close to twenty feet. The office has only one real wall and that one houses the elevator. The rest of it is glass, from floor to ceiling.

I see Gatsby on the far end of the room. A full living room with three couches and two sofas and a beautiful coffee table separates us.

“Here, this is it,” Ms. Greaves says, focusin my concentration. I turn to face her. She’s inside a cube. There’s a smaller glass office within the large space. I follow her inside.

“This will be your space. This way you can have some privacy and so can Mr. Wild when he has meetings. But you will also be right here if he needs you.”

If Gatsby needs me. I like the sound of that.

My office is entirely constructed of glass. Even the door is glass. But the size of it is quite manageable. It’s the size of my living room.

I’m relieved. Large spaces make me uncomfortable. I’m glad that I don’t have to sit at a table in the middle of an enormous room.

The desk, which is luckily not made of glass, is facing the window. I sit down and look out. The glass is so clean that I feel like I am outside. A bird flies by. It seems like it’s flying right in front of me even though there are two layers of glass separating us.

“Isn’t this nice?” Ms. Greaves says, walking around my office. I’m not sure if she’s just complimenting the place or is jealous that she’s not the one working here.

“Can I ask you something, Ms. Greaves? Is there a reason you don’t work here? You have so much more experience, and you know everything about Mr. Wild and what he needs.”

“Mr. Wild and I go way back, Ms. York. I don’t like to gossip, but let’s just say that I’m happy in my permanent position.”

“Permanent?” I ask. What does that mean? Does that mean that Gatsby is going to fire me soon?

“Is this position not permanent?” I ask when she doesn’t reply.

“It’s complicated. You and I fulfill different functions. Let’s just say, this position isn’t for me,” she finally says. “But I’m sure you’re going to be very happy here.”

After Ms. Greaves leaves, I sit down in the most comfortable office chair I’ve ever sat in and swivel around in a circle. I stop spinning, facing Gatsby, who is talking on the phone and walking around his office. He pours himself a coffee at the bar and meanders around the living room with it. The conversation is heated, but I can’t hear a word.

He signals that he’ll be off soon when he catches me staring at him. I turn away from him and face the computer. It’s a good time to get some work done. If not work, then at least set up all the things that need to be set up. My email. Facebook. Save some important tabs into favorites. Like CNN. Buzzfeed.

---

“Hey, sorry, about that,” Gatsby opens the door. “How do you like your office?”

My office. I like the sound of that!

“It’s great, thanks.”

“Did Ms. Greaves show you everything?”

“Yep. Thanks. This place is amazing, Gatsby. The view, it’s unbelievable. But you know, I wanted to talk to you about something. I mean, after everything that happened, are you sure that you want me working here?”

He takes a moment to collect his thoughts.

“Yes, I do, Ms. York. I wouldn’t have asked for you otherwise.”

“Ms. York?”

“Ms. York. And it’s Mr. Wild to you. I have to get back to work now.”

I nod. I can’t believe my ears. Ms. York. Mr. Wild. The formalities make me cringe. It’s as if we are strangers again. Calls start streaming in before I get the chance to really think about this and what it all means. I answer calls, putting some of them through. Ms. Greaves was kind enough to leave a list of people who were to be put through immediately on my desk. I screen all other calls, take notes on their issues and desires and pleas.

The rest of the day comes and goes, but we don’t speak again. At least, not in person. There are a couple of times when Gatsby, er, Mr. Wild, calls me on the phone and asks for his messages, but other than that, nothing.

Around 5:30 pm, I’m ready to leave. I’ve been ready to leave for close to forty-five minutes already, but I’m not sure what to do. Gatsby is still at his desk, going through paperwork and making calls. When he’s not doing that, he’s staring at the computer screen and clicking ferociously.

I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to leave too early. I don’t know if I should ask permission. I never did before with Ms. Greaves, but this is different.

I watch the clock. Time passes slowly.

5:45 pm.

6:00 pm.

7:15 pm.

7:29 pm.

---

This is getting ridiculous. What am I waiting for? Clearly, there’s no more work for me to do. If Gatsby needs to stay late, that’s his problem. I have searched every website imaginable. Finally, at 7:31pm, I turn off the screen and officially end my day.

“Hey, Gatsby…I mean, Mr. Wild,” I correct myself as quickly as I can. “I’m going to take off now.”

“Oh, wow, you’re still here?”

I catch him off guard. He’s no longer wearing his tie. His starched shirt is just as starched, but the two buttons at the top are open. He’s not wearing his suit jacket anymore. When I get closer to his desk, I see that he’s also barefoot. His shoes are tossed casually aside, and his perfect, powerful feet are naked. No socks!

“I thought you’d left already,” he says, leaning back in his chair. There’s a half drunk gin and tonic on his desk.

“You did?” I don’t understand how that’s possible. “Why?”

“Yeah. I can’t really see you,” he says, pointing his drink at my office.

I turn around. The glass cube is completely opaque. I can see out, but no one can see in.

“Oh, I had no idea. Why is it like that?”

Gatsby shrugs and smiles.

“If you want to be in a fishbowl, you can always turn it off.”

I don’t know what he’s talking about. He walks me back to my office and shows me that there’s a button on my desk that makes the glass all around the office either opaque or see-through. My office has been opaque the whole day. He couldn’t see a thing!

“I just thought you wanted some privacy.”

I shake my head. I had been wrong this whole day. I spent so much time pretending to work that I actually got some work done.

I start to laugh.

“What? What’s so funny?”

“Nothing really. I just didn’t know. That’s all.”

“Ah, I see. You feel like the day has been wasted because you were just pretending to work, huh?” he jokes. For a moment, I see the old Gatsby and my heart breaks.

“Yeah, something like that.”

“Would you like a drink?” he asks. He doesn’t apologize for being rude in not offering me one before, he simply stares into my eyes and asks the question like he means it. But I can’t say yes. This has to remain professional. I’m confused as to what’s going on here.

“Sure,” I nod. The words simply escape my lips as if my body is acting on its own accord. He appears to be as surprised by it as I am.