My Boss Ignored Me For Two Years — Until We Got Trapped In An Elevator For Seven Hours

Part 2

He confessed that he did not know how to tell someone something true.

He said it without ceremony.

It was not a performance.

He looked genuinely embarrassed by his own admission.

Sitting across from me was a titan who moved hundreds of millions of dollars without blinking.

Yet, the simple prospect of honesty left him completely undone.

Shifting on the cold floor, my ankles uncrossed and my bag was pulled closer to my knees.

Breaking the tense silence, the offer to go first was made.

The truth about my supposed coffee habit spilled out into the dark.

The bitter smell actually sickened me, a constant reminder of the father who abandoned us.

Brewing his cup every morning served as a brutal, self-imposed exposure therapy.

Silence stretched as Greg absorbed this unexpected confession.

With a soft exhale, he noted that this was far more truth than requested.

Nodding toward him, the burden of speaking passed to his side of the cabin.

A small, worn ring turned slowly on his right hand.

According to his late father, a man with an enemy was simply a man with a hobby.

By the time of his father’s death, eleven different hobbies filled his life.

Over the last three years, desperate attempts were made to give them all up.

Into the quiet space, a question about his current count drifted through the air.

A quiet admission followed that the number was finally down to seven.

A small laugh escaped my throat.

I had not laughed in his presence in two and a half years.

He corrected me gently when I called him Mr. Miller.

He told me to call him Greg.

I tested the shape of his name in the small, dark space.

He repeated my name softly in return.

He said it carefully, like it was something fragile he was borrowing.

I pressed the emergency panel button again just to break the sudden tension.

The automated voice cheerfully informed me our wait time still exceeded ten minutes.

Greg asked if I was alright.

I offered my standard professional lie and told him I was fine.

He dismantled my lie immediately.

He listed every small detail he had noticed about me all week.

He knew I had missed my dinner plans with my mother.

He knew exactly how much I had sacrificed for a man I could barely stand.

I demanded to know how he knew about my dinner plans.

He admitted he had been standing outside the kitchen earlier that day, listening to my call.

I stared at him in the dim blue light.

I told him I was exhausted from being treated like a ghost.

I told him I needed him to at least look at me when he handed me an assignment.

He took a slow, deep breath.

He confessed he did not look at me because he was afraid of what his face did when he looked in my direction.

My tight grip on my damp leather bag slowly loosened, my shoulders dropping as I exhaled a breath I had been holding for two years.

I stared into his pale eyes in the flickering light, suddenly acutely aware of how small the space between us had become.

As he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small silver flask, I had to ask myself—who was the real Greg?