This is a one-shot from monthly prompt competition in Elsannafluff tumblr.

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Counting down from one hundred does not help anymore.

But you keep doing it anyway.

You are fidgeting on your seat while cautiously glancing at the elevator every two and half seconds.

Ninety four, ninety three…

The sun shines awfully too bright with some clouds dance cheerfully with the wind. In other words, the weather is too nice for something bad might happen today.

Eighty six, eighty five…

Clean desk, checked. Fresh flowers, checked. Compiled voicemails, checked. All is perfect. Supposedly.

Or is it?

Seventy nine, seventy eight…

Your work phone beeps, breaking the mental-countdown you have been doing. Surely it was somewhere between seventy one and sixty.

The new guy from human resource department is taking his sweet time delivering the papers you need for today.

Fifty two, fifty one…

He appears though with his big boyish grin and his dreadful beanie.

You hold back a groan.

"Morning, Anna, my sunshine." He greets and winks coyly at you when dropping a pile of documents on your table.

"Morning." You reply briefly. You have learned to not engage a further friendly conversation with the guy. He will take your good intention to somehow a sign of attraction and once it has snowballed into a date night in a zoo. Yes, a zoo.

And you almost thank him this time when he turns and walks away without asking you for dinner. But of course, it's too much to hope.

"Uhm… Anna," He begins with his contemplating expression and nervous smile.

"No, Kristoff. I already have a plan for tonight." With a bed and bunch of DVD's. Then you beg to all deities above to grant the guy an ability to take a hint.

With shoulder slumps, his smile twitches into grimace.

You feel bad for him. Damn bleeding heart.

"Okay, rain check?" You sigh in defeat. If your day is going to turn into hell, there is no need for unnecessary human collateral damage.

He straightens his posture upon a little glimpse of chance, "rain check."

His boyish smile returns and he walks away with extra delightful whistle.

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Something beeps again and it was your wristwatch.

Countdown's up.

The elevator dings, the only elevator which was designed for only one person in the company.

When the elevator doors open, your world stops. It is always like this every morning.

Seven hundred and forty-four mornings have passed and you still cannot hold the sight of your boss without dropping your jaw yet.

You thought that the world has been expecting so much of you to work perfectly fine with a boss who can put the flying unicorn to shame.

She looks around for a moment before her gaze falls on the thing that you have been holding in past 100 seconds.

Like someone has turned your switch back on, you carry on automatically, "Tall, Nonfat Latte, 2 percent foam." Are the first words that come into your mind when a pair of clear blue eyes makes a silent study.

There is always the cold surrounding her. At the beginning, you were confused and then you were curious. Most of the employees are still intimidated by it but you… now you just cannot function properly without the cold.

You like her cold.

But something is different today.

One. Her flawless platinum blond hair has let loose freely down her back.

Two. If the hair is a rare sight, the smile is a myth comes true. What a human smile is doing on your boss's face?

You blink. Once. Twice. Making sure that the woman before her is still the same woman who has been her employer in past two years.

You can investigate later since you like her smile too much. It suits her.

Her smile is gorgeous.

You yelp, slapping your own mouth with look of horror upon the realization that you just said it all out loud.

A sculpted eyebrow is raised as her smile is thankfully without falters.

Your mind wanders to an eulogy you wrote a year ago that you may need later when someone kills you out of pity and humiliation.

However then you witness how she takes one sip of her latte and then throws the rest of it into the nearest bin.

Yep, she is still your boss who is so damn hard to please. World still around, sky is blue. You are not sure about your employment status in the next 24 hours though.

"Give me a hot chocolate before 10."

And like nothing life-changing or heart-breaking has just happened, she saunters her way inside her office.

You are in desperate need of a thousand countdowns.

A rational one percent parts of your brain urges you to move your ass and run the hot chocolate errand. It is 20 minutes before the hour struck.

Then you dash, jumps, rolling down the office hallway like a madwoman. You run into several grunting coworkers who despite have been used to with your morning rush habit, are still complaining when your shoulder bumps into a stacks of alphabetically-filtered documents. You don't have time to hear their yelling since you are now a madwoman with a mission.

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"Are you in rush?" The friendly barista asks politely. He knows you because you are a regular.

You always be that woman who makes bizarre order with big tips and demand a receipt note.

You know him. Because he is a redhead like you and he is the most efficient barista in 4 blocks radius. Additional plus note is that he always fulfills your order no matter how ridiculous it is.

Now he offers a little bit sympathy since you show up out-of-breath with expression of someone has your puppy hostage.

"One hot chocolate for takeaway, please." It's already past the rush hour that you able to make order without waiting too long. Then you just need to pray so he will be quick enough to pull a miracle.

He does and you almost hug him but you don't have time to waste.

10 minutes of terror later, you are back standing in front of your boss's office door with a container full of hot chocolate.

You walk in directly since your boss has established no-knocking policy only for her one particular assistant (you).

A familiar cold welcomes you like a home while the owner of the room is sitting comfortably behind the desk.

She was talking with someone over the phone animatedly before looking up upon your entrance.

She ends the phone conversation with rapid French and you witness how her gorgeous smile makes appearance again.

This time you bit your lip immediately to prevent second round self-humiliation that leads to your early funeral. Briskly you hand her the sweet beverage before her smile getting more dazzling.

Instead, she says. "Drink it, Anna."

Your mind comes to a screech halt. You just need to make sure that you didn't hear it wrong.

"Excuse me?"

She leans into her desk forward, crossing both arms over her chest, she spells it slowly for you this time around. "Drink it and tell me how it tastes."

It's clear that she is upset that you have questioned her instruction. It shouldn't happen and you should've known better. So you comply and bring up the cup to drink the blasted hot chocolate.

At first you only intended to have a little sip, but all the run has made you quite thirsty that resulting you to take a couple of big gulps instead.

"It's good, not too sweet, but good." You give your opinion. After all, chocolates are good and you are full of bias.

"… is it?" a doubt in her voice.

"Well, you asked for my opinion."

Is it just in your mind or your boss has leaned closer toward you? She rises from her seat, with her hand palm up, extends to your direction.

"Let me have a taste then."

You react by moving to give her the cup but then you feel gravitation suddenly is playing with you. A force pulls you forward as you feel something cold and soft with a hint of vanilla has assaulted your lips.

It takes you a whole dumb second to realize that your boss is kissing you.

She kisses you.

She has pulled you across the desk and kissed you.

The whole thing is mind-blowing but you never feel so…

You haven't finished processing everything when she pulls away and leaves you with a pang of lost. You open your mouth, about to say or ask something that you may or may not regret later.

But she stops you. Her index finger rests upon your lips, her eyes hold a warning.

"Say my name?"

It isn't an order or a plea. It's something of due. A promise that she intends to collect.

You may forget your name at the moment but strangely her name is as clear as the sun outside.

"Elsa." It's sweet. Or is it the chocolate?

She beams with twinkle in her eyes.

Nothing else matters.

Suddenly the reason behind her hair and her smiles click in your mind.

It costs you a lifetime of courage to ask the next question.

"Is it good?"

Elsa averts her gaze to a strand of white streak among your red locks before her eyes finally find your soul.

"Le meilleur. The best I've ever had."

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