Astrid says we will all receive an email shortly to inform us which group we are in, and then the leader of the group will take over the communication with the members. When I’m packing my things to go home, my email comes.
Lars is my team lead.
My chest flutters, and I smile. This doesn’t seem random at all...
Particularly because in my group are also Chiara, Ellen (a very skilled 2D Artist), Simon (the producer for the game I work on), George (the UX/UI Designer everyone loves), Astrid, and...
Martin the Beetle. Of course.
We all work closely together, and we are talented, ambitious people under Lars’s leadership. Except for Astrid, the HR Lead, who might help him judge who deserves a promotion...
To be honest, any of us could be a fit for the game director position. Especially Ellen and George. And, well, Martin, as I heard from Lars himself.
The threads of excitement in my stomach tie up in a knot.
Five minutes after receiving the first email, I get one from Lars welcoming us into his group and inviting us to our first event—dinner at a Spanish restaurant tomorrow after work.
I take the Metro home, my head brimming with thoughts and concerns. This will be a bigger challenge than I thought—convincing Lars that I deserve the promotion over all these other nice and talented employees who have been in the company, and in Denmark, for much longer than me.
But I can beat the competition. I need to believe in myself. Lars thinks I’m a good candidate. I’ll just have to show off in our events. I can do that. Right?
I enter my empty room and sigh. Burying myself in bed will have to wait.
Cheer up, Sol! I see all of this as a great sign, Larissa writes to me after I dump my concerns on her. I’m on my yoga mat again, and my back is killing me.
Larissa: You are among this select group, and you’ll have lots of great opportunities to shine. Be the sun you are and blind your boss with your awesomeness!
I send her a heart. I love my best friend for always lifting me up when I’m down. After twenty-one years of friendship, living right next to each other, she always knows the right thing to say, even now that we’re so far apart.
Larissa: How’s Thor?
Me: You mean, Erik? People are actually called Thor here. It’s a common name.
Larissa: He’s the human incarnation of the god of thunder, Sol. Be careful not to fall under his spell.
If it were up to me, Larissa wouldn’t know what Erik looks like. When I showed Erik to the girls at the salon during our video call, my cousin Mariana took a screenshot with my mom’s phone and sent it to Larissa because she knew I’d be vague when talking to my friend, and Larissa “deserved the truth.”
At least Larissa seems to believe it’s safest to not engage in a relationship with him—unlike my cousins, who have been effusively encouraging me to pull Erik by the collar and kiss him with ardent passion whenever I cross with him in the hallway.
The doorbell rings. When I arrive at the front door, Erik is already letting the delivery guys in. I jump in excitement as I watch the parts of my new bed being unloaded in my room.
The guys leave, and Erik stands at the threshold, looking thoughtfully at the boxes as if they are a big puzzle we must solve.
And they are.
“I thought they would help me assemble it,” I say, biting my lip.
“Nope. That’s the whole concept in Scandinavia. Do it yourself. Or pay a fortune.”
I laugh, but there isn’t much humor in finding yourself swimming in huge heavy boxes with pieces you have no clue what to do with.
“We’ll do it together, okay?” he reassures me, landing a palm on my shoulder. His warm hand heats the skin under my cotton T-shirt, spreading a boiling wave down the rest of my body. “Teamwork is key.”
“Thanks,” I say in one breath, my heart thumping with more excitement than should be reserved for a bed.
For one hour, we focus. And we fail.
“Aaargh, this is impossible!” Erik lets out his frustration, dropping a piece of the frame that we simply can’t put together. We are both sweaty and exhausted, and only half the frame is completed.
“Break time,” I say and go to the kitchen to grab a can of soda for each of us. I bought them. Erik only has healthy stuff in his half of the fridge. When I offer him the Coke though, he takes it.
We drink in silence, sitting on the floor with our backs against the wall, surrounded by tools, screws, and cardboard boxes. Through the window, the setting sun sheds its last rays on the water. It’s a beautiful evening. One of those days when, from the heat of your home, you can look out and pretend it’s still summer.
“Erik, did you participate in the Fun Season when you worked at Scorpio?”
He lifts his gaze from the instruction manual, brow furrowed. “Yes.”
“Was your boss your team lead?”
Erik relaxes his face and throws the manual aside. “Lars Holm was my team lead. He’s your boss, right?”
I nod, admiring how the sunbeam through the window crosses his face. The stripe of sunlight illuminates one of his eyes, making it as transparent as the Caribbean Sea and leaving the other in the shadow, dense as a frozen lake on a cloudy evening.
“Yes,” I say and lower my gaze to avoid getting too distracted by the pretty view. “Lars is my boss and my Fun Season team lead, and...it might be a stupid thing to think, but...” I debate for a moment whether I should share my concerns with Erik. I then conclude that I need to if I want an honest opinion from someone who knows the other involved party.
I take a deep breath, because even though I do really need that opinion, talking with Erik is nerve-racking. “I’m...” I begin, keeping my eyes lowered. “I suspect that Lars might use the upcoming events to get to know me better and judge if I deserve the game director position or not.”
I feel silly saying it out loud, but Erik’s expression tells me I’m not saying anything strange. His words confirm it. “It sounds like this is what he’s doing, yes.”
