The door opened with quiet precision, and within a minute, Mr. T.B. stepped into the office. He wore the company's signature uniform—a crisp white shirt embroidered with a small sunflower logo on the chest, neatly tucked into well-fitted black trousers. Despite the corporate attire, there was an unmistakable sharpness about him, a quiet intensity that set him apart from an ordinary employee. He looked young, around Anderson's age, but his demeanor carried a weight of experience beyond his years.
His presence exuded strength—his broad shoulders squared naturally, his movements disciplined yet effortless. The unbuttoned collar of his shirt revealed a thick, muscular neck, the faint outline of veins hinting at a body honed by rigorous training rather than mere gym workouts. Beneath the fabric, his chest and arms bulged with controlled power, the tight weave of the cotton barely concealing the physique of a man accustomed to action.
His face was strikingly structured—square-jawed with a firm, almost immovable expression. Bushy eyebrows framed deep-set eyes that gleamed with an alert, calculating sharpness. His nose was high-bridged, his lips set in a firm, unreadable line. A mix of blue and black stubble covered his chin, trimmed with an almost military precision. There was something about him—an air of discipline, a rigid posture, a certain economy in his words and gestures—that hinted at a past not yet spoken.
"Mrs. Kimberly Smith. What are you calling me for?" His voice was level, carrying a steady confidence that was neither arrogant nor submissive.
Kimberly Smith, seated comfortably behind her desk, was a picture of effortless dominance. The soft glow from the Apple screencast a subtle light on her porcelain skin, accentuating the classic curves of her features—cheekbones sculpted like a statue, full lips that seemed permanently poised between amusement and indifference. Her golden waves cascaded over one shoulder, framing the perfect balance of allure and authority.
Without looking up immediately, she let the moment just long enough to remind both men that she dictated the pace of the conversation. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, she lifted her gaze—eyes as intoxicating as expensive perfume—settling them on T.B. with the slightest curve of her lips.
"You'll take Mr. Anderson Jr. Seely to his office," she instructed, her voice smooth and unwavering. "Introduce him to the staff of the other departments. He will be responsible for implementing the Tagiunituk Lake project. As of today, Mr. Anderson Jr. Seely is the Chief Engineer of this project for our company."
"Yes, Ma'am," T.B. responded immediately, his posture instinctively stiffening, as though years of structured obedience had conditioned him to act without hesitation.
Anderson, standing nearby, was momentarily stunned into silence. When he had applied for the position of Chief Engineer, he had expected rounds of negotiations, weeks of uncertainty, or at the very least, some resistance. Instead, it had all happened so smoothly—too smoothly. The realization struck him as both thrilling and unnerving.
Still processing his abrupt promotion, he barely registered T.B.'s next movement—until he saw the man raise his hand in a precise military salute.
Anderson's eyebrows lifted slightly in surprise. That was unexpected. The gesture was too formal, too ingrained to be a casual quirk. This man was not just an errand runner—there was something deeper, something that didn't quite fit in with the ordinary mechanics of corporate life.
Before leaving the office, Anderson took a moment to acknowledge the colleagues he had worked with, instinctively understanding that in times of economic recession, a stable job—especially one with an attractive salary in a company of this scale—was not something to take lightly.
"Please, just call me Anderson," he said, offering a genuine smile. "I hope to work well with all of you."
Kimberly, still seated, watched him with unreadable amusement. As Anderson extended his hand, balancing a set of dossiers against his side, she gracefully rose, her presence commanding even in the simplest of movements.
"Welcome to our company, Mr. Anderson," she murmured, her tone laced with something just shy of mischief.
Their hands met in a firm handshake, but before Anderson could fully process the moment, the weight of the dossiers tilted in his grasp, and the stack of papers slipped from his hold, cascading onto the floor like a poorly executed magic trick.
He cursed under his breath and quickly bent down to gather them, his movements hurried yet controlled. But as he reached for the last few sheets, he caught the tail end of something—something fleeting yet undeniable.
Kimberly had tilted her head slightly, watching him—not in the way one watches an employee but in the way a cat watches a mouse just before deciding whether to play with it. Then, just as quickly, she shifted her gaze, a slow, knowing smile curving her lips, as if she had just been privately entertained by something only she understood.
"Careful, Mr. Anderson," she mused, her voice teasingly smooth. "Wouldn't want to lose your important documents so soon, would you?"
There was no sharpness to her words, no outright mockery—just the effortless ease of a woman who had mastered the art of keeping men on edge.
Anderson clenched his jaw slightly, adjusting his grip on the papers before straightening. He wasn't sure if it was the warmth in his face or the tension in his body, but something about the moment left him unsettled.
Kimberly, unfazed, stepped past him to open the office door, her perfume trailing behind her—a scent so rich and intoxicating it seemed to linger in the very air.
"Please study this file very carefully, Mr. Anderson," she instructed her tone back to business. "This project is vital to our company, and no detail must be overlooked. Tomorrow morning, we will discuss it further."
"Yes, Ma'am."
The response left his lips before he even registered that he had unconsciously mirrored T.B.'s phrasing. But unlike T.B., Anderson did not raise his hand in salute. Instead, he stood rigidly, acutely aware that, at this particular moment, the last thing his body wanted to do was stand at attention.
As he walked out of the office, the cool air in the hallway hit him like a welcome breath of reality. It was refreshing, almost sobering, after the suffocating heat of Kimberly's presence.
T.B., ever efficient, led him down the corridor, his voice clear and precise as he introduced the departments on the 9th floor. The representative office of Kivakina Resources Limited Liability Company in Anchorage wasn't massive—just two main departments: accounting and project management. Each department housed a modest team of three to five employees.
"You've been assigned as the Chief Engineer of the mineral exploration project at Tagiunituk Lake," T.B. stated, his tone matter-of-fact.
Anderson nodded, absorbing the information as they entered his new office.
"One more thing," T.B. added as he stood by the door. "Mr. William Smith, the owner of the company, will also be visiting today. I believe he intends to discuss this project with you personally."
"Really?" Anderson's eyebrows lifted slightly. "Thanks for letting me know."
T.B. simply nodded, then, with his usual efficiency, raised his hand once more in a sharp military salute before turning toward the door. But just as his fingers brushed the handle, Anderson's voice stopped him.
"Mr. T.B.," he called out. "Can I ask you something?"
T.B. turned, his expression unreadable. "Yes?"
Anderson hesitated for only a second. "What does T.B. stand for?"
T.B. held his gaze for a beat before his lips curled into the faintest smirk.
"Tea Boy, Mr. Anderson."
And with that, he stepped out, leaving the answer—like everything else about him—shrouded in quiet mystery.