The conference room comes into view and I pause just outside the door to straighten my skirt and take a deep, calculated breath to slow my heart. It never works, but I always try.

I push the door open to find several men in suits sitting around the table, chatting and arranging papers on its surface. They all look up when they hear me, and I offer a smile in their general direction, but my eyes are drawn to the head of the table, where the reason for my arrival sits watching me while he spins his pen between his fingers.

Instinctually, I pull my bottom lip between my teeth and hug the reports closer to my chest as I cross the room in George’s direction, trying to focus on my task at hand and not on the fact that he’s wearing my favorite navy suit with the pale blue pinstripe tie—and yes I have a favorite, because again, I’m hopeless.

“Here are the reports you asked for.” My voice shakes as I slide through the tight space between George’s chair and the one of the man next to him.

George rolls his chair back to give me a little more room as I lay the papers on the table. “Thank you, Juniper.” He has the deepest, smoothest timbre to his voice. I think I could listen to him read the ingredients off a soup can for hours.

“Is there anything else I can do for you?” I turn toward him, trying and failing to avoid his enchanting blue eyes.

Everyone else in the room is patiently watching and waiting. It’s easy to see that George commands respect from his colleagues.

He picks up a report, leans back in his chair and shakes his head. “That’ll be all. Appreciate you making the trip.” He gestures to the stack on the table. “Gentlemen, please pass these around. We’ll start on page three.”

I nod and turn from him to leave with a little regret, because this concludes the several extra words I get with him today, but just as I do, the man in the chair next to me spins quickly to grab a report off the table and inadvertently knocks me off balance. I try to grasp something—anything—to stop me from falling completely, but I end up flailing like a fish out of water for a mortifying stretch of seconds before I topple backwards into the lap I’ve pathetically dreamed of becoming more familiar with.

But never like this.

George grabs my arms firmly as my back crashes into his chest. I manage to grasp the table before my feet fly into the air, and then it’s almost like my brain takes too long to catch up, because I freeze, catching the wide eyes of the other men in the room who are watching the tragedy unfold.

I’m sitting in George’s lap, and his hands are on me, and he smells like vanilla and spice, and I’m not moving.

Why am I not moving?

“Oh my God.” I finally scramble to get up. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s alright,” he says stiffly behind me, grasping my arms tighter to help lift me off. “Are you ok?”

I spin toward him, but don’t make eye contact, finding a less threatening spot on the back wall instead. “Yes, I’m sorry. I’ll just be…ok, I’m going now.” I shuffle for a second, trying to remember if I’m supposed to take something with me, but there’s nothing. I just have my own mortified self to escort out of this disaster chamber.

I retreat to the door as quickly as I can, but just before I reach it, I spin once more, suddenly concerned. “Are you? I’m sorry, are you ok?”

When I manage to meet his gaze, the corner of his mouth turns up just a bit. “I’m fine, Juniper. That’ll be all.”

With a nod, I leave the room.

And now I’m dead.

I’ve died, and this is the end.