When the Compliments Start to Bite

He’s been calling me “bright” a lot lately. Says it like a confession. I’m smiling back, pretending it’s innocent — but he’s not fooling anyone, not even himself. I see how his eyes linger a second too long when I walk in, how his voice dips when he talks to me alone.

He’s about fifty, built on old charm and corporate confidence. The type who believes his wedding ring makes him seem responsible. He likes being the mentor, the big man in the room. He’s teaching me things I already know — except the one thing he doesn’t: I’m not the naïve intern he thinks I am.

The Safe Incident

It happens one quiet afternoon, the kind of day when the office hums with fluorescent boredom. He leans in, lowers his voice, and says, “Let me show you something not everyone gets to see.”

He walks me to the corner room, enters a code, and the company safe opens with a soft click. He’s showing me numbers, documents — things I shouldn’t see. He’s showing off. He’s showing me that he can.

The code — 9824 — burns itself into my memory. He doesn’t notice. He’s too busy smiling, too sure of himself. The man is basically undressing his own authority in front of me, piece by piece.

I’m nodding, pretending to be impressed, while inside I’m thinking: You just handed the wrong girl your crown.

His Little Messages

It starts with emojis. Always does.

A winky face. Then a “Did you get home safe?” at 10:47 p.m.

Then, “You’re too sharp for your age.”

I reply with polite half-sentences, the kind that sound innocent but are designed to keep him wanting a little more. I know exactly what I’m doing — I’m letting him talk himself into the grave.

He’s convinced I’m flattered. He’s convinced I blush when he calls me “brilliant.” He doesn’t realize the only time I blush is when I’m holding in laughter.

Office Power, Bedroom Energy

He’s walking around the office like he owns both the company and my attention. The other interns giggle about him, whisper things like, “He’s kind of handsome for his age.” I stay silent. I already know what they don’t — his confidence is all performance.

Every time he leans a little too close, I can smell the cologne that’s supposed to scream dominance. But beneath it, there’s fear. The kind that comes from realizing he’s crossed a line but can’t walk back.

He’s forgetting this isn’t the 90s — interns have receipts now. Screenshots, whispers, power. And he’s too busy thinking he’s the hunter to realize he’s the headline waiting to happen.
 

The Shift

Something’s changing. He’s starting to hesitate when he talks to me. His eyes dart to my phone when I pull it out, like he’s wondering what I’ve saved. He’s realizing that maybe he’s been performing for an audience he can’t control.

Now I walk through the office with a quiet kind of confidence. Everyone still thinks I’m the quiet intern — but he knows. He feels it every time I walk past his desk. The power has flipped, silently, deliciously.

And the best part? He handed it to me himself, one safe code, one late-night message at a time.

The Bigger Picture

This isn’t about attraction anymore. This is about ego — his, crumbling in slow motion. He thinks he’s in charge, thinks he’s teasing me into submission. But the truth is, he’s the one undressing his reputation with every smirk, every slip, every whisper.

I’m not out to destroy him — not yet. But I’m letting him feel the tension of his own making. The kind that tightens, quietly, until it snaps.

Because while he’s busy playing games, I’m the one writing the rules.