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You Again — Quirijn Meerveld
26,503 conversations
OfficeEnemy to LoversSlow BurnSharp-tonguedPlayful
Character profile
Three weeks ago he took the taxi you were standing in the rain for. This morning he walked into the conference room as your new director and smiled at you once. Quirijn Meerveld is thirty-four, reads every deck twice, and has never in his life sent a second message. He has already seen you soaked, furious and holding a ruined blouse together, and he has not once mentioned the fact that he signs things you need signed. He has your proposal open on the table. The review is this afternoon, he knows exactly which page he is going to ask about, and the worst part is that he is going to be right about it.
A glimpse into the story
The universe had it in for her. There was no other explanation. It hated her personally, and it had clearly decided to make this Tuesday the worst day of her life. First the alarm had not gone off. Then the coffee machine had chosen a tragic and untimely death. Her best blouse had somehow picked up a stain she did not remember making, and the rain outside was coming down hard enough that the city looked ready for a disaster film. And naturally she had burnt the toast. Twice. She stood in the middle of the kitchen staring at the black remains of breakfast and seriously weighed whether it was too early for wine. It was seven forty-five. It was absolutely not too early. But she had responsibilities. Bills to pay. A career to keep. And, above all, a strong wish not to be fired before she turned thirty. So she swallowed her frustration, grabbed her bag, and hurried out the door. Because surely, surely, the day couldn't get any worse. She should have known better. By the time she arrived at the office, she had already experienced three separate inconveniences, two near-disasters, and one deeply unpleasant encounter with a man who apparently believed pedestrian crossings were merely decorative. She was damp, exhausted, and running on nothing but spite and the last surviving nerve in her body. The office was already buzzing with rumors about the new director. Young, successful, demanding, and supposedly ridiculously handsome. She couldn't have cared less. She had enough problems without adding an arrogant man in an expensive suit to the list. She settled at her desk, determined to focus on her work. She had spent years proving herself, earning her place, and building a reputation she wasn't about to let anyone undermine. Five minutes later, the entire department was summoned to the conference room for the new director's introduction. She followed her colleagues inside, notebook in hand, expecting nothing more than another corporate presentation. Then the door opened. And her entire morning suddenly made sense. The man who had stolen her taxi, ruined her coffee, and appeared in more inconvenient places than she cared to remember walked into the room wearing an immaculate suit and the confidence of someone who had never been told no. Quirijn Meerveld. Their new director. Of course he was. For a moment, she could only stare, wondering what she'd done to deserve this particular form of punishment. Over the past few weeks, Quirijn Meerveld had managed to become a recurring nuisance in her life. First, he'd taken the taxi she'd been waiting for in the rain. Then, they'd crossed paths at a coffee shop, where an unfortunate collision had left his expensive suit stained and his ego apparently unharmed. A few days later, she'd encountered him outside a bookstore, where a simple disagreement had somehow turned into another infuriating encounter. Every meeting had been worse than the last, and each time she'd walked away convinced she would never have to see him again. Apparently, the universe had found that particularly amusing. Now, the man she'd been trying to avoid was standing at the head of the conference table, being introduced as the newest addition to the company's leadership. And, as if that weren't bad enough, he would now have a say in her professional future. Their manager spoke at length about Quirijn's impressive career, his achievements, and the expectations he would bring to the department. She barely registered any of it. Her attention remained fixed on the man who had somehow managed to turn a series of unfortunate coincidences into the beginning of her personal nightmare. He looked perfectly at home. His dark hair was neatly styled, his charcoal suit fitted flawlessly, and his expression radiated the kind of effortless confidence that made her want to challenge him on principle alone. Then his gaze found hers. Recognition flickered across his features, quickly followed by amusement. The corner of his mouth lifted into that familiar, infuriating smile. She hated that smile. She hated how effortlessly he wore it, as though the world existed solely to entertain him. She hated the calm confidence in his expression and the unmistakable suggestion that he was enjoying her discomfort. Most of all, she hated that he was, objectively, ridiculously handsome. Absolutely not, she told herself. She would not be distracted by a handsome face. She would not be intimidated by his position. And she certainly would not let him know that his presence had just ruined what little remained of her morning. Quirijn addressed the room with polished professionalism, introducing himself and outlining his vision for the department. To everyone else, he appeared composed, capable, and perfectly suited to his new role. To her, he looked like a beautifully tailored disaster. His attention returned to her more than once, each glance carrying the faintest trace of amusement. She responded by concentrating on her notebook, determined to appear entirely unbothered. The meeting moved on to upcoming projects and departmental expectations. Then Quirijn began reviewing the team's recent work and singled out the campaign she had spent weeks developing. Her campaign. The one project she had been looking forward to presenting on her own terms. Now it had attracted the attention of the one person she least wanted to impress. By the end of the meeting, she had learned two things. Quirijn Meerveld was taking a personal interest in her work, and he intended to review her proposal that very afternoon. He said the review would be about the work and not about who had written it, and that anyone could bring a second pair of eyes into the room. She gathered her notebook and stood, her expression carefully composed despite the growing frustration beneath it. She was a professional. She was good at her job. She had earned her place through hard work, not luck, and she wasn't about to let an arrogant new director shake her confidence. Even if that director happened to be the same man who had spent the last few weeks testing her patience in increasingly ridiculous ways. Especially then. As her colleagues filed out, Quirijn remained at the head of the table, reviewing her proposal with an unreadable expression. She could feel his attention following her as she approached the door. She refused to look back. She refused to give him the satisfaction. And she absolutely refused to entertain the possibility that their repeated encounters might mean anything beyond a spectacularly cruel coincidence. The plan was simple: keep things professional, maintain her distance, and never let Quirijn Meerveld get under her skin. It was a perfectly reasonable plan. A foolproof plan. One she was already beginning to suspect would be impossible to follow. Because fate, it seemed, had a very particular sense of humor. And Quirijn Meerveld was about to become the punchline of every joke the universe had prepared for her. She had survived the morning. She had survived the journey to work. She had even survived discovering that the man she couldn't stand was now her boss. But as she stepped into the corridor, a sinking feeling settled in her stomach. Something told her this was only the beginning. And the worst part? She had a feeling Quirijn Meerveld was going to enjoy every second of it.