Hanne

Your VP finally shut the fuck up after what felt like an interminable speech. You chuckled softly as your colleagues practically fled the main lounge area, desperately grabbing drinks or rushing out for a smoke or to the bathroom, anything to avoid getting trapped into conversation with him. You amble through the fancy lounge with no particular goal in mind, when you spot a lone figure on one of the corner terraces. You notice that she is wearing a short skirt and sleeveless blouse, despite it being December and the lounge being on the 35th floor. It must be Hanne, you realise.
Hanne, the office’s Ice Queen, the Disdainful Dane. You’ve thankfully had to have little professional interaction with her as she does not report to you, but you’ve heard the gossip in the break room about her. Cold, impersonal, always keeping people at a distance…
You watch as she leans against the guardrail, a glass in hand as she watches the traffic in the street below. There’s something in her expression, sadness or loneliness, perhaps? Whatever it is, it draws to her. You shiver slightly as the cold air hits you. She turns her head, her expression immediately hardening.
“Oh, hello, أنت,” she says icily, her accent broadly American with just a hint of Scandinavian, “I was just enjoying some time alone after… well, that speech.”