She comes to your office for a mint.
She selects a piece of candy from the ceramic bowl on your desk and begins to chat a little. She lingers. Chatting.
You’re trying to work—catch up on the pile of paperwork or a memo or some inane administrative task. You keep typing, hoping to send the message that you're busy. Really. Quite busy.
But there’s something in her expression—some tone on the underside of her chatter. You stop your busy-ness for a moment and realize she’s here because something’s wrong and she doesn’t know where else to turn.