The workday was finally over. At home, I tried to organize the stack of gift cards—one for Aunt Milly as a thank-you, one for Summer's wedding, and a few for myself—but my head kept drifting back to what had happened earlier. Aunt Milly shuffled into the kitchen, glanced at the pile, and chuckled.
"Just the person I wanted to see," I exclaimed with a smile, holding her set toward her.
"For me?"
"To the best aunt I know."
She accepted it with a toothy grin.
"I'm the only aunt you know," she teased, then kissed the top of my head before collapsing onto the living room couch. "Did Bash give you these?"
"No," I said, shifting my weight to one hip. "From work. It's my going-away present. The wrapping even glowed."
"Wow, that's impressive. Whenever I finally leave this cleaning business, I hope I get a present like that."
Just bringing up the wrapping paper triggered a memory of Ennio's face in the archive room—how terrified he looked. And then of course, the embarrassment I nearly got myself into when the door opened.
"I hope that boss of yours gave you a gift too, among those cards."
I thought immediately of the Getty—that experience was more than a gift. It really felt like a vacation.
"Nothing from here—" I began, but she cut me off.
"Huh. Too prideful to give his most hardworking employee a simple gift? What a joke."
I swallowed the words I wanted to say about the Getty and instead crashed on my bed, hoping sleep would dissolve the whirl of thoughts.
"You need to stop overworking yourself for that guy," she shouted from the other room. "What does he expect? For you to drop dead before you can officially leave?"
A few weeks ago, I would have agreed with her. But the truth was—he hadn't been overworking me since Ms. Fallon arrived. The carousel of questions spinning in my head as I drifted into a nap kept circling back to one: Is he treating me this way because he knows I'm leaving? Is that why he's been so—nice?
............…
Later that night, an email reminded me I was to resume my regular 4:30 a.m. schedule since Ms. Fallon claimed she was sick.
Poor girl. She'd better come up with better excuses once I'm gone, or she'll lose her spot under him.
I sat at my desk by the bed and dashed off a quick email to Style Sphere, asking to move up my final interview date. With that done, everything else fell into routine clockwork the next morning in Beverly. Nothing was unusual—so why did it feel strange?
I served him his usual breakfast, chilled wine, the three suit options, and his written schedule. But something about this morning felt more… intimate. He wasn't doing anything out of the ordinary, barely glancing at me, his attention buried in his phone. Still, deep down, I knew the answer. That kiss on the cheek was better than a spoken apology. As long as he didn't bring up yesterday, I could keep my emotions under control.
Alone with him in his house, I stood in perfect posture in my black, knee-length dress, waiting right outside his bedroom door as he flipped through his schedule. My eyes strayed to his pajamas. They weren't strange, really—dark gray, matching, paired with that robe he always wore. He dressed like a grandfather. So why did I feel… wrong looking at him?
He must have noticed, because he glanced up, his brow softening.
"What's wrong?"
I avoided his eyes—those dark brown eyes that looked almost concerned.
"Nothing," I said quickly. "I'll be waiting for you outside."
Normally, I would go to my position by the front door when he went to his bathroom to get dressed. Before we would officially leave for work, I would tidy up his suit—but this time I couldn't stomach being in the orbit of his personal space. It's pretty ironic considering I'd practically invaded it for ten years. This day needed to be smooth—no surprises, no… actions.
During the busiest hours in the workday, I noticed the shift in his calm attitude before anyone else. After a meeting with the sales team, Ennio stormed back into his office and slammed his phone down onto his desk. I froze in the doorway, torn between stepping in and stepping back.
"I need you to do me a favor," he said, his voice low and strained.
He scribbled something on a torn scrap of paper and slid it across to me. "Be back at two. Not a minute earlier."
I picked it up. A ridiculous takeout order—half the city on one list. Hours later, my arms heavy with bags, I trudged past Style Sphere's massive white brick facade, its blue-tinted windows gleaming. Not the time to stop and admire architecture. I need to drop this food before my arms give out. But in that three-second distraction, I nearly collided with a tall man with platinum-blonde hair. My eyes narrowed. I've seen him before. The memory slammed together in my brain and I almost stumbled back to really avoid him.
"Oh—close one," he laughed. "That would've been a disaster if all that food hit the ground."
Fucking hell. No. Not him. Not here. Not in that cashmere-silk suit.
At the penthouse that morning, I hadn't recognized him. Clean-shaven, sharp suit—though his surfer-blonde hair still needed a trim. The last time I'd seen him was at the penthouse but most importantly, the first time I'd seen him, he'd been in handcuffs on our date—arrested by the LAPD. Yahla had called him the homeless man. Now he looked like he was worth millions.
"Oh… yes. Thankfully that didn't happen," I muttered trying to sound as calm as possible as I inched away.
"Hey, don't I know you from somewhere?"
Shit. No, no, no.
"I don't think so," I said with a nervous laugh, keeping my back to him.
"No, I've definitely seen a pretty face like yours before." He circled me, eyes scanning.
Damn it.
"Oh, the penthouse!" he snapped his fingers. "Nice to meet you, neighbor."
I forced a wry smile but kept moving, giving him no time to connect the rest. It wasn't two yet, but I didn't care—I'd eat what I bought for myself in my Mini Cooper.
From my car, mid-bite of noodles, I spotted him walking into Sera Elganza.
Don't tell me he's after a position here. Dear God, no.
By the time I returned back to work, Cherry intercepted me at the elevator, snatching a bag to get my attention.
"Trust me," she urgently whispered, "you do not want to go up there right now."
"What? Why? What's happening?"
"I don't know exactly, but look around—everyone else is hiding down here."
A shout thundered from upstairs before I could press any more questions.
"Get the fuck out—now!"
The man in the cashmere-silk suit jogged down the main stairs, grinning like he'd just won the lottery. My chest tightened. That voice upstairs is Ennio's and I had never heard him yell like that. The man stopped mid-lobby, addressing the crowd with a sly smile.
"Sorry, beautiful people. Jealousy's a terrible outfit to wear. Might be too early to break the news, but why wait? Meet your new boss."
Shock rippled through the staff. He pulled out a stack of business cards from his suit's pocket, handing them out like candy. Then he stopped in front of me and Cherry. That grin of his widened.
"Any questions about the new management, feel free to call," he said, winking before turning for the doors.
"Out! Now!"
Ennio stood on the middle steps on the staircase, fury radiating off him.
"Not a good look in front of your employees, Ennio!" the man called back, his voice echoing.
No one called him by his first name here. If the man hadn't bolted for the street, Ennio would've lunged. Cherry's wide eyes met mine. I couldn't even look at her. Do I go upstairs? Or stay down here where it's safe? But the designers were already watching me—waiting. I inhaled sharply and took the elevator with Cherry and that was all the answers they needed to follow.
...............…
Later, in the breakroom, Cherry helped me lay out the food before slipping away. I was left to face Ennio. He stood at the window, back turned, picking at his fingers, the air around him hot with rage.
"Your food's here," I whispered from the doorway. "In the breakroom. All laid out."
He turned slowly. His face looked like it softened up a bit. Key word: a bit.
"Gather all the employees in the breakroom."
Five minutes later, we were crammed inside or right outside the hallway, eyes glued to the floor or out the windows. Ennio stood at the white table in front of all the delicious, expensive food. Normally, I'd be at his side. Not today. His behavior had shattered his own rules of professionalism. Shouting and cursing at people is something I don't condone; especially in a workplace.
"First of all," he said tightly, "I want to apologize for what happened earlier. Any changes to Sera Elganza will come from me first. With that being said—please enjoy the food Ms. Marcie picked up."
The food offer seemed to work as a few smiles cracked from the staff around. Then he was gone like that—back to his office. By the end of the day, he still hadn't touched a plate. I peeked into his office. He was back staring out the windows.
"Hi—um, there's not much left, but I can make you a plate of food."
"Not hungry."
With that blunt response, I gave him space. When I clocked out, I spotted him leaving through the side door. I usually walk him back home but Grant's car appeared out of nowhere, swerving to a stop in front of him. How did I not notice Grant wasn't here today? If he had been, Ennio probably wouldn't have exploded like that. It wasn't a secret, though never confirmed, that Grant had known Ennio since I'm guessing—preschool. He'd make the perfect secretary—if only he weren't so good at being a data analyst.