By 9:14 a.m., the entire office had spiritually collapsed.
The elevator incident replayed in everyone's heads like a cursed TikTok sound. Every time someone pressed the button, they flinched like it was about to explode with moaning and bad decisions.
Meanwhile, Alexander Blackwood (walking felony in a Brioni suit) acted like the calmest man alive. Probably because nothing fazes someone who showers in Evian and pays four grand for a haircut that looks exactly the same as yesterday.
Me?
I was calculating how many floors I'd fall before death if I yeeted myself out the window.
I had exactly three assignments that morning:
Get the Maybach detailed (because someone's handprints were still on the back windows).
Fetch Y/N's green juice (light ice, extra ginger, no kale because she's "allergic to responsibilities").
Try not to commit homicide.
Spoiler: I almost failed number three.
9:18 a.m.
Miguel from Finance grabbed my wrist in the hallway like a telenovela auntie having visions.
"Riley… tell me it wasn't real."
"It was real," I said. "It was so real and I can still smell her Victoria's Secret perfume mixed with poor life choices."
Miguel clutched his cross necklace. "I haven't heard sounds like that since my neighbor's cat got stuck in the dryer."
Sarah from Marketing sprinted over, eyes wild.
"Emergency HR meeting. Conference Room C. Victoria looks like she's one moan away from quitting."
I gripped my iced coffee so hard the lid popped off.
"We're so dead."
9:30 a.m. – HR's Funeral
We filed in like we were attending our own execution.
Victoria stood at the front. No smile. Bob haircut sharper than my resentment.
"It has come to my attention," she began, voice shaking, "that an explicit 34-second audio file was sent in the intern group chat this morning."
Dead silence.
Kevin from IT fake-coughed "daddy issues" into his elbow.
Victoria's eye twitched.
"And," she continued, "a separate incident occurred in the glass elevator was visible to the entire east side of the building."
You could hear souls leaving bodies.
Then she asked the fatal question:
"Does anyone know who sent the audio?"
Forty-seven pairs of eyes turned to me.
Me. The girl who carried the CEO's side-chick's damp panties like a war criminal carrying evidence.
I raised both hands. "I would literally rather die than willingly play that file."
A few people nodded in solidarity.
Victoria pinched the bridge of her nose so hard I thought she'd snap it off.
"Riley," she sighed. "Just… summarize."
"Well," I started, "I was having a peaceful bathroom breakdown—"
Sarah whispered, "Relatable."
"—when my phone started blowing up. Next thing I know my ears are being waterboarded by 'yes daddy harder' in 4K surround sound."
Victoria closed her eyes like she was praying for early retirement.
"New rule," she said. "No personal audio during work hours. Ever."
Kevin raised his hand. "Does that include—"
"YES KEVIN IT INCLUDES PORN."
Meeting dismissed. We left in silence, bonded by shared trauma.
10:02 a.m. – The CEO Summons
Phone buzzed.
From: Alexander Blackwood
Subject: My office. Now.
Miguel blessed me with his breakfast burrito hand. Sarah offered to water Kevin the plant at my funeral.
I walked in like a dead woman.
Alexander was staring out at the skyline, hands in pockets, looking illegally expensive.
"You wanted to see me, sir?"
He turned. Jawline sharp enough to commit war crimes.
"Riley," he said, calm as ever. "Y/N is upset about this morning."
Upset.
The girl who just got finger-banged in public is upset.
"She refuses to focus unless someone she trusts is with her today."
I waited for the punchline.
There wasn't one.
"So for the rest of the day," he continued, "you will accompany her. Keep her… calm."
I blinked. "Sir, with all due respect, I'm marketing, not a emotional support puppy."
He stared.
I folded faster than laundry.
"Yes, Mr. Blackwood."
I turned to leave.
"And Riley," he added.
I froze.
"Do not discuss this morning's events again."
I smiled the smile of the damned.
"Sir, forty-seven floors already have the footage. Pretty sure Tokyo has it too."
His eye twitched. Just once.
"You may go."
10:11 a.m. – Babysitting Satan in Louboutins
I found Y/N draped across his office couch like a depressed influencer.
"Bestieeee," she whined, "they're all being so mean in the group chat."
The group chat that SHE sent the moan to.
She sat up, eyes sparkling with tears that definitely cost money.
"Alexander said you're my emotional support human today!"
She clapped. "We're gonna have so much fun!"
I looked at the ceiling for strength.
She grabbed my hand.
"First, brunch! I'm craving truffle avocado toast, then maybe Sephora, then—"
"We're at work," I said.
She blinked twice.
"…are we?"
I aged ten years in one second.
She linked arms with me and dragged me toward the elevator (the crime-scene elevator).
As the doors closed she whispered:
"Bestie, do you think Alexander will propose soon? I wore the red lingerie today. The one with the tiny bows."
I stared at our reflection in the mirrored walls.
Somewhere between floor 46 and 45, my soul officially left my body.
footnote: if anyone needs me i'll be in the stairwell screaming into kevin the plant
tell my mom i loved her
and tell y/n the red lingerie is cute but the personality is ugly.
***************
Extra chapter 2(I)
By 10:27 a.m. I had an epiphany:
I'm not an employee.
I'm a full-time emotional support slave for a golden retriever who shoplifts Chanel.
Y/N was literally bouncing through the lobby like she didn't traumatize forty-seven floors before breakfast.
"Bestie, somewhere cute! Somewhere with vibes! Sparkly vibes!"
I repeated it like a broken NPC. "Sparkly… vibes."
"Yes!! Girly and expensive so Mr Alexander knows I only eat food that costs more than most people's rent."
"His yearly haircut budget is higher than my student loans," I muttered.
She gasped. "Is that taxable?"
I considered walking into oncoming traffic.
By 10:32 a.m we were at La Fleur (aka Fancy Toast & Emotional Damage)
The hostess saw us and aged five years on the spot.
Y/N ordered glitter mimosas like a toddler asking for juice.
Halfway through her 127th selfie, God decided I hadn't suffered enough.
Alexander Blackwood walked in.
Full suit. Looking like he owns the concept of money.
The restaurant went dead silent except for one guy choking on eggs Benedict.
Y/N squealed "BABYYYYY"
so loud three wine glasses cracked.
He closed his eyes for one exhausted second, then walked over.
I prayed he'd take her away.
Instead he sat down.
Y/N immediately climbed into his lap like it was a beanbag.
I stared into my latte like it was a crystal ball showing me unemployment.
Alexander fixed his cufflinks, then looked at me.
"Riley. I reviewed your file."
My ancestors started planning my funeral.
"Your performance has been… exemplary."
I almost dropped my cup. "…Exemplary?"
"The only reason this company hasn't burned down," he said, completely serious.
I glanced at Y/N currently trying to lick glitter off the rim of her glass.
"Respectfully, sir, we're one mood swing away from arson."
He ignored that.
"Effective immediately, you're promoted."
Y/N gasped like she won the lottery. "Bestie is becoming a REAL employee!!"
Bitch like I wasn't here years before she stepped in.
"You," he continued, "will now manage Y/N full-time."
I blinked so hard I saw stars.
"So… you're promoting me to professional babysitter."
Tiny CEO smirk. "If you prefer the crude term."
Y/N clapped. "Bestie we're official coworkers! Enemies-to-lovers trope loading—"
"Yes," I said.
"No," Alexander said.
We said it at the same time.
The waitress brought Y/N's glitter avocado toast and my dignity (still missing).
Alexander's phone buzzed. He glanced, stood, gently moved Y/N off his lap like moving a very expensive cat.
"I have a call."
Y/N pouted. "You're leaving me?"
"I'm leaving Riley in charge of you."
She sighed dramatically. "Same thing."
Before he left, he placed his black Amex on the table like he was knighting me.
"Take her wherever she wants. Keep her happy. And if anything happens to her-" he stared at me.
I knew that my life and job was at stake here.
With that he walked away.
Y/N snatched the card faster than light.
"Bestie we're going SHOPPING."
"No."
"Six stores minimum."
"No."
"Lingerie included."
"Absolutely not—"
"For Alexander to rip off later," she added with a wink.
I stood up so fast the chair screamed.
"Fine. But if you hand me one more pair of used underwear, I'm reporting you to the FBI."
She looped her arm through mine and dragged me out.
As we walked past the hostess, I heard her whisper into her headset:
"Send help. The glitter demon is back and she brought the CEO's credit card."
footnote:
current location: soho
current mood: hostage
current balance on the black amex: unlimited
current balance on my soul: negative $47k and dropping
pray for me.
chapter 3 is gonna be the lingerie store incident and i'm already deceased.