⸻
I sit stiffly in one of the two chairs across from Julian's desk.
He hasn't said a word.
Just walked in, shut the door, and now stands at the window with his back to me—silent, unreadable, sipping from a sleek black mug like he's pondering life's great mysteries instead of the fact that I used a designer sweater as a mop.
Okay, yeah. When you say it like that—it sounds bad.
But still. I'm not sorry.
The silence stretches. The room smells like bergamot, leather, and judgment.
Finally, he speaks.
"You really thought using someone's personal clothing as a mop was an appropriate response?"
His voice is calm. Controlled. Too calm.
"She poured her coffee on the floor on purpose. Right after I cleaned it."
He turns, one brow raised. "And that justifies... this?"
"She did it to provoke me."
"You let her."
Ouch.
I look away, jaw tightening. My fingers dig into the edges of the chair.
"I'm not here to be bullied," I say quietly.
Julian leans against his desk, arms crossed. "Neither am I. Yet somehow I've spent the morning watching my employees gossip over a ruined sweater and a hallway drama fit for daytime TV."
"So that's it? I get lectured for defending myself?"
"You think this is me yelling?"
"Whatever this is, I didn't start it."
He sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
"I don't have time for this. We're on a deadline. Understaffed. And somehow, you've become the biggest distraction in the building."
I straighten. "So what—are you going to fire me?"
"No."
I blink. "Wait, seriously?"
"I'm not firing you," he repeats, voice clipped. "Yet."
There's something in his tone—like he wants to sound in control, but the decision wasn't as easy as he'd like to pretend.
He picks up a folder and flips it open, not even glancing at me.
Then, casually:
"Kara's sweater? Not company issue. Her behavior? Also not company approved."
He says it like it's nothing. Tosses the folder back onto the desk.
But I catch it.
That was him—defending me. Without actually saying the words. Without giving me the satisfaction.
I don't smile.
But I want to.
"She's going to hate that," I mutter.
"That's not my problem," he replies dryly. "And it better not become mine."
Message received.
As I leave, I glance back once. He's still watching me—quiet, unreadable.
But something in his eyes flickers. Not anger.
Something else.
⸻
Outside the office, Kara is waiting. Leaning against the doorframe of the employee lounge with an expectant little smirk, like she's waiting for me to cry and pack my bags.
Instead, I smile at her. Not sweet. Not fake. A not-today-Satan kind of smile.
Then I walk right past her, pour myself a cup of coffee, and sit down like I own the place.
She stands frozen, visibly fuming, before spinning on her heel and storming into Julian's office.
Every eye in the room is on me.
It's... weird.
"You're still here?" someone blurts.
Then it starts.
"How did you not get fired?"
"Does this mean Kara and the boss aren't dating?"
"Wait—can we stand up to her now too?!"
They swarm me like I'm the second coming of workplace rebellion.
Then a tall, tan woman with almond eyes and a calming energy steps forward. "Okay, okay. Give her some space. You're overwhelming her."
I shoot her a grateful look.
She smiles. "I'm Hanna, by the way. And I don't mean to fangirl, but what you did back there was... kind of iconic."
"Glad someone enjoyed it."
"Are you kidding? Watching Kara get put in her place after the way she's treated everyone? Priceless."
Before I can respond, Kara bursts from Julian's office. Her face is flushed, eyes wild. She looks like she's about to explode—but then just glares daggers at me, bites her lip, and stomps away.
What did he say to her?
A moment later, Julian steps out into the lounge.
"Good afternoon," he says, voice firm. "I want to address what happened today."
I freeze.
"Two employees disrupted operations today—one deliberately ruined another's work, and the other damaged personal property. I was lenient this time. But let this be clear—moving forward, this behavior will not be tolerated. Any future incidents will result in serious consequences."
His eyes lock onto mine as he says it.
I shift in my seat under his gaze, heartbeat skittering.
"That is all. Get back to work."
He turns and walks away without another word.
Hanna turns to me. "Well... that was intense."
"Yeah," I mumble, still processing.
Then she adds, grinning, "Are we sure you're not the boss's girlfriend?"
I whip around. "What?! Absolutely not. We're not even friends."
She smirks. "Didn't look like it with all that eye contact."
I bite my lip. No comeback. Because she's not entirely wrong.
What was that?
I shoot up from my seat. "I, uh—need to finish the hallway."
"Sure you do," she says, smug.
I grab my mop and bucket, sighing. Thanks to the crowd and the chaos, the hallway's trashed again.
Yay. Overtime.
⸻
A Few Hours Later
Everyone's gone. The office is dark and quiet as I head to my locker, changing out of the uniform and back into my clothes from this morning.
I'm walking toward the exit when I see him—Julian—crossing the parking lot.
I almost duck and run.
Then—
"Regina?"
I freeze.
He sounds... surprised. Like he didn't expect to see me here.
"What are you doing here this late?"
I hesitate. Then turn around.
"What do you think? After redoing an entire hallway and still finishing all my tasks? Of course I'm leaving late."
He pauses, like he actually feels bad. "Well... maybe I can make it up to you."
I scoff. "How?"
"I'll give you a ride."
I blink. "Absolutely not. I'm fine taking the train."
"You're going to walk to the station alone at this hour?"
"I'm a grown woman. I have pepper spray."
"Great. You can fend off crime and toxic masculinity," he says dryly. "Still not enough. I'm coming with you."
He steps beside me like it's already decided.
I chuckle at the image of him tailing me like a brooding bodyguard. Or worse, a lost puppy.
"What's funny?"
"Nothing."
"You think this is a joke? I'm serious. Either let me drop you off, or I follow you."
"God, you're stubborn."
He smirks. "You're one to talk."
Then he adds: "Besides... your train already left."
I stiffen. "What?!"
"Look at the time."
I check my phone. Past eight. He's right. The train's long gone.
Panic flickers. "Wait—how do you know where I live?"
He raises an eyebrow. "You live with Cora, right? She's the one who called me. Set up the job. Said you needed work."
Oh. Right. That happened.
I sigh, defeated.
"So now you have to come with me."
I groan, stomp toward his car, and mutter, "This is going to be a long ride"