I returned to the office, sat down in the almost-forgotten, absurdly comfortable chair, and tried to understand: was it all over, or was this awakening just the beginning?
I opened my phone. Nothing. No messages, no calls.
My body still ached, but if they'd ordered me to come back, then it meant I had to work. Probably.
I still didn't understand what my status here was now.
I grabbed the first papers I saw on the desk. Strangely, no one had cleared the mountain of documents from the office. Turned out they were invoices. I began to skim through the lines: price, item, place of purchase. Another line. And another. And before I knew it, I was completely absorbed in the review. Numbers, shipments, minor inconsistencies.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, my subconscious was dripping: inflated. Suspicious. Check it.
I typed the company name into the search bar — nothing. Tried tracking it by details through Google Maps.
"You didn't hear me?" — came Ostin's voice, nearby. Too nearby.
"Yes. Sorry. I just got completely absorbed in the documents." — I looked at him and had no idea what to expect now.
He studied me, as if examining. Or trying to figure something out.
"How are you…" — he wanted to ask. That was obvious. But didn't. He just stood there, in his perfect, expensive suit, and stared.
"Should I not be touching the papers anymore?" — I asked and set the invoices aside. "Sorry, I guess I misunderstood Theron."
"Yes. No. You understood everything correctly. Very much so," — he stepped closer and leaned across the table toward me.
In my mask, he could only see my eyes. And I was one hundred percent certain — that was exactly what he was looking at. His gaze burned right through me. But not a single nerve inside me flinched. Not a single feeling stirred.
"Tomorrow, after the bandages. We have a meeting with Travis," — he said calmly, still piercing me with those grey, beautiful eyes.
"So that means I continue working?" — I asked carefully, not looking away.
"Yes. You continue working. If you're capable of it," — Ostin added.
"Fine. I am capable. And there's no need for a bandage. I already said — I consider it the price for a mistake," — I shrugged and pulled the documents closer again.
I could feel him still standing over me. But I had already returned to the papers.
"It's not for you to decide whether a bandage is needed or not," — I heard Ostin's voice, retreating toward the door. "Sort everything out before lunch. We've invited him for it. I'll accompany you."
He left, gently closing the door behind him.
I froze for a moment. Did that mean Theron believed me? Or was this another test?
Paranoid thoughts began to swarm, and I decided to drown them in paperwork. The more I thought — the deeper I spiraled.
Toward evening, my body began to betray me. The pain returned. Quietly, persistently.
It was Saturday. I wasn't supposed to be working at all. But now I didn't even know what my schedule was.
Slumped in a taxi at six in the evening, I allowed myself, for the first time all day, to just groan. The dull pain was tugging at my shoulders again.
The driver cracked a joke about workaholics on a Saturday. I gave him a smile. Unconvincing, but good enough.
The evening blurred into the background of a music show. Brittany sat beside me. Unnaturally quiet.
"Was everything alright today?" — I stared at the screen but listened to her breathing.
"Yes," — indifferently. "I'm leaving tomorrow around noon."
Goddammit. Right. Tomorrow's Sunday. And I've got lunch with Travis.
For a moment, the whole mess with the schedule started to irritate me. But I shoved it into the back of my mind. I'll deal with it on Monday. Too much has happened lately. I need to get things in order. Shelf by shelf. No need to rush.
I'll start with my body.
I took some pills and collapsed into bed. The pain still breathed somewhere inside me, but more quietly now. I shouted to Brittany in the living room:
"Tomorrow, you'll stay with Derek again."
A muffled "yeah" came in reply. It was enough.
In the morning, like on any regular workday, I was already in the office by nine. Sorting through documents, waiting for the signal. For Ostin to announce the lunch meeting.
I did my best to hide all visible bruises and scrapes. A classic, loose-cut suit turned out to be appropriate once again.
Around eleven, there was a knock at the door. Without looking up from the papers, I called out for them to come in.
"Hi," said Amy.
The doctor from Theron's house stepped into the office, carrying a medical bag in front of her. She quickly glanced around, looking for somewhere to set it down.
"Impressive," she remarked, eyeing the stacks of documents that filled the desk. "I just need a bit of space. A corner of the table or a chair will do. I'll check you quickly and be gone."
I looked at her over the top of the papers. Apparently, my comment about the bandages hadn't gone unnoticed.
Amy was dressed casually: jeans, sneakers, a light sweater, and a short leather jacket over it.
If not for the medical bag, I wouldn't have taken her for a doctor. More like a student.
"I'm fine. This isn't necessary," I said, without standing or looking up from the documents.
"Let's speed up the process. We both know Theron's instructions aren't up for discussion. Let me examine you, and I'll leave right away."
She said it in an even tone, like a memorized line. Even as she spoke, she was still eyeing the papers with quiet amazement.
"Now I see why you ended up with me," she added after a pause, and looked at me over the top of the stack.
I moved some of the papers aside, took off my jacket, and began unbuttoning my shirt from the bottom.
She examined the wounds on my abdomen and along my ribs.
"Healing fast. That's good. Have you been using the ointment?"
"No. Just painkillers."
"Got it."
Amy didn't look away, moved slowly.
"How long have you worked for him?"
"Not long. About three months."
The question felt out of place. I wasn't sure if I was even allowed to answer, but the words were already out. I looked at her warily.
"Then these wounds…" — she ran her hand lightly along the burn marks from cigarette tips, left by my stepfather. "They appeared before you came here."
I recoiled sharply, snapped the shirt shut, and began fastening the buttons.
"Is that all?" I asked.
Something flickered across Amy's face — somewhere between horror and confusion — but she quickly collected herself.
"You've got a deep cut on your arm, near the elbow. Five stitches, in case you missed that. I need to treat it and check it."
She spoke calmly, without pressure.
"The knees too. There are deep abrasions. I need to assess the tissue."
Amy was already opening the bag, laying out antiseptics and bandages. I silently bared the required areas of skin.
I could see how she examined the wounds, but her gaze kept drifting across my skin, pausing on old scars. She tried to hide it, but it was clear she was analyzing every detail.
After treating my arm, she moved to the knees. Her eyes still flicked over my body, scanning for traces.
"You're lucky. Everything's healing well. Even better than I expected. But don't skip the pills or the ointments," she said, rising.
She gathered her supplies, packed everything neatly back into the bag.
"I'll see you in two or three days," she added before leaving, and walked out without looking back.
I didn't have time to compose myself before a short message tone broke the silence clinging to my thoughts.
11:40 — "Parking lot. Now." — Ostin.
I straightened my clothes, glanced in the mirror. Fixed the foundation, and went downstairs.
At the parking lot, a security guard met me and silently escorted me to the car. The same one Theron had placed me into on my first day. Only this time, it wasn't him inside. It was Ostin.
He gave me a brief glance.
"You look fresher."
"A couple of layers of foundation did the trick."
Ostin handed me a folder.
"This is the contract. Travis has rejected it ten times already."
Inside were four pages. I began to read.
The text seemed standard.
"Any comments? Or special points for the negotiations?" — I asked without looking up. Indirectly hinting at Liana.
"None. He just refuses to sign. Gives no reasons, but rumor has it he doesn't like the terms."
I continued searching the text for a flaw.
"Are there any instructions for the meeting?"
"We'll have lunch. Discuss things informally. No official positions," Ostin replied.
"Why him, exactly?" I asked.
It seemed odd. There were plenty of stars on the market, but for some reason, they were holding onto him.
"Theron said it had to be him. And by all metrics, he fits. It's a marketing team decision. And his personal instruction."
The logic was shaky, but arguing was pointless. The task was set.
With Phoenix, I'd already nearly failed. There could be no mistake here. Otherwise, I'd give them reason to write me off.
We pulled up to one of the most expensive restaurants not only in America but in the world.
A valet took the car. We walked inside.
They led us to a table. Travis was already there. Sitting with him was a man around forty — Jack, his manager and agent. We exchanged greetings.
The menus were brought immediately.
I felt uncomfortable. Travis looked straight at me, not even glancing at the menu. I, on the other hand, was almost hiding behind mine, trying not to meet his gaze.
"Are you alright?" he asked.
"Yes." — I pretended not to understand what he meant.
"You have… scratches."
"Sorry. I was in an accident, that's why I postponed the meeting," — I improvised, hoping I'd landed on the right version.
A week had passed, maybe even ten days since the night we'd spoken.
His gaze was still on me, but the waitress distracted him, and the ordering began.
I didn't know what to choose. The menu didn't match my tastes, and the prices looked absurd. I settled on a glass of wine and a glass of water.
Ostin leaned toward me and said quietly:
"Order food. You don't have to eat it."
"I'm fine." — I answered calmly. "I don't need food. It would get in the way."
He looked at me but didn't press the issue. A second later, he was already engaged in a conversation with Jack. They discussed recent company events, and then Ostin handed them an envelope containing ten invitations to the upcoming event.
As soon as the waitress left, I took out the folder and a notepad.
"Would you mind if we got straight to business?" — I wasn't going to draw it out. Formalities irritated me.
"I heard the contract doesn't suit you. Please, tell me what exactly the issue is. Perhaps we can find an alternative that satisfies both parties."
I looked directly at Travis. He froze. Maybe my approach seemed too blunt.
His manager responded.
"The problem is with the clause concerning events. It says Travis must become the face of your corporation and represent the product. But Vescari has subsidiaries dealing with concrete and plumbing. That doesn't align with our image. We've already told Liana the project doesn't work for us."
He spoke cautiously, as if waiting for a reaction. Travis was still staring at me, puzzled.
I flipped through the folder and found the clause.
"You're right, it's there. What exactly would you like to see in the revised version? I understand Vescari is a multi-industry group. I'd like to hear your proposal."
"We were initially invited as representatives, models for events tied to the auction. But this contract goes far beyond that," — Jack clarified, just as carefully.
I glanced at Ostin. He gave no reaction. That meant I could handle the negotiations myself.
"Are there any other concerns?"
"I like you," — Travis said unexpectedly.
Ostin immediately choked on his water.
"Glad to hear that. But let's stay focused on the contract," — I replied calmly.
For a moment, I wondered if I'd been too sharp. I looked up. Both Travis and his manager were smiling — politely, restrained. I returned to the documents.
"Are there any other clauses causing doubt? It's important for us to resolve this as soon as possible. The advertising campaign for the auction has already been launched, and there's little time."
"We understand," — the manager replied. "We'd be happy to cooperate if the terms are adjusted."
He still spoke cautiously, as if testing the waters. It felt strange. Though perhaps I was just too on edge.
I made the necessary notes and closed the folder. At that moment, the food was served.
I leaned toward Ostin and asked:
"May I leave?"
He looked at me with displeasure. Even that he knew how to convey.
"I'll handle the contract," — I said first.
Today's meeting was unplanned, but I was expected somewhere else. Somewhere no less important. Ostin nodded.
"Enjoy your meal. But unfortunately, I have to go," — I said, rising.
I said goodbye, leaving them no room for questions. They nodded. I turned and walked away.
Past expensive tables and people dressed in the same kind of luxury. I was almost at the exit when I heard:
"Mirey, wait."
Travis was catching up to me.
I turned around.
What else did he want?
"Thank you," — he said, still slightly out of breath. "I'm glad your words turned out to be true. Unlike your colleague's."
"We have different approaches to work. That's why Mr. Theron assigned this to me personally. A fresh perspective helps solve tasks from another angle."
"To be honest, even at that party, she kept playing her games. If it weren't for you, we would've gone to court."
"To court?" — I repeated. Apparently, these were details no one told me about.
"First she applied pressure, then started laying out conditions. The last month was nothing but threats. Not a hint of professionalism. She used rumors about Vescari's criminal reputation, tried to intimidate us, tried to seduce. We withdrew from the deal because no one listened to us. The terms weren't open for discussion. It all came down to manipulation."
"In my case, you have nothing to worry about. My methods are different," — I said calmly.
"That's exactly why I'm thanking you."
He stepped forward, I stepped back.
"Let me give you a ride?"
"No, thank you. Go enjoy your lunch."
His friendliness made me uneasy. Without giving him a chance to continue, I turned and left the restaurant.
The staff called a cab for me. I went home.
***
I found Brittany at Derek's place, as always in front of the television. Derek was reading some meaningless book.
We came home. As her guardian, I was required to sign the school documents and handle the payment for tuition and fees.
Gathering all the papers and receipts, I turned to her:
"Is your daily allowance enough? Or are there problems with the other students?"
I wasn't asking out of interest, but because it was expected of me.
"You could throw in a couple extra dollars. Since you're rich now," — she replied with her usual sharpness, packing her backpack and things.
"I'm not rich. I just received income sufficient to pay for your university. Don't get it confused. So the daily limit stays the same."
A scoff in response. Not a word more.
They came to pick her up at six in the evening. As her guardian, I had to sign the transfer documents for the school staff.
Now they were responsible for her while school was in session. That mattered. If I hadn't shown up, it would have been grounds for a complaint. And I already had too many problems.
This wasn't the best time for visits, and as she left, I asked Brittany to give advance notice next time. At least two or three weeks before arriving.
The next day, before lunch, I had the revised contract ready. At the same time, I corrected the previous version, removed the inappropriate clauses, and added wording regarding violations by either party.
At noon I was summoned to Theron. This was the first meeting since the incident. Everything looked as if nothing had happened. I was simply back at work.
When I entered, Liana was sitting next to Theron. He invited me to the large conference table.
I placed two documents in front of him. The new contract and the previous version, marked "Previous version."
I didn't sit beside him. I chose the seat opposite.
"Speak," — Theron said to me.
"Travis was unhappy with clause 4.1. You can compare it with the previous version. I've adjusted the wording according to what we discussed verbally. As I understood it, the issue was only with the scope of his participation and the marketing coverage. I kept only the modeling sector, the jewelry division, and participation in auctions or other events matching his image. For details, I can contact his manager directly. Your corporate spectrum is too broad to expect them to agree to everything. At this stage, they confirm their willingness to work within the specified fields."
I watched as Theron carefully read the clause and compared it with the earlier version. Liana sat nearby. Her eyes shone with tension.
"If we give in to them, we lose serious opportunities," — she objected.
"And if we don't, we lose him as a partner. We can't force someone to sign a contract that doesn't suit them. Even with the advertising campaign already launched, we're left without an official face."
I replied without pausing, without waiting for Theron's permission.
Last time I kept silent. This time — I didn't. This was my assignment. And I wouldn't let her sabotage it.
"Is that all?" — Theron asked.
"Yes. As soon as you approve the fee and the campaign format, we can sign the contract. They're waiting for confirmation. Ready to sign immediately once we agree on the terms."
Liana interrupted.
"Theron, if we make concessions, it'll look like we're chasing him. Give them a little — they'll want everything. You know how they operate. If we leave only a narrow sector for advertising, we'll lose numerous promotion channels."
Theron looked at her. Long and expressionless. Liana fell silent.
"For a year you couldn't get this contract signed. Because of disagreements. Because of missed deadlines. Do you still believe your tactics were right? That it's better to be left without a brand ambassador than show flexibility with key partners?"
His voice was cold, as was his gaze.
She didn't reply. I saw how quickly all her assertiveness evaporated.
Liana had overestimated her position. She forgot that partnership isn't a demonstration of force.
"In four days there will be an event at Royal Hall. The signing will take place there. Prepare the documents and hand them to Ostin for final approval."
His tone had become calmer, but not warmer.
"Yes," — I answered shortly.
I walked up to the table and gathered the documents. Theron didn't look at me. The same detachment radiated from him as from any other superior. No trace of what had happened between us — the drunken, fleeting sex, the torture by his little brother. Only facts. Only business.
"You're dismissed."
He gestured me away and left into the adjoining room.
I was almost at the door when Liana cut me off at the door.
"You should've just gone to the police," — she whispered in my ear and walked out.
…