Page 24 of Kisses and Paperclips

Steven’s head snaps up, guilt written all over his face. “Oh… morning, Serena.” His voice is too bright, too chipper. A dead giveaway.

I arch a brow, setting my bag down with deliberate precision. “And what, pray tell, is going on today?”

His eyes dart left, then right, scanning the open office like someone might jump out and tackle him mid-conversation. Leaning in, he lowers his voice to a near whisper. “Not here,” he hissed, nodding toward my office. “Your office.”

Oh, it’s that bad.

I pivot without a word, heels clicking like a countdown, Steven trailing behind me like a kid caught red-handed. The second the door closes behind us, he exhales dramatically, running a hand over his gelled hair.

“Well?” I prompt, crossing my arms and staring him down.

“Quinn saw something last night,” he begins, voice low and conspiratorial.

I roll my eyes. “Quinn always sees something. The man collects gossip like it’s a side hustle.”

“This time it’s big,” Steven insisted, leaning on my desk for emphasis. “He was in Ms. Brooks’s office and saw a letter.”

“A letter?” I repeat, unimpressed.

He nods solemnly, like he’s revealing state secrets. “Her resignation letter.”

The words hit like ice water down my back. “Her what?”

“Signed, dated—the whole thing. She’s stepping down.”

I blink, letting the shock settle. Evelyn Brooks resigning? The woman who built this company from nothing, who trusted me—me—to keep it running like it was my own? No, this can’t be right.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” I demanded, my voice sharper than I intended.

“I tried!” Steven throws up his hands, his voice climbing. “I called, texted, even left voicemails. But you didn’t pick up.”

Oh. Last night.

Heat creeps up my neck as flashes of Julien flood my memory—his hands, his mouth, the way he whispered my name like a promise. Lord help me, I was too busy having my soul snatched to even glance at my phone.

“I was… busy,” I said, brushing the thought aside.

Steven quirks a brow, but he’s too smart to comment. Instead, he leans back, idly twirling his earring, swiveling side to side in the chair like he’s waiting for the storm to pass.

But something about the way he won’t meet my eyes sparks a warning deep in my gut.

“Whose name was on the letter, Steven?” I asked, my voice dipping into that tone—the boss voice. The one that crushes excuses and demands answers.

He swallows hard, his gaze flickering everywhere but at me. Steven hates when I shift into work mode. It’s earned me a few nicknames around the office—ones he thinks I don’t know about—but I couldn’t care less.

Because here’s the thing: a woman in corporate doesn’t have room for tears, niceties, or excuses. Being a “bitch” gets answers.

It gets the job done.

Steven finally clears his throat, his eyes darting toward the door like he’s considering bolting. “The name on the letter,” he muttered, barely above a whisper. “It was blank.”

Time freezes, then rushes back in like a tidal wave.

“Blank?” I echo, narrowing my eyes.

Steven nods, his expression tight, like he’s just delivered news he’d rather not be the messenger for. “Signed, sealed, but no name filled in. Like she’s waiting to handpick her successor.”

The air thickens, heavy with questions I don’t want to ask out loud. Evelyn Brooks stepping down without naming her replacement? It doesn’t make sense. The woman has plans for plans. If the name isn’t written yet, it means she’s still deciding—or hiding something.

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