Page 39 of Kisses and Paperclips

Mika watches me closely, her expression softening. “Serena, girl, you didn’t come this far just to let it all go because of some spoiled son who has no idea what he’s walking into.” Her lips curl into a sly smile. “He has no idea who he’s dealing with.”

I smiled back, feeling that old, familiar spark rekindle inside me. “You’re right. He has no idea who he’s dealing with.”

“Not a clue,” she said, lifting her glass in a toast. “But he’ll figure it out soon enough. And remember—you don’t need anyone’s permission to stand your ground. Whether you’re wearing the CEO title or not, that’s your shit. So, make sure everyone knows it.”

I raise my glass, clinking it against hers. “To making them remember who really run this shit.”

We both take a long sip, and for the first time all day, I feel a sense of calm settle over me. I glance around Nia’s cozy living room, feeling grateful for the women who’s been my rock through it all. They’ve seen me at my worst, lifted me at my best, and right now, they’re here, reminding me of the strength I didn’t realize I still had.

“Now, enough of that mess,” she said, setting down her glass. “Tell me about this boss man. I want to hear more about climbing the walls and speaking in tongues chile!.” She sticks her tongue out, laughed.

I groan, hiding my face in my hands. “Don’t even get me started. It was supposed to be just one night, one time I let myself let go, I swear. And now, I have to see him every day, pretending it never happened. Do you know how awkward that is?”

She bursts out laughing, shaking her head. “Girl, if this isn’t a soap opera waiting to happen…”

I laughed, too, feeling the tension from the day starting to fade, replaced by a lightness I hadn’t felt in weeks.

These ladies have always turned my worst days into something bearable, something I can laugh about. And right now, with her by my side, I feel like I just might be able to face whatever tomorrow brings.

As the night goes on, we trade stories and laughs, the pain of the day fading into the background. And by the time I leave, I feel like a different woman—one who’s ready to fight for what’s hers, no matter what.

Chapter 8

Julien

I gave two sharp knocks, but she won’t even answer. After the way she stormed out yesterday, I wouldn’t blame her. A cold shoulder would be well within her right. But a beat later, I hear it.

“Come in.”

Cool. Even. Like I hadn’t just watched her unravel and rebuild herself in the span of a breath. I step inside, expecting sterile. Steel gray, glass, impersonal vibes. A workspace meant to keep people at a distance. But no, this is Serena. Of course, it isn’t what I expected. She’s the kind of woman who bends rules and rewrites the manual, then dares you to keep up. The office is clean but curated. It has sleek lines, soft light, and every detail is intentional. It feels expensive without trying too hard. It is feminine but not delicate. It’s powerful without shouting. And then there’s her. Sitting behind a desk awash in pinks and golds, she looks like power dressed in silk. Hair pulled back like she means business. Lips slightly pursed, not from irritation, but calculation. Eyes tracking me like I’m a problem she already knows how to solve. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she belonged on the cover of a magazine. Something glossy and intimidating. The Woman Who Outsold You, Outpaced You, and Did It All in Heels. And here I am, just a man trying not to stare too long. Too late.

She’s got her hair down today, soft curls cascading over her shoulders, like she let it out of the tight bun she’d worn yesterday just to remind the world she could be both ruthless and effortlessly beautiful. Her blouse is blue pinstripes buttoned up with pearls resting at the collar and is perfectly tailored, hugging curves I have no business noticing.

She finally looks up from whatever document she’s reviewing, and our eyes meet. There’s no warmth there. No humor. Just sharp, assessing silence.

I moved farther into the office, glancing at her desk. It’s obnoxiously pink. Aggressively pink. Every office supply I’ve ever seen exists here in some version of rose, blush, or bubblegum. I reach for a small heart-shaped container of pink paperclips, rolling them between my fingers, the soft rattle of metal filling the silence.

I smirk, shaking the container. “So, let me guess, pink’s your favorite color?”

Serena lifts a brow, unimpressed. “You cracked the code, Sherlock.”

I chuckle, setting the paperclips down, but my amusement is short-lived. Because I didn’t come here to make small talk about her questionable taste in office supplies.

I came here for answers.

And judging by the way she’s watching me now, her chin lifted, arms crossed, completely unbothered, she knows it too.

So, that’s where we’re at, I’m the enemy. I did not know my mother would pull a stunt like that. I was supposed to meet her at her office meeting, get introduced to her staff, and check out her office, but then she goes and makes this wild-ass announcement. Now, she’s got my baby here fuming out her ears.

“Enjoying the new title of CEO?” Her words dripped with sarcasm, and I knew better than to take the bait. I don’t know her well enough, but a blind man could see she was itching for a fight, and her tone was irritated.

I hesitated, unsure of how to approach her. “I just wanted to check on you,” I said tentatively. “You seemed upset yesterday.”

Her eyes narrowed, the warmth in them cooling into steel. “Upset is an understatement.” Her voice was clipped, precise. “Your mother has a gift for pissing me off.”

She looked up at me then, and damn anger looked good on her. Those brown eyes sparkled like fire catching glass, lips tight, jaw clenched. And I’d be lying if I said it didn’t craved that fire.

“That’s between you and her,” I said, keeping my voice even. “Don’t make it about us.”

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