I slipped behind my desk, trying to be invisible as I booted up my computer. No sooner than I set my bag down, I heard a familiar, agitated voice behind me.
“Well, look who finally decided to show up for work today.”
I winced at Nina’s sharp voice. She stood beside my desk, arms folded across her busty chest as her perfect, blunt-cut bob with blond highlights swung while she shook her head. Nina was two inches taller than I was without heels, and her complexion was about two shades lighter than mine. There was a beauty mark on her left cheek that moved just about as much as her chin-length bob every time she opened her mouth. She was clad in a fitted navy blue pantsuit and had traded in her usual heels for a pair of ballet flats before lunchtime, which told me the morning had been just as crazy as it looked.
“Nina, I’m soooo sor—” I began, but she cut me off.
“Save it, Simora. This isn’t working out. You’re too unreliable for this position, and today of all days?—”
“Please, Nina. Mason was sick. I was up all night with him, and I overslept. It won’t happen again.”
“You said that the last time this very thing happened, Simora.” Her voice softened slightly, and for a moment, I saw genuine regret in her eyes. “Look, I understand you’re a single mom. I was raised by one, so I get that it’s tough, but at the end of the day, this is a business. I warned you about this yesterday. We need people we can count on to keep things running smoothly, and you’re not it.”
“I need this job,” I whispered, aware of how pitiful I sounded. “The health insurance, the stable hours?—”
“You should’ve thought of that before,” she replied swiftly, her professional mask slipping back into place. “Clear out yourdesk. HR will email you about where to send your final paycheck and whatever unused leave you have.”
Not much.
My mouth went bone dry. “You’re firing me? Right now? After I?—”
Nina waved her hand to silence me. “Mr. Holland himself is here today reviewing departmental efficiency. Do you think I have a choice?” she challenged, voice lowered. “You’ve missed eleven days of work and been late seventeen times in the last six months, Simora. If you were me, would you keep you?”
Each number felt like a physical blow. I wanted to argue that most of those were for legitimate reasons—Mason’s asthma attacks, daycare closures, the one time I actually had the flu myself—but I knew it wouldn’t matter to her or anyone else in upper management. Data-driven results were all that mattered in the office.
“Fine,” I said, swallowing down all the profanity that was itching to fall off my tongue. “I’ll pack up and I’ll be on my way.”
It didn’t take long. A framed photo of Mason, a spare pair of sneakers for walk breaks around the building, some protein bars for when I forgot to bring my lunch, and a small succulent plant that didn’t require much attention. All those years I spent at my desk, and my entire career fit right into a single printer paper carton box.
As I gathered my things, the office seemed to grow quieter. People avoided eye contact, the way they always did when someone was being marched out for one reason or another. Still, I kept my chin held high, determined not to let a tear slip until no one was around.
Then, suddenly, the atmosphere shifted. Peoples’ postures straightened and their voices hushed. I looked up to see a small entourage of suits making their way through our department.In the center, taller than the others, was a man I’d only seen in company newsletters and business magazines.
Adonis Holland.
Even from a distance, his presence was commanding. Low, dark curls crowned his head, with the sides tapered into a fresh fade at the temples. His broad shoulders rested under a seamlessly tailor-made charcoal gray suit with tattoo ink peeking out from above his collar, and he had a face that would’ve been breathtakingly handsome if his expression weren’t so cold. He must’ve been in his mid-thirties, but sauntered with the confidence of someone who’d been rich and powerful since the day he took his first breath.
I froze, clutching my carton box. Our eyes met for a split second—his were a startling cognac brown—before his gaze slid past me like I was invisible—just another disposable employee. The group disappeared into the conference room, and my chest deflated with a hard exhale, not realizing I’d even been holding my breath.
“You should go now,” Nina whispered.
I nodded, unable to speak past the words trapped in my throat. With my box of belongings balanced against my hip, I walked to the elevator, keeping my back straight and my steps measured. Only when the doors closed did I allow my shoulders to slump in defeat and my breath hitch. The elevator descended silently, and I stared at my blurry reflection in the polished doors, as anxiety seeped in.How am I going to tell Mason we might have to move from the only home he’s ever known? How in the hell am I gonna pay for his asthma medicine without insurance?
The tears came, hot and angry, spilling down my cheeks like a wild waterfall before I could stop them. I wiped them away furiously, but they kept coming. All my hard work, of rushing home to my son only to finish reports after he was asleep,of skipping lunch to save money for his birthday presents and Christmas—all gone because I wasn’t able to be in two places at once.
The elevator slowed to a halt at the sixteenth floor, and I quickly turned away, hoping whoever entered wouldn’t notice my meltdown. The doors slid open, and through my peripheral vision, I saw a tall figure step in. My heart stopped dead in my chest when I realized who it was.
Adonis Holland stood beside me, close enough for me to smell his expensive cologne. He didn’t acknowledge me, staring straight ahead as the doors closed.How in the hell did he get from my floor down here that fast?I frantically wiped my face, praying he would continue to treat me as invisible as I wanted to feel. But of course, he didn’t.
“You alright?” His voice was deep, with a slight rasp that caught me off guard.
“I’m fine,” I replied automatically, my voice betraying me with a slight crack.
That should’ve been the end of it. But to my horror, he reached out to jab the emergency stop button with his thumb. The elevator jerked to a halt, and I stumbled slightly, my box nearly slipping from my grasp.
“What are you?—”
“You’re crying,” he stated matter-of-factly, “in my elevator.”
