Oh, for crying out loud.
I stare at my phone, still clutched in my hand. Nolan Crane. Nolan freaking Crane.
I slam my phone onto the bed like that can undo the last five minutes of my life. My brain is replaying the conversation on repeat. I can hear Mr. Crane's voice and my awkward stammering about "that thing we discussed earlier," which apparently we hadn't discussed at all.
"Oh my God," I jump down from my bed, pacing the room. "Oh. My. God. What did I just do?!"
Just then, my phone starts vibrating on the bed.
I freeze. My heart leaps into my throat. He's calling back.
For a split second, I contemplate answering. Then reality slaps me in the face. Absolutely not. Nope. Nada. This is not happening.
Instead of picking up, I reach out for my bag on the bedside table. Maybe there's something in here that'll make this all make sense. I dig through the mess—lip balm, a pen, a half-empty pack of mints—until my hand finally brushes against something solid.
A business card.
I pull it out and squint at the name. Richard Gaines.
I groan and slap my forehead. So that's what happened. Mr. Gaines gave me his card at the restaurant, and I shoved it in my bag right next to Mr. Crane's, the one he handed me earlier at work. In my haste, I must've grabbed the wrong one.
Why didn't I just check the name? One simple glance, and I'd have called the right person and avoided the potential wrath of the one man I absolutely cannot afford to piss off.
The phone continues to ring. Again and again. It's relentless, like a mosquito that won't stop whining in your ear no matter how much you swipe at it. I shove it under the pillow like that'll somehow make it stop existing. Spoiler alert: it doesn't.
"Oh, why me?" I groan. My thoughts are a whirlwind of embarrassment, terror, and… okay, just plain embarrassment.
I shake my head and try to analyze the situation.
Okay, I called Mr Crane instead. What if I accidentally said too much? Did I let something slip about what Mr. Gaines asked me to do? If I did, is that bad? I try to replay the conversation, but my brain's fried.
A minute passes. Then, a ding.
I whip my head toward the phone like it's a bomb about to go off. Cautiously, I lift the pillow and retrieve the phone. 1 New Message.
I don't want to open it. I know I shouldn't open it. But curiosity is cruel. My thumb swipes across the screen, and there it is:
Pick up the phone. Now. –Nolan Crane
My stomach churns. He's not even using polite corporate-speak. No "Miss Cole," no "please." Just an authoritative command, and I can practically hear his voice in my head.
I bury my face in my hands. What am I going to do tomorrow? We work in the same office! There's no escape. He'll see me the moment I walk in, and his laser-sharp eyes will probably cut me in half.
I groan, sinking under the covers. Maybe I could call in sick. Or fake laryngitis. Or resign and move to a small village in the middle of nowhere where I can run away from all my problems.
It's only been three days since I've gotten this job and it feels my life is a melodrama. Why does everything seems to be against me?
I set an alarm on my phone and afterwards, drift into an uneasy sleep amidst thoughts of how I can get fifty thousand dollars as soon as possible.
...
A shrill noise drags me out of a dream where I was holding a massive lottery check. But then the alarm continues to beep and reality hits like a brick to the face.
I switch the alarm off and groan. Morning already? Ugh!
I sit up and take a deep breath. There's no way around this. I have to go to work, no matter how much I'd rather crawl under my bed and live there forever.
Dragging myself out of bed, I stumble to the bathroom, and take a warm shower, for the first time in ages. I spend about twenty minutes and allow the warm water to soak into my skin and relieve me of all the tension, but it does little. Because by the time I'm out, my nerves are shot up again.
I go through three outfit changes, trying to find something suitable to wear. I finally settle on a blue midi wrap dress—one of the few dresses I own that are actually worth something more than just a few bucks. I brush my hair furiously and somehow, the curled bottom still manages to get tangled up.
Ugh, Girl problems.
I'm hungry. I didn't really have any decent meal yesterday. I hurriedly sift through the cupboard with one hand, as I wear my flat ballets with the other, looking for anything edible, but I find nothing and the sound of crickets float from the cupboard through the tiny kitchen.
I check the fridge. Nothing in here too except some old crackers and a tin of milk which I eye suspiciously. Who knows how long that has been there?
Ew.
I slam it shut and grab my black handbag. I fuss with my hair, which is not cooperating with me, as I walk out the door and lock it behind me.
I walk down the street to the little diner, for the second day in a row now. The smell of fried eggs and coffee greets me pass me as I sit in a chair. I normally don't buy coffee here because I did once and it tasted horrible. For today, I just settle with bacon and eggs, again.
I pick at my scrambled eggs after it has been served. I wonder how I was able to sleep so peacefully last night with all the chaotic things going on in my life. The events of the previous evening replay in my head and I cringe.
"Why didn't you just look at the name?" I mutter under my breath, stabbing my eggs with unnecessary force.
The waitress stops by with a tired smile. "Need anything else?"
"No, thank you," I reply, forcing a polite smile.
I glance at a clock on the wall. 8:12 AM. I've got enough time to get to the office, but the fact that I'll have to face Mr Crane makes me wish I could hit rewind on my life.
I sigh as I eat the last slices of overcooked bacon. I need to go grocery shopping soon.
I finish my breakfast, pay the bill, and head out. I hail a cab and take a ride to work.
When I get to the building, I head directly to the elevator. I always try to avoid many staff as I can because of Mr Crane's warnings. to stay away from everyone.
I enter the passcode for the elevator and the wait for the doors slide open, and I step into it, hitting the button for the fifth floor. A few others join me—one guy in a suit scrolling through his phone, a woman I vaguely recognize, and then her.
Jessy.
She doesn't say a word as she steps in, but our eyes meet for a split second. She gives me a little wave and I wave back and quickly look away.
Mr. Crane sleeps with all his secretaries.
Her voice from that day echoes in my mind, and my cheeks burn. I try to focus on the blinking floor numbers, but I can feel her gaze on me.
When the elevator reaches the fifth floor, I step out, relieved to escape the awkward silence.
"Hey, Aria," Jessy calls after me, her tone friendly.
I pause and turn, keeping my expression neutral. "Yes?"
"We should grab coffee sometime," she says with a small smile.
I force a smile back. "Sure."
The doors slide shut, and I exhale, muttering under my breath, "Not happening."
After flashing my ID card to the guard at the entrance, I walk down the corridor to the office. I see Mr Crane, through the glass, sitting at the desk and typing away on the computer. He's wearing just a waistcoat today, without a suit. It's a fitted and navy blue which complements his eyes.
I try to keep my head down as I walk in but I can feel his eyes on me immediately. My cheeks flush. I hear his low, commanding voice say, "Miss Cole."
I look up to meet his gaze. His expression is calm, but his tone is sharp.
"G-good morning." I say, trying—and failing—to sound calm. I sit on the chair across from him.
He looks at his watch, a silver Rolex. "You're a few minutes early. Before you read out my schedule, let's talk about the call and why you kept ignoring my texts afterwards," he says, leaning back in his chair.
My stomach drops. I force a weak laugh, hoping to play it off. "It was a mistake. I meant to call someone else—"
He raises a hand, cutting me off. "I'm aware. You mentioned the name of the person you thought you were talking to. You meant to call Mr. Gaines, correct?"
I stiffen, nodding slowly. "Yes."
He leans forward, resting his forearms on the desk. "What exactly were you discussing with him, Miss Cole?"
My throat feels dry. "It was nothing. Just… personal."
"Personal," he repeats, his voice laced with skepticism. "You told me yesterday he didn't know you and mistook you for someone else. Now you're being personal."
"B-but sir...I—"
"So personal that you needed to tell him you weren't 'cut out for something like this.'"
My heart races. I glance down at my hands, unable to meet his gaze. "It's not what you think."
He lets out a humorless chuckle. "Then enlighten me. What was he asking you to do, exactly? And was he planning to pay you for it?"
I whip my head up, my face burning. "No! It wasn't like that at all!"
"Wasn't it?" he counters smoothly. "Because from where I'm sitting, it sounds like Mr. Gaines has put you in a… compromising position."
I shake my head, flustered. "I swear, he didn't ask me to do anything inappropriate."
He arches a brow. "Really? Because you also mentioned needing the money 'desperately.'"
I wince. Why does he have to remember everything?
"Look," I say, my voice trembling, "I don't know what you think happened, but it's not what it seems."
"Then explain it to me," he says, his tone sharp. "Because I'd hate to think one of my employees is being manipulated, or even coerced, by someone like Gaines."
I shake my head again, my voice barely above a whisper. "He's not coercing me."
He studies me, his piercing eyes narrowing. "Then why were you alone with him in the conference room yesterday after everyone else had left? Don't give me that talk about him mistaking you for someone else."
My mind searches for an answer. "We were just… talking," I say lamely.
"About what?" he presses.
I glance away, wishing the ground would swallow me whole. "Nothing important."
"Miss Cole," he says, his voice dropping to a dangerous low, "I don't have time for games. If Gaines has made some absurd request of you, I need to know."
I meet his gaze, my voice breaking as I speak. "He didn't."
His jaw tightens, and he leans back in his chair, his gaze still fixed on me. "You're not very convincing."
I bite my lip, torn between relief that he doesn't know the truth and embarrassment that he thinks I'm involved in something inappropriate.
After a long pause, he exhales sharply. "Listen carefully, Miss Cole. I don't know what Gaines has over you, but I strongly advise you to stay away from him."
I blink, surprised by the sudden shift in his tone. "Why?"
His eyes meet mine, and for a moment, I think I see something almost… protective? But it's gone as quickly as it appeared.
"I've told you before. He's dangerous," he says simply.
I swallow hard. "Dangerous how?"
His lips press into a thin line. "You'd prefer not to know."
The finality in his tone leaves no room for argument. He turns back to his computer, effectively dismissing me, and I sit there in stunned silence, my mind racing.
He looks up again after some minutes. "Oh, and Miss Cole?"
"Yes?"
"It's easy to tell that you're lying. I know everything that transpired between you and Mr Gaines yesterday. One thing I want to know though is ''Why are you not telling me?'"
Wait what? He knows?
How is that even possible?