Chapter 8: A DIFFERENT MOOD

LILA

I struggle to get out of bed when my alarm goes off, given that I have barely had any sleep.  And when I manage to get up, I have perhaps 30 seconds of grogginess before everything that kept me awake at night hits me like a brick. I groan, dreading going to work and having to face both Ezra and Mr. Sterling. Then, I move to my bathroom, stand in front of my bathroom mirror and look at myself for a long moment, turning my head slightly to the right, and brushing my hair aside to look at the small crescent mark behind my ear.

It looks the same as it always has. Small. Pale. Unremarkable.

I have had it my entire life. My grandmother has one too. I had always thought nothing of it.

But apparently, it means something now. And when Mr. Sterling touched it, it illuminated light.

I reach out and touch it myself. Nothing.

When I reach work, my head is banging from lack of sleep, and I keep my eyes to the ground so that I do not make eye contact with any other... fae thing, if any more exist in the building. I settle at my desk, open my laptop and tell myself I am going to be normal today.

I open my mail box, seeing that I already have five tasks lined up for me. Great. I take a deep breath and open the first one when a shadow falls over my desk.

I flinch, nearly knocking my coffee onto my keyboard.

"Hey, hey. Lila, it’s just me."

I look up. Ezra is standing beside my desk, giving me the crooked smile that used to make my heart do a little flip when I thought he was a decent human being.

And Lila? Yesterday, he had made a big deal about his professional boundaries and how we were to address each other in the workplace. Now he calls me by my first name?

“Good day, Mr. Combe.”

"Hey," he says. "Do you have a minute?"

I look at him for a moment. "Sure."

He crouches down slightly so he is closer to my eye level.

"You look like you haven't slept a wink," he says, his voice dropping a low, soothing register. He reaches out, tucking a stray lock of my blonde hair behind my ear.

I pull back instinctively.

"I told you," I say, my voice raspy and irritated. "I had a really bad night."

Ezra’s expression softens. He sighs. "Lila, look... I am so sorry about last night. I was beyond exhausted. The partners have been breathing down my neck about the Whitfield restructuring, and I have barely been having any sleep.”

He pauses. “I was half asleep when you called and I was short with you, and that wasn't fair. You said you were scared and I basically told you to go to bed. I shouldn't have brushed you off like that. Especially not after I missed our dinner."

Something in my chest, which has been held in a tight, tired knot since our call last night, loosens slightly. In our almost one year of dating, I can barely remember if Ezra has ever apologised at all for... anything. And the mere sight of him doing so is startling enough to make me begin to reconsider the decision I made last night.

"It's okay," I say, and mostly mean it, even though I still feel very bitter and Maya’s words about how much of a jerk he is are still ringing in my ears.

"It's not, though." He holds my gaze. " I felt like an absolute jerk the second I hung up. You had a rough day. First day nerves, new job, and then something like that on your way home."

He pauses again, and then, "I've also been thinking about dinner. I know I cancelled on you, and I feel bad for that as well. You'd been looking forward to it. I’ve been thinking, what if we do the weekend instead? Proper celebration. First week of work rather than first day. Somewhere fancy. My pick."

I look at him, searching for the condescension and nonchalance I felt over the phone. It’s gone, replaced by the charming, attentive man I fell in love with a year ago. Maybe, my decision to break up with him was me being dramatic. People can have bad nights. People can be tired and thoughtless and answer phones half-asleep and say the wrong things. That does not make them the wrong person.

And I love Ezra, I do love him. Perhaps even more than he loves me. We have something good going on, even though it has been a little shaky, and I shouldn’t end it because of just one bad night.

"Okay," I whisper. "A date this weekend. I'd like that."

"Good." He beams, leaning in to kiss my forehead. "I'll make a reservation." He glances at my screen. "I see you’re reviewing a case, Ms. Alvarez. You were assigned to prepare a brief?"

"Yes." Back to professionalism, I see.

"Ensure that you cross-check whatever you prepare several times. Prescott has the eagle’s eyes and he is a brutal perfectionist."

"Noted. Thank you, Mr. Combe."

As he goes, I breathe a sigh of relief and comfort and get back to my case with a clearer head. I go through it and several other cases as fast as I can and in an hour, I am already preparing an outline for the brief.

Just as I get to full-on working on the brief, I hear footsteps. I look up just as Mr. Prescott marches toward my desk.

"Ms. Alvarez." He looks briefly at my computer.

"Yes, Mr. Prescott."

"Mr. Sterling is calling for you," he says, and for a fleeting second, I see a flash of confusion in his eyes. "He wants you in his office. Immediately."

I feel my stomach drop and a painful lump form in my throat.

"Mr. Sterling," I repeat.

"Yes. His office is on the thirty-third floor. I suggest you not keep him waiting."