Chapter 60: ⋆ Chapter 60

I followed the slow-moving crowd, my hands clammy. Inside the conference room, I tried to stay near the back. My eyes kept flicking to the glass doors. If I saw a flash of silver hair, I might scream. Or faint. Or both.

But the doors stayed shut.

No silver hair. No impossibly handsome undead CEO.

Instead, Soren stepped forward, beaming like a ray of golden light.

“Hey, everyone,” he said. “As part of our department’s ongoing restructuring, we’ve officially selected a new assistant manager for Oswald, effective immediately. This is someone who’s shown dedication, passion, and a real drive for growth within Valmont International.”

Georgia and I blinked at each other. Neither of us had heard anything about it. Poor Candice got replaced right away. Ralph, however, was sitting suspiciously straight, hands folded.

Soren’s eyes flicked around the room. “Mr. Ralph Pear, please come on up.”

My jaw dropped. Georgia whipped her head around to stare at Ralph, who looked just as surprised—though not quite as much as we were.

“Well, shit,” I muttered as he walked up front.

Soren clapped him on the back. “Say a few words?”

“Honestly, I didn’t expect this. It’s been an incredible journey here, starting as an intern, then an executive assistant, and now stepping into a leadership role. I want to make sure the same path is open for all of us here. Career growth shouldn’t feel like a dream—it should be a plan...”

I crossed my arms and leaned toward Georgia. "Did you know about this?"

Not a clue," she muttered back.

Ralph, meanwhile, had found his groove. "…I’ve had the chance to work with some of the smartest, funniest, most resilient people I’ve ever met. I’ve learned a lot—from Oswald, from all of you—and I’m excited to take this next step." He started pacing a little, like he’d been practicing this in front of a mirror.

"...My goal in this role is to make sure that the path forward is clearer for everyone. Opportunities. Mentorship. Movement. If I can help anyone rise, I will."

I stood there in stunned silence as Ralph wrapped it up to applause.

Georgia leaned toward me and muttered, “Did we just time travel and miss his whole transformation montage?”

“I feel like I don’t even know him anymore,” I whispered back, still stunned.

After the meeting, as people crowded around Ralph offering congratulations, Georgia and I made a beeline for him.

“You didn’t tell us?” Georgia said, scandalized. “Ralph, we’ve been living next to you in the trenches for years.”

“I didn’t want to jinx it!” Ralph raised his hands defensively. “I wasn’t even sure until this morning. I thought they were going to pick someone with actual management experience, you know?”

“No wonder you’ve been quiet the entire day,” I noticed. "And the speech?"

He shrugged, a little smug. "You think I don’t rehearse dramatic monologues in the shower?"

Soren joined us then, giving Ralph another hearty pat on the back. "Congrats, Mr. Pear. I’m really glad you’re stepping into this role. I voted for you."

"Wait, what? Mr. Pear?" Georgia blinked, then turned to Soren. "So you were on the selection committee?"

Soren nodded. "Yup. And he earned it. Are you three celebrating somewhere?"

The three of us looked at each other. The rooftop had always been ours. Where we went to vent about crappy clients, toast our birthdays with cheap wine, and cry over exes. It was sacred. Ours.

There was a moment of awkward silence before Ralph smiled politely and said, “Yeah. You should come.”

Soren blinked. “Really?”

“Sure,” Ralph said again, glancing at Georgia and me like he was silently begging us not to object.

I bit back the feeling rising in my throat. “Yeah. Why not,” I said.

We all scattered to our desks to wrap up for the day. I sat down and picked up the other phone—Cillian’s phone. I opened our messages.

Read 45 minutes ago. No reply.

Just then Oswald passed by and handed Ralph a bottle of expensive red wine. “For your celebration,” he said warmly.

Ralph thanked him with a shocked smile. Then the three of us made our way up to the rooftop with a bottle of wine tucked under Ralph’s arm. The air was cool, the city lights sparkling like little lies below us.

We sat in our usual broken chairs, paper cups filled with red wine, and for a moment, it felt almost like nothing had changed.

“So what does this mean for our friendship?” I asked, raising my cup toward Ralph. “You’re basically management now.”

Ralph grinned sheepishly. “Technically, yes. But spiritually, I’m still just your humble friend who spills coffee on his reports.”

Georgia snorted. “Yeah, well, now that you’re Oswald’s little assistant manager pet, don’t start acting like your emails need a subject line and a disclaimer.”

He gave her a look. “I always use subject lines. I’m not a monster.”

Georgia rolled her eyes and took a sip. “I still can’t believe you didn’t tell us.”

“Okay, again, in my defense,” Ralph said, holding up a finger, “I genuinely wasn’t sure I’d get it.

“You and your jinxing,” I muttered, but I wasn’t fully tuned in. Cillian’s phone was on the table beside me, and I kept sneaking glances. Nothing from Cillian. Still.

Which was weird.

If there was one thing I knew about Cillian by now, it was that he liked to have the last word. Whether it was a snarky comment or a possessive demand, he didn’t leave things hanging.

But this time? Just silence. No complaints, no velvet-lined threats about canceling on him.

Just… nothing. I swallowed my anxiety with a gulp of wine.

Then Georgia tilted her head. “Hey. Did you ever hear back from the VLM Magazine?”

Ralph shrugged. “Nah. Guess I didn’t get it. Maybe this promotion was the universe telling me not to mope about it.”

“You still should’ve told us,” Georgia said, poking him with her foot. “We’re supposed to celebrate—or panic—together.”

“And you,” she added, turning to me again with narrowed eyes, “have been dodging Soren all day and dumping him on me.”

I groaned. “Sorry.”

Ralph laughed. “Oh, come on, Georgia. You’re not seriously complaining that Soren kept bothering you? That man has cheekbones that could slice through your Anti-Vampire Pact.”

“I still stand by it,” Georgia sniffed. “And anyway, I’m immune to Soren’s… face.”

I snorted into my cup. “Are you sure? Because your eye twitched when he smiled at you earlier.”

“It did not.”

“It absolutely did,” Ralph added, grinning like a devil. “I was there.”

We were still laughing when the rooftop door creaked open, and Soren stepped out, holding two bottles of wine like some European god.

“I come bearing gifts,” he announced.

Ralph raised his cup. “Speak of the vampire.”

Soren grinned. “I heard that.”

He handed us one of the bottles and poured himself a drink. We all settled into a loose circle, and to my surprise, it wasn’t weird. The wine flowed, so did the chatter—celebrity crushes, Oswald’s obsession with wines, and Ralph trying to convince us that this promotion didn’t mean he’d become evil and start wearing suspenders.

Then, as the third bottle started to empty and Ralph’s cheeks turned pink from alcohol and pride, he leaned toward Soren.

“So,” he said, voice sly, “do you have a crush on Tilly or what? You’ve been hovering around her desk like a moth on a porch light.”

I nearly choked on my drink. Georgia’s eyes widened.

Soren blinked, looking more amused than surprised.

And me? I just froze—wine halfway to my lips.

What the hell, Ralph?!