Chapter 20 Seraphine
By the time I reached the office, the morning sun was just high enough to glare off every window, forcing me to squint as I tugged open the double doors. The lobby’s usual scent of old carpet and burnt coffee drifted over me—and for once, I didn’t shrink into my clothes.
I wasn’t wearing sweaters today.
I wasn’t wearing “safe.”
Today, I was wearing the outfit Amara had picked for me:
a deep hunter-green wrap blouse that hugged my waist, high-rise black trousers that made my legs look a mile long, and boots with a heel high enough to make me nearly eye-level with half the men in the office.
My hair—usually in a messy bun—hung loose and curled, brushing my shoulders.
My makeup actually existed today.
And my confidence?
…well. That was still debatable.
But damn if I didn’t look confident.
I stepped inside.
And every head turned.
Every single one.
I lifted my chin higher and kept walking, heels clicking sharply on the tile. I wasn’t used to stares—well, not good ones. Usually they were quick glances, the kind people gave when trying to determine my size and categorize me internally.
But these stares felt different.
Shock. Curiosity. Maybe even a little admiration.
Except when my boss—Mr. Grease-Ball Brantley—looked up from his office doorway.
His gaze dragged over me like sticky, old fingers.
My skin crawled.
I griped my bag tighter and walked faster until I reached my desk. Sitting down felt like a relief. Familiar. Safe. I breathed out once and opened my laptop.
Work. Yes. Work. Something normal.
I clicked into my inbox and groaned at the 42 unread messages from the night before.
Column requests. Reader questions. Two pending pieces needing edits. A rotating carousel of nonsense.
I dove in, typing fast, answering what I could, pushing through the mess of it all. Submitted three columns, updated my schedule, forwarded a complaint to Brantley—
And then the universe punished me for my efficiency.
“Wow,” Ted drawled. “Look who decided to dress like she’s on her way to an interview she won’t get.”
I didn’t look up. “Go away, Ted.”
He ignored that completely.
He always did.
“You know,” he said, leaning over the partition, “Carol told me all about your little double date disaster last night.”
That made my eye twitch.
He smirked, satisfied with the reaction.
“She said Rio took one look at you and almost bailed on the spot. Poor guy. She said you looked like a—what was her word?” He tapped his chin theatrically. “Oh yeah. A desperate butterball.”
My jaw locked.
“And hey,” he added, shrugging, “Carol knows her stuff. She’s honest. That’s why we’re friends.”
“Friends,” I echoed flatly. “More like two roaches sharing the same dumpster.”
He scowled. “Real mature.”
“You started it.”
“By giving you helpful feedback?” he asked, genuinely stunned. “Look, I’m just trying to help. You show up dressed like that,” he waved at my outfit, “after years of wearing couch blankets—people are gonna talk.”
“People like you?”
“People with eyes,” he snapped.
I stood. Slowly.
He blinked. He wasn’t used to me standing up to him.
“Let me get this straight,” I said. “Carol, a woman who’s insecure enough to flirt with every man in a five-mile radius, told you my date didn’t want me?”
Ted shrugged again. “She said Rio kept checking out every other girl there. Which, y’know, can’t blame him. I mean, if your brother dragged me on a double date with you? I’d be looking for exits too.”
A few heads turned.
Someone muttered, “Holy shit.”
Ted leaned in conspiratorially. “Seriously though… what were you thinking wearing something that tight? Did you not see the mirror before leaving the house?”
I stared at him.
He smirked like he’d won.
That was his mistake.
Before he could blink, I stepped out from behind my desk.
“Ted,” I said calmly, “shut your mouth before you say something so stupid you sprain your last functioning brain cell.”
The bullpen fell silent.
His face blotched red. “Don’t talk to me like—”
“You started this,” I said sharply. “You come over here, pretending you’re handing out advice when really you’re doing what you always do: projecting your insecurities onto every woman in the room.”
He sputtered. “That’s not—”
“You haven’t written a real story since you got hired,” I continued. “You live off fluff pieces and weather blurbs. Meanwhile you have the audacity to judge me? Because I wore something that actually fits my body for once?”
Someone let out a loud “damn.”
“And bringing Carol into it?” I added. “The same Carol who’s cheated on my brother twice? The Carol who hits on every man except the one she married? That’s your trusted source?”
Ted’s mouth opened—shut—opened again.
A fish gasping.
“You don’t get to insult me,” I said. “You don’t get to talk about my date, my clothes, or my body. You can’t even handle a woman like me. Everyone here knows it.”
More whispers.
He took a shaky breath. “I—I didn’t mean it like—”
“If you didn’t mean it, you wouldn’t have said it.”
I grabbed my laptop, shoved files into my bag, and walked past him.
As I passed, I added, “Next time you want to act like a man, Ted, try doing your job first.”
And yeah.
My hands were shaking.
My knees almost buckled.
But I didn’t stop until I reached the elevator.
By the time I reached the elevator, I nearly collapsed against the wall.
I steadied myself. Straightened my shoulders. Lifted my chin.
You didn’t cry.
Good.
Keep going.
The elevator doors slid open, and I stepped inside, hitting the “Lobby” button.
The doors were beginning to close when a hand shot between them.
They opened again.
Brantley stepped inside.
My blood turned cold.
He didn’t even look at me at first—just hit the “Close Doors” button. The elevator hummed and began to descend.
Then—
He pressed the red stop switch.
The elevator jolted to a halt.
My heart vaulted into my throat.
Brantley finally turned to me, his smile slow… greasy… wrong.
“Well, Vale,” he said softly. “We need to have a talk.”
The fluorescent light flickered above us.
And I couldn’t breathe.