Grandpa preslee의 작품

Adrian’s penthouse is everything I expected and nothing I’m prepared for.Floor to ceiling windows overlooking Central Park. Minimalist furniture that probably costs more than my studio. Art on the walls from auction catalogs.Not a single personal touch anywhere.“Ms. Bennett.” Victor Shaw, Adrian’s assistant, greets me at the door. Forty something, impeccably dressed. “Mr. Knight is expecting you in his office.”I follow him through the penthouse, my sneakers squeaking on marble floors.Victor stops at a door, knocks once, opens it.Adrian’s office is even more intimidating. Massive desk. Leather chairs. Floor to ceiling bookshelves.Adrian gestures to the chair across from his desk. I sit, and he slides a bound document across the surface.“The full contract,” he says.I pick it up. Heavy. Official.“Take your time,” Adrian says. “Read every word.”I open to the first page.**RELATIONSHIP SERVICES AGREEMENT**I skim through opening clauses. Effective dates, six months from signatur

Two weeks.Two weeks of dodging Ryan’s calls. Two weeks of watching clients ghost me. Two weeks of Mia threatening to expose Ryan on her blog while I beg her not to.Two weeks of Adrian Knight’s assistant leaving voicemails I delete without calling back.“Zara, you’re coming to dinner tonight.”My mother’s voice isn’t asking.“Mom, I have a deadline…”“You always have a deadline. This is important. A family friend wants to discuss a potential business opportunity with you.”I pause, paintbrush hovering over the fabric sample I’m working on. “What kind of business opportunity?”“Interior design, what else? He’s opening a new hotel chain and needs someone creative.” She sounds pleased with herself. “I told him all about your work. He’s very interested.”My chest tightens with hope I can’t afford to feel. A hotel chain. Multiple projects. Exactly what I need to rebuild after losing Morrison.“What’s his name?”“Does it matter? Just be at Lombardi’s at seven. Wear something nice.”She han

Sunlight slices through my bedroom curtains like a knife.I groan and reach for my phone to check the time, knocking over my water glass. It hits the floor with a dull thud. My head pounds. Not from drinking, I didn’t touch alcohol last night, but from crying myself to sleep.My phone screen lights up.8:47 AM.And 47 missed calls.I bolt upright, suddenly very awake. The number blinks at me accusingly. Forty seven. All from Ryan. Each one timestamped through the night, starting at 10:23 PM and ending at 6:15 this morning.My stomach churns.Below the call log, a string of text messages.Ryan: “Zara please pick up”Ryan: “You’re being ridiculous”Ryan: “CALL ME”Ryan: “Fine. Be childish.”I delete them all without reading further. Each swipe feels like taking back a piece of myself.My phone buzzes. Mia.Mia: “GIRL. Why didn’t you tell me you were going to dump Ryan IN FRONT OF EVERYONE”Mia: “I’m coming over. Coffee or something stronger?”I stare at the messages. How does she know?

The doors bounce back open with a mechanical whoosh.No. No, please, not now.Adrian Knight stands there.For a second, we just stare at each other. Him in his perfect charcoal suit, expression unreadable. Me with my composure hanging by a thread, that three paycheck dress feeling like the most expensive mistake I’ve ever made.Of all the people who could have followed me. Ryan’s boss. The man whose cold voice agreed these events require polish.“Ms. Bennett.” His voice is low. Controlled. Nothing like the cold authority I heard earlier.I press back against the elevator wall, trapped. Every instinct screams at me to say something, apologize maybe, but my throat has closed up entirely.He steps inside.The doors slide shut behind him.We’re alone in this small metal box, and I can feel the breakdown coming. My hands shake. I clasp them together, pressing them against my stomach, willing myself to hold on just a little longer.“I’m sorry,” I manage. The words come out rough, scraped ra

I should have known better than to show up in a dress that cost three paychecks.The Bellmont Hotel lobby swallows me whole. Marble floors, crystal chandeliers, the kind of place where even the air smells expensive. My heels click against the polished stone, announcing that I don’t belong here, that I’m trying too hard.I smooth down my dress. Navy blue. Simple. Elegant, the sales girl said.My phone buzzes. Mia, probably, asking if I’ve chickened out yet. I silence it without looking. I can’t think about the knowing look she gave me when I said I was finally going to ask Ryan why he’s never introduced me to his work colleagues. Why after eight months together, I’m still his little secret.Tonight, that changes.The elevator dings. Third floor.My reflection stares back at me in the mirrored doors. Twenty four and trying so hard. Dark hair swept up because Ryan mentioned once he liked it that way. The dress that’s going to haunt my credit card statement for months.I square my shoulde