How to impress a grandma

Ethan's POV

The second I read that creepy message again, I didn't waste another breath—I speed-dialed Alex, my secretary.

“Hello, sir,” he answered, ever efficient. Always sounded like a calm butler from a spy movie.

“Can you contact the police to track a message?” I asked, pacing like a madman in my living room.

“Is there any problem, sir?” he asked, his voice laced with concern. Actually, he already knows how my voice sounds when there is trouble.

Alex wasn't just my secretary; we’d been through enough shady meetings and tough moments together that I basically considered him a friend, not just an employee of mine.

He's been working for me for close to seven years now… I guess.

“I just got a threat message with my picture and Ella’s,” I said, voice tight. He’s asking for 500 thousand pounds in cash. I’ll be meeting him soon, with the money. Just ask the police to trail me.”

“Understood, sir. I’ll notify them right away.”

I hung up and exhaled sharply. The banks were already closed, but lucky for me (or unlucky, depending on how you see it), I had some emergency cash stashed in my office. Enough to cover the blackmail.

I was nearing the bridge—the meeting point—when my phone dinged again.

 “I asked you to come alone, but you thought you were smart and involved the cops. You’ll meet me another day. But for now, as punishment, someone close to you will get hurt.”

My blood boiled. What in the N*****x thriller is this guy playing?

The police arrived just in time to meet me muttering to myself like a lunatic.

“You should be more careful, sir,” one detective said after reading the message. He wore a serious face, but I swear he looked like he hadn't slept in days.

“You might want to consider getting personal security,” he added.

I nodded. “Fine. But make it discreet—I’m not into that bodyguard tailing-me-around-like-a-VIP drama.”

Morning came faster than I expected.

Birds chirped annoyingly loud outside my window like they had no idea my life was turning into a low-budget action movie. But today—I was on a mission. Operation Win Ella’s Grandma.

I couldn’t let my backstabbing sister twist this situation in her favour. I picked up my phone and called Ella.

“Hello,” came her tired voice. She sounded like she had just woken up—or maybe she was still mad at me. Probably both.

“Where are you?” I asked, adjusting my tie in the mirror.

“At home. Who’s this?” she asked.

I blinked. “Wow… don’t you think it’s time you saved my number? And maybe say thank you for yesterday?”

“Oh… Ethan,” she said, her tone as dry as burnt toast. "First of all, speak to me politely. I’m not your assistant. Secondly, I never asked you to lodge me in a hotel. You did that because you wanted to.”

I nearly choked on my own saliva. If this girl wasn’t so pretty, I’d block her and throw my phone into the nearest river.

“Fine,” I said through gritted teeth, trying to sound mature. “Just save my number. And by the way, what does your grandma like? I want to get her something.”

She paused. “Just get her anything… but she loves bags.”

Bingo. I didn’t even wait for her to say goodbye. I ended the call, muttered something under my breath about how girls are emotionally confusing beings, and opened my drawer.

“What should I wear today?” I muttered.

This was practically a royal visit. I had to look like the type of man who donates to charity and helps little old ladies cross the road. I pulled out a milk-coloured suit that said, “I have money, but I’m not a jerk about it.”

One hour later, I stood in front of Thompson’s Brew, holding ten fancy shopping bags filled with designer handbags that could buy someone’s rent for a year. I pushed the door open—the bell above jingled, announcing my dramatic arrival.

All heads turned.

Ella, her friend, and her grandma—Queen Mother of Judgement herself—sat inside. Luckily, there were no customers. Perfect.

“What are you doing here?” her grandma asked, eyes narrowing.

I smiled like I was auditioning for a toothpaste commercial.

“Welcome, Mr. Ethan. I’m Lucy, please have a seat,” her friend said cheerfully. Bless her.

I sat across from Ella and Lucy, with Grandma eyeing me like a hawk spotting its prey.

“What’s all this?” Ella asked, whispering with a frown.

“You said she liked bags,” I whispered back, leaning slightly. She scoffed like I’d offered her used socks.

Her grandma moved closer and sat down, suspicious.

“These are for you, ma,” I said, carefully placing the bags on the table like I was offering gold.

“Do you think I’ll let you do whatever you want with my granddaughter just because you brought gifts?”

“No, no! That’s not why I bought them,” I said quickly. “I just… wanted to get you something nice.”

She peeked inside one of the bags. I caught a tiny smile. Gotcha.

Just then, my phone buzzed—shareholders’ meeting in twenty minutes.

“I have to go now,” I said, standing. “I’ve got a meeting.”

As I turned to leave, I heard someone call my name.

“Ethan!” I turned. It was Ella.

“Thank you for yesterday,” she said. “I… I could’ve died.”

Whoa.

I blinked. She actually said thank you. With her actual mouth. Not a text. Not sarcasm. An honest-to-goodness Thank You.

“At least you know how to be grateful,” I said.

“Just don’t call me ungrateful next time,” she shot back.

I smirked, walking to my car with a small win under my belt… until my phone buzzed again.

 “Told you someone would get hurt.”

The message had laughing emojis behind it. 

A chill ran down my spine. I looked up just in time to see someone on the first floor of the shop launch a flower vase from the window, aimed straight at Ella.

I flung the car door open and screamed.

“ELLA!!! WATCH OUT!!!”