8. Manager 's office

Jordan

The whole week drained me completely. I had been running around trying to fix too many things at once, sitting through meetings that felt longer than they should be, signing documents until my wrist ached, listening to people talk at me instead of to me. Even when I finally had a moment alone in my office, the silence didn’t help. My head was still loud.

And somehow, in the middle of all that noise, my thoughts kept circling back to one thing I didn’t want to think about.

Those looks in his eyes.

Why did he look at me like that? Like he was seeing something fragile that I didn’t even know how to name myself. It irritated me more than it should have. I hated the idea of being looked at with pity, hated it deeply. I had worked too hard, survived too much, to be reduced to that.

I leaned back in my chair, rubbing my temples, staring at the ceiling for a second longer than necessary, when the sudden creaking of the door snapped me out of my thoughts.

Billy appeared in the doorway, not even bothering to knock.

Of course.

He stood there like he owned the place, shoulders relaxed, one hand shoved casually into his pocket, that familiar grin already fixed on his face. The same grin that used to fool me every single time. Half warm, half rehearsed, like he’d practiced it in the mirror before coming in.

“Jordan,” he said, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. “You look busy.”

I let out a slow breath and straightened in my chair. “I am,” I replied, keeping my tone neutral. “You could’ve knocked.”

He chuckled like I’d just made a harmless joke. “Since when do brothers knock?”

Since the day I realized you weren’t really my brother anymore, I thought, but I didn’t say it. Instead, I gestured to the chair across from my desk.

“What do you want, Billy?”

He didn’t sit immediately. He took his time, looking around my office like it was new to him, like he hadn’t grown up watching me build this place from nothing. Finally, he pulled the chair out and sat down, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.

“I’ve been thinking,” he began, voice softer now, almost careful. “With everything going on. The divorce. The stress. I figured you could use some help.”

I watched him closely as he spoke. The way his eyes flickered, just for a second, when he mentioned the divorce. The way his fingers tapped against his knee, restless, impatient. He was acting concerned, but something underneath it felt sharp.

“Help?” I echoed.

“Yeah,” he said quickly. “You’ve always carried too much on your shoulders. I just want to be useful. Be there for you. For the company.”

There it was. The hook hidden inside the kindness.

I leaned back again, crossing my arms this time, giving myself space to think. In my past life, this exact moment had played out almost the same way. Same office. Same chair. Same expression on his face. The only difference was me.

Back then, I had already been sick. The migraines had been constant, my body always heavy, my thoughts slow and foggy. I remembered how tired I was that day, how I just wanted the conversation to end so I could lie down. He had suggested it so casually then, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Assistant President.

I hadn’t even argued. I’d signed the papers that same week.

And that decision had marked the beginning of my slow downfall.

The memory tightened something in my chest, but this time, I didn’t let it control me. I wasn’t sick now. My head was clear. My body was strong. And for the first time, I was watching him instead of blindly trusting him.

“What kind of help are you talking about?” I asked.

His smile widened slightly, encouraged. “Something official. A role. I know the company inside out, Jordan. I’ve been around since day one. It just makes sense.”

“Does it?” I asked quietly.

He nodded eagerly. “Absolutely. A senior position would be ideal. Somewhere I can really make an impact.”

There it was again. That gleam in his eyes. Small, but unmistakable.

I studied him in silence for a moment, letting the pause stretch. He shifted in his seat, clearly uncomfortable with not getting an immediate response.

In the past, I would have filled the silence. I would have reassured him, joked, made it easy. This time, I let him sit in it.

“I’ve thought about this,” I finally said.

His posture straightened instantly.

“And?” he prompted.

“I agree that you can help,” I continued, watching his face closely. “But not in the way you’re expecting.”

The smile faltered, just barely.

“I’m offering you the position of Manager of Operations.”

For a split second, the mask slipped.

It was quick, but I saw it. The tightening of his jaw. The flash of disappointment that crossed his eyes before he smoothed it over with a laugh that sounded a little too loud.

“Manager of Operations,” he repeated, like he was tasting the words. “That’s… that’s great.”

I nodded. “It’s an important role. You’ll be overseeing daily operations, reporting directly to me.”

He forced another smile, this one tighter. “Of course. Anything to help you out.”

I leaned forward slightly. “This position comes with responsibility, Billy. And accountability. I expect transparency.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” he replied quickly.

I held his gaze, letting the silence stretch again, just long enough for discomfort to creep back in. He broke eye contact first.

“When do I start?” he asked.

“Tomorrow,” I said. “HR will handle the paperwork.”

He stood up, smoothing down his jacket, his grin settling back into place like armor. “You won’t regret this, Jordan. I’ll make you proud.”

Those words hit differently this time. Last time, they had made me smile. Now, they just made me tired.

“I hope so,” I replied.

He nodded once more and turned toward the door. Before leaving, he glanced back at me, his expression unreadable for a brief second.

“Get some rest,” he added. “You’ve been pushing yourself.”

There it was again. That strange concern that wasn’t really concern at all.

“I’m fine,” I said calmly.

He gave a small shrug and walked out, closing the door behind him.

I stayed seated long after he left, staring at the door like it might open again. My heart was beating steadily, but there was a heaviness in my chest that I couldn’t shake.

This time, I saw it. The irritation he tried to hide. The disappointment. The way he had expected more.

In my past life, I hadn’t noticed any of that. I had been too busy trusting him.

I stood up slowly and walked over to the window, looking down at the city below. Cars moved like ants, people rushing through lives that didn’t know how fragile everything really was.

I wasn’t repeating the same mistake.

Not this time.

I had given him a position, but I had also placed him where I could watch him. Close enough to observe, close enough to catch him when he slipped.

As I turned back toward my desk, a quiet resolve settled in me.

The past had already shown me how this ended if I wasn’t careful.

This time, I was writing a different ending.