Chapter 38: Monday Madness

The Los Angeles sun rose on a city unaware that a storm had returned — not a storm of weather, but of spirit, style, and unapologetic chaos. Katherine Brown stepped off the early morning flight wearing oversized sunglasses, a perfectly coordinated pantsuit in magenta, and the kind of strut that suggested she didn’t just survive the weekend in New York — she conquered it.

The car that picked her up from LAX had been sent by the company, of course. But the driver had no idea who she was — until she told him, with a grin:

“New branch director. L.A. office. No pressure, right?”

The man blinked. “You mean, you’re… you’re in charge?”

“Just the L.A. branch,” she corrected, dropping her duffel onto the seat and settling in like a queen returning to her summer palace. “Don’t worry. I only bite when provoked.”

By the time she reached the office building, the news had already spread — via Slack channels, hushed conversations in the kitchen, and one particularly nosy intern who may or may not have posted something on T*****r. Employees were gathered in clusters like pigeons sensing a change in the wind.

And then she walked in.

“Good morning, team!” she called out with a smile too wide to be anything but dangerous. “Is it too early for confetti cannons?”

No one answered. Most of them were too stunned.

Monica Leach dropped her coffee. Mr. Elison, former L.A. branch director, stood frozen, his mouth slightly ajar like a software glitch. The air held its breath.

Katherine continued walking, heels clicking, hair bouncing, smile unwavering.

She made her way straight to the center of the open space, climbed one of the short steps near the communal area, and clapped her hands.

“All right, everyone. New chapter, new chaos, new coffee policy — just kidding. Or am I?”

A few nervous chuckles.

“My name is Katherine Brown. I know many of you don’t know me yet, but I hope by the end of this week, you’ll at least know I’m not here to ruin your lives.”

More chuckles.

“I’m not going to list my credentials — mostly because I don't think 'Chaotic Genius in High Heels' counts officially. But I do want to make this very clear: I’m not here to babysit, micromanage, or turn this place into a circus.”

She paused, then smiled, tilting her head.

“That said, there might be a pink inflatable flamingo making a comeback. You’ve been warned.”

Laughter. Real this time.

“I’m here to listen, to build something strong with all of you, and — above all — to make sure this office becomes the most efficient, most respected, and yes, most fun branch in the entire damn company.”

Applause.

She stepped down, brushing invisible dust off her jacket, and added with a wink:

“Let’s get to work.”

---

The day blurred into a whirlwind of meetings, onboarding briefings, system access issues, two broken printers, and one suspicious email chain labeled “DO NOT CC THE ENTIRE FLOOR.”

By 6 p.m., Katherine collapsed into her new chair — the one they had insisted she choose. She picked the plush velvet one that barely matched anything in the office.

Her phone buzzed.

Sebastian: Delivered to your door. Confidential. No peeking until you’re alone.

She raised a brow.

Home wasn’t far — she’d rented a sleek apartment just fifteen minutes from the office. She changed into yoga pants and a messy bun within seconds of walking in.

And there it was: a box. Matte black. No note.

Inside?

A leather portfolio with gold embossing. Her name.

A handwritten contract. A proposal. A future.

But more than that — a private note tucked beneath the pages.

"To my chaos in magenta,

You made it through your first day. I’m proud of you. But this is only the beginning.

Let’s build something even bigger.

Yours — always,

S."

Katherine pressed the note to her chest, breath caught between laughter and something dangerously close to tears.

She texted back: If this is your way of seducing me into corporate glory… it’s working.

He replied seconds later:

Good. Because L.A. just got a queen. And the kingdom’s only getting started.

---

Later that evening, the Los Angeles skyline stretched out in soft orange hues beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows of Katherin’s apartment. She had finally kicked off her heels, changed into a silky robe, and curled up on her white couch, a glass of rosé in one hand and her phone in the other.

Her eyes drifted once more to the small envelope left for her earlier.

Sebastian’s handwriting was sharp and unmistakably him. She opened the note for maybe the fourth time today, reading the words like a little prayer:

"To my chaos in magenta,

You made it through your first day. I’m proud of you. But this is only the beginning.

Let’s build something even bigger.

Yours — always,

S."

She couldn’t help the grin that spread across her lips. The man really knew how to write a damn good note. She swirled the wine in her glass, considering what to do next.

Then it hit her — wicked, mischievous, entirely her.

She set the glass down, stood, and let the robe fall off her shoulders. Grabbing the duvet from her bed, she wrapped it loosely around herself — just enough to keep things teasing. Her hair tumbled in waves over her bare shoulders as she turned toward the window, the city lights casting a glow over her skin.

Snap.

The photo was tasteful. Suggestive, not explicit. But dangerous in just the right way.

Attached with the message:

“Miss me yet, boss?”

She hit send and collapsed back onto the bed, giggling at her own audacity.

---

Meanwhile, halfway across the country, Sebastian was in a sharp suit, seated at the head of a sleek black conference table in one of the temporary executive suites in Manhattan. Three potential candidates for interim board seats were seated across from him, nervously sipping water and trying to read his expression.

He was listening — until his phone buzzed in his pocket.

One glance.

And then…

He choked.

Literally.

Sebastian’s breath hitched in his throat as he stared at the screen. The room suddenly felt five degrees hotter. His jaw locked, eyes widened, and he let out a tiny sound — a cross between a cough and a low grunt.

“Mr. Mason? Are you alright?” one of the candidates asked, concern painting their face.

Sebastian cleared his throat, blinking rapidly as he locked the phone and slid it away, face down.

“Yes,” he said, voice hoarser than usual. “I just… forgot how distracting some things can be.”

They all nodded slowly, entirely confused, while Sebastian adjusted his tie and muttered under his breath, “She’s going to kill me…”

---

Fifteen minutes later.

Katherine was sipping tea when her phone buzzed.

Video message.

She pressed play.

There he was. Still in his suit. Still serious. Sitting in that perfectly lit, perfectly intimidating office, looking like a devil in Armani.

He slowly unfastened the top button of his shirt, eyes locked with the camera.

“Brown...” he said in a low, velvet tone. “Next time, warn me. I almost ruined a CFO interview imagining you without that blanket.”

Pause. His gaze darkened.

“I haven’t gotten even. Yet. But I’m already planning how.”

The video ended.

Katherine stared at her screen, frozen — as if it might burst into flames in her hand.

And then it hit her — sharp and unexpected.

Jealousy.

Not fear.

Not nerves.

Not butterflies.

Pure, raw, dangerous jealousy.

“Planning revenge, are we?” she whispered, taking a sip of tea. “Game on, Mason. But tonight... I win.”

---

The camera opens with Katherine sitting cross-legged on her bed, oversized sweatshirt slipping off one shoulder, hair up in a messy bun, and that unmistakable glint in her eye. She holds the phone out in front of her, smirking directly into the lens.

“Okay. Wow. I’ve seen a lot of things in my life, Sebastian Mason. But that... that was criminal.”

She leans in dramatically, lowering her voice.

“After sending me a video like that, there’s only one logical conclusion: you have to marry me.”

She raises an eyebrow with mock seriousness.

“Like — no, really. You must. You owe me.”

She pauses, pretending to think.

“And if you even consider backing out of this totally binding verbal contract... I will personally inform the entire board, your legal team, and probably The New York Times about —”

She picks up a very official-looking notepad and reads in a grave tone:

“The existence of one (1) oversized, pastel pink t-shirt covered in cartoon cats, spotted in Mr. Mason’s wardrobe, upper-left shelf, next to the aggressively folded black suits.”

She flashes the most wicked smile.

“Don’t test me, Mason. I have pictures.”

Then she blows a kiss to the camera.

“Sleep tight, husband-to-almost-be.”

Video ends.

---

Sebastian’s Office, Late Evening

He watched her message twice. Maybe three times. Then he burst into laughter — deep, unfiltered, and absolutely shameless. Heads turned outside his glass office, but he didn’t care. One hand wiped a tear from his eye while the other reached for his phone.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered, smirking. “I’m going to marry that woman or die trying.”

He adjusted his shirt, snapped a quick photo — the dark ring on his finger gleaming — and started typing.

---

Sebastian’s reply (with photo):

"So you’re blackmailing me into marriage now? With a cat t-shirt?

That’s not very professional, Miss Brown.

But highly effective.

(photo attached: him blowing a kiss, wearing the ring)

This ring is yours. So is everything else.

I’m free Friday. And every day after that. Just say the word.

P.S. If you ever leak that t-shirt story, I’m uploading the Christmas karaoke video. You know the one. "Like a Virgin."

---

Katherine reread his last reply — the teasing, smug tone practically oozed off the screen. That man, she thought, biting her lip, needed to be put in his place.

So she walked to the mirror, adjusted her blouse slightly off her shoulder, and let the moonlight pour in behind her. The shadows did the rest.

Her silhouette appeared crisp on the wall, hourglass and unapologetically sensual, her hand resting on her hip like she owned the night. On the bottom corner of the frame, her oblivious fluffy cat curled up on a blanket — the perfect accidental detail. She grinned.

A minute later, the photo was taken — stylish, suggestive, but not explicit. Just enough to push Sebastian Mason right to the edge of his self-control.

She opened their chat.

Typed slowly. Deliberately.

Katherine Brown:

"Good night, Mr. Mason.

Don’t lose control.

💋💋💋"

Sent.

And then, she placed her phone face-down on the nightstand, switched off the lights, and slipped beneath the sheets with a satisfied smirk.

The game was on — and she knew exactly who had the upper hand tonight.

---