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Chapter Forty-One: The Apartment That Wasn't
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2025-07-07 08:08:11It started with a text.
Eli at 8:12 am. Hey, not feeling great today. Calling in sick. Sorry, boss lady. Try not to let Marcus burn down Electronics. That was it. No emojis. No dramatic excuse. Just a flat, short message. Callie read it three times. Then stared at her phone like it might spontaneously offer further clarification. Eli never called in sick. Not once in the entire year he’d worked at BuyMore. He’d come in during storms, after dental work, even the day after that massive inventory truck mishap when most of the team had migraines from the smell of air fresheners. But today, without warning, he was... just gone. She tried not to read too much into it. Maybe he really was sick. It was flu season. People caught things. Still, the moment she walked into BuyMore, the fluorescent lights felt harsher. The morning buzz of the regis
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The Secret Billionaire in Aisle 9 Chapter Forty-Three: Different Eyes
Eli stood in the back lot of BuyMore at 8:55 a.m., staring at the automatic sliding doors like they were the gates of judgment.The sun was already creeping up above the roof of the store, casting long shadows across the loading dock. A crisp morning breeze tugged at the hem of his uniform polo, freshly ironed, even though no one would notice. His sneakers were clean. His name tag was slightly crooked, just the way Marcus always wore his—casual, easygoing, forgettable.He was supposed to blend in.He had done it for months.But today, stepping back into this space, everything felt... off.And it wasn’t because of jet lag or corporate meetings echoing in his head.It was her.Callie Ruiz.She was in the building.And he had no idea what version of her he’d be facing when he walked through those doors.The familiar rush of cold air hit as he entered the store.Marcus was already by the f
The Secret Billionaire in Aisle 9 Chapter Forty-Two: White Lie
The Zurich airport buzzed with polished efficiency, all clean glass and quiet hums of multilingual announcements. Elijah Dane Whitaker stood by Gate B17, blazer slung over his arm, passport tucked neatly inside his breast pocket, and his phone silent in his hand.Two days. That was all it had been.And yet the guilt pressed down on his chest like an overstuffed carry-on refusing to fit under the seat.The corporate board meeting had gone smoothly. The Zurich branch—their flagship European BuyMore location—had exceeded quarterly projections, and the local executives were thrilled with his proposed digital modernization rollout. Elijah had delivered what was expected of him: sharp numbers, confident leadership, future-ready solutions.But for once, it all felt hollow.Because while he was in a glass conference room overlooking Lake Zurich, making promises to investors, he was also sending a short, vague text to a woman back in the States—so
The Secret Billionaire in Aisle 9 Chapter Forty-One: The Apartment That Wasn't
It started with a text. Eli at 8:12 am. Hey, not feeling great today. Calling in sick. Sorry, boss lady. Try not to let Marcus burn down Electronics. That was it. No emojis. No dramatic excuse. Just a flat, short message. Callie read it three times. Then stared at her phone like it might spontaneously offer further clarification. Eli never called in sick. Not once in the entire year he’d worked at BuyMore. He’d come in during storms, after dental work, even the day after that massive inventory truck mishap when most of the team had migraines from the smell of air fresheners. But today, without warning, he was... just gone. She tried not to read too much into it. Maybe he really was sick. It was flu season. People caught things. Still, the moment she walked into BuyMore, the fluorescent lights felt harsher. The morning buzz of the regis
The Secret Billionaire in Aisle 9 Chapter Forty: Off the Clock
The first time Marcus asked Brenda out, it wasn’t under the soft glow of fairy lights or during a sweeping romantic gesture.It happened at the loading dock.On a Wednesday.While Brenda was wrestling with a box of clearance toasters.“I was thinking,” Marcus said casually, holding a clipboard and leaning against the wall, “we’ve worked together for like two years, shared fifty vending machine snacks, survived three inventory audits, and a fondue pot incident.”Brenda looked up, sweat glistening at her brow. “Is this your way of saying we’re trauma-bonded?”“Partially,” he said. “But also... maybe we take the next step in our complicated, retail-driven relationship?”She straightened, narrowed her eyes with mock suspicion. “Are you asking me on a date?”“I might be. Depending on your response.”Brenda wiped her hands on her apron, heart thudding just a little faster. “Well, if there’s food involved and zero barco
The Secret Billionaire in Aisle 9 Chapter Thirty-Nine: Aisle Nine, Emotional Damage
Saturday morning at BuyMore arrived like a caffeine crash wrapped in discount signage.The automatic doors barely opened before a rush of early customers surged in—one guy already yelling about the “online-only price” he wanted honored in-store, a pair of kids screeching by the checkout aisles, and someone asking Brenda where the “left-handed Bluetooth speakers” were.“Are you kidding me?” she muttered as she dodged a rogue cart that nearly clipped her ankle.Behind her, Marcus appeared holding a paper cup of vending machine coffee and two pre-packaged muffins.“I bring peace offerings,” he said solemnly, holding one out.Brenda took the muffin and gave him a deadpan look. “If I don’t make it out of this shift alive, you get my locker.”“Deal. But I want your stapler too.”“You always want my stapler.”“It’s the only good one in the building.”Brenda rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. It was true.
The Secret Billionaire in Aisle 9 Chapter Thirty-Eight: Microwave Politics and Parking Lot Stars
Friday mornings at BuyMore were usually a quiet affair.The rush of weekday commuters had passed, and the weekend crowd hadn’t yet descended. The staff used this window to restock, reorganize, and—in Marcus’s case—quietly judge the state of the breakroom microwave.“Don’t open it,” Brenda warned, standing by the counter with her hands on her hips. “It’s not safe in there.”Marcus held a coffee mug like a hazmat shield. “I’ve seen gas station bathrooms cleaner than this.”She smirked. “Pretty sure whatever’s growing inside has union rights by now.”“I volunteer you as tribute,” he said, gesturing dramatically.Brenda grabbed a Lysol wipe and pointed it like a weapon. “I’ve already cleaned that thing twice this week. If I scrub it one more time, I’m sending it a W-2.”“Fair. Maybe we should just throw the whole appliance away and tell Gloria it caught fire.”“We’d get a bonus,” Brenda deadpanned. “Hazard pay.”
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