Semua Bab The Secret Billionaire in Aisle 9 : Bab 11 - Bab 20

BuyMore was finally closed for the day.The last receipt had printed. The automatic doors had stuttered shut. The overhead lights flickered into their dim nighttime setting, casting a pale glow on the tile floors. Only the buzzing of the floor cleaner and the occasional sigh of exhausted employees lingered in the air.Brenda tossed her name tag into her locker with a dramatic sigh. “Another twelve-hour day, another batch of angry coupon moms. I should be getting hazard pay for this.”From a few lockers down, Marcus let out a grunt of agreement, tugging off his branded polo and replacing it with a flannel shirt he kept folded in his bag.“Hey,” he said suddenly. “You doing anything tonight?”Brenda arched an eyebrow. “Unless you count microwaving leftovers and yelling at my cat, no. Why?”“Come have a drink with me,” he said casually, but his voice had that slightly-too-casual edge. “There’s that 24-hour diner-bar off Edison Stree

The awkwardness between them was not subtle.It wasn’t a quiet thing, either—not the kind of silence that comes from mutual understanding, or even mutual indifference. No, the tension between Callie and Eli had the weight of unspoken words, misfired glances, and half-formed hopes trailing behind every interaction like static cling.And everyone at BuyMore felt it.Brenda noticed first, of course—she always did. Then Marcus made some joke about a “romantic cold front moving through Aisle Nine.” Even Brenda’s usually oblivious backup cashier, Jared, caught on and whispered something about “former lovers” under his breath while restocking batteries.The only two people who hadn’t talked about it?Callie and Eli.Until today.It was mid-afternoon when Eli finally cornered her in the stockroom, under the humming flicker of an aging fluorescent bulb. She was hoisting a box of shampoo refill packs onto a metal shelf, pointedly

Brenda closed the door to her apartment with the kind of sigh that came from a long shift, aching feet, and customers who thought “do you work here?” was the height of conversation.The inside of her apartment was exactly the way she left it: small, neat, quiet.Too quiet.She kicked off her shoes by the door, let her bag slide off her shoulder and thump to the floor, and tossed her BuyMore name tag onto the kitchen counter like it had personally wronged her.Then she went straight for the fridge.Empty. Of course.The only things inside were a half-used bottle of ketchup, a can of Red Bull, and an expired yogurt she’d been pretending didn’t exist for four days.“Okay,” she muttered to herself. “Takeout it is.”Ten minutes later, she was sitting cross-legged on the couch in sweatpants and an old hoodie, chopsticks in one hand and a Styrofoam box of lukewarm pancit in the other. The TV flickered in front of her,

The BuyMore 10th Anniversary Gala was everything the staff had imagined—and then some. Held in the glittering ballroom of the Grand Fairmont Hotel overlooking Central Park, the event felt more like the Oscars of corporate retail than a celebration of barcode scanners and employee-of-the-month certificates. Waiters moved through the crowd with trays of champagne, a jazz trio played near the open bar, and the chandeliers overhead looked like they belonged in a movie. Everyone had dressed the part. Gone were the polos and name tags, replaced by tailored suits, glittering gowns, and shoes that hurt in the best way. Brenda, who usually kept to hoodies and comfortable boots, was unrecognizable in a deep emerald dress that hugged her frame and brought out the hazel in her eyes. Her dark hair was curled to one side, lips painted a shade of red that whispered danger and heartbreak. Callie

The fluorescent lights of BuyMore had never felt more aggressively unflattering. After the glittering heights of the Grand Fairmont ballroom, the smell of industrial floor cleaner and overly-perfumed dryer sheets hit everyone like a cold slap to the face. Monday morning had arrived. And so had reality. Callie stood at the breakroom counter, stirring powdered creamer into a cup of stale coffee. She didn’t miss New York, exactly. But she did miss the anonymity of it. The ability to be just one of a million people on the street, walking fast and not looking back. Here? There were eye rolls, greetings, and awkward small talk waiting to happen. Specifically—with Eli. He walked in a few minutes later, hair still damp from a rushed shower, sleeves rolled up to his elbows like a man preparing for emotional combat. Their eyes met across the small, cluttered room.