When a proposition crosses my desk once, I usually skim it. But if it comes up more than three times in a week, I know it deserves attention—especially if family is involved. This time, the so-called "deal" happened to involve an actual person, with a thread of business woven in. I couldn't ignore what Grant said—or, annoyingly, what my mother said—so I gave in a bit to my inner thoughts and peeked through Marcie's file at work. To my surprise, almost everything she gravitated toward was the exact opposite of what my fashion house was built on.
Sera Elganza thrives on minimalism, clean lines, and effortless shopping. Marcie, however, is drawn to bold patterns and striking color combinations—the sort of aesthetic better suited for Style Sphere. Perhaps some mistake landed her here in the first place. But, she executes her job to my satisfaction. Still, she can't deny she dislikes the brand. I've caught her shopping after hours for new designs and parading them around the office, as if in subtle rebellion against the style she represents.
If anything, she's more of a mystery now than ever with her recent actions. The file did give me a rare glimpse into her world. What stood out most was her love for animals. Normally, I reserve extravagant gifts for blind dates, but I thought I'd make an exception for my secretary. A thoughtful gesture might persuade her to stay. Besides—I'm almost certain her feelings for me go beyond the professional.
I wasn't sure if I should pull back. After all, she was Ms. Marcie, my secretary. But the cat idea—that was genius. At least, I thought so. She cried when she saw it. For a moment, I believed I'd moved her. When she spun around to face me through the glass, I expected her to leap into my arms, or at the very least, smile. That would have been something. She was never dramatic. But instead, I got a red face streaked with tears.Was she really that touched?
No. She barked that she was allergic and stormed off. I froze for a second, staring out my window, reconsidering the entire plan. No woman had ever yelled at me after receiving a gift from me. I leapt out of my recently detailed red BMW without thinking, my hand reaching for her wrist on instinct. I hadn't meant to pull her back, but it was some strange reflex I couldn't control based on the sudden emotions I was feeling. That was definitely unlike me—I don't act on sudden emotions.
"I understand why you're mad—I think. The gift was bad, but I also understand why my history of gift-giving makes it worse."
She blinked, as if waiting for a confession I couldn't give. I only managed:
"Those dates I went on—the ones you dressed me for and the gifts you wrapped for them—I know that must have hurt. But I want you to know I never kissed any of them. I didn't even sleep with them."
The city noise became like background music as cars honked on and random tunes played out in passing. She stood silent, transfixed on my face, not walking away.
"Marcie," I huffed out. "I accept your feelings. We've worked side by side for ten years. I understand."
Still, no words from her. Her tight brown bun showed her clear scrunched up face. If she didn't want to speak, that was also fine.
"I'm giving you tomorrow off. We'll both think about this—like adults. About these… feelings we have for each other."
I finally let go and walked away when she finally decided to speak.
"Mr. Fabrizi, I can assure you there is nothing to think about. I don't fully understand what you mean, but I will gladly take tomorrow off. Of course, after Ms. Fallon's training in the evening."
My head tilted. Training? I thought this would make her feel more secure about staying, not push her closer to leaving.
"Training in the evening?" I repeated.
"Yes. I need to be ready in case Vegas or Seattle calls."
What?! Vegas? Seattle? She doesn't need to uproot her life over this—whatever this is. I can't even manage long-distance relationships.
The news sent me into my default stoicism, the mask I wore at work. My quick steps toward her came out more intense than I intended, and she stepped back, hands on her hips with so much defiance it stopped me cold.
"Marcie—we don't need to make this complicated. We're at the beginning of something—unfamiliar, yes—but real. And you don't need to leave Los Angeles."
For once, the city fell quiet. Crickets filled the silence. She looked up at me, unshaken.
"I don't know what you mean, but you're not making this easy. This is a sign that I need to live my life—whether you like it or not."
I don't think she's ever spoken to me like that. But then, feelings always complicate things. For the first time, I wasn't just looking at her as my secretary. I was seeing her as a woman as her brown reflective eyes bore into mine. And what bothered me most wasn't her resistance. It was her denial.