⋅•⋅⊰∙∘⋆✼♡✽⋆∘∙⊱⋅•
Mr. Fairchild let out a long, measured sigh, the kind that suggested he was already tired of this conversation and possibly of me as a concept. I sat there in complete silence, my hands folded neatly in my lap while, internally, I screamed, cried, begged, promised to become a monk, and swore lifelong devotion to punctuality if it meant keeping my job.
Please don't fire me.
Please don't fire me.
I'll devote every fiber of my being to you.
I will delete every club from my map app.
I will sleep at 9 p.m. like a Victorian child.
Please, I beg of you.
Come on, you beautiful man! Don't leave me on a cliffhanger here!
After what felt like an eternity but was probably only a few seconds, he finally spoke.
"No," he said simply in that endearing but dry way of his.
I blinked in shock.
"No?" I repeated faintly, just to be sure I hadn't hallucinated that one blessed syllable.
"No," he confirmed, already turning his attention to his laptop as he opened it and began typing with calm, deliberate precision, as if he hadn't just held my entire future hostage. "You are not fired."
The relief hit me so hard I nearly melted straight through the chair. I sucked in a breath I hadn't realized I was holding and felt my shoulders sag as the tension drained out of me in one dramatic wave.
Oh thank the gods. Thank the ancestors.
Thank every alarm clock ever invented.
I was already mentally drafting a thank-you speech when he spoke again without looking up.
"For now."
I froze.
Every ounce of relief evaporated instantly, replaced by a sharp, sinking dread that settled right in my stomach.
He continued typing as though he hadn't just emotionally drop-kicked me, his tone calm but firm when he added, "This is your final warning, Theodore."
I straightened immediately, nodding even though he wasn't looking at me.
"You need to get your act together," he went on, finally lifting his gaze to meet mine, and there was no humor in his expression now, only cool, unwavering seriousness. "Your performance has been slipping, and I will not repeat myself again. If this behavior continues, you will lose your position here. Permanently. Remember, I have no sentimental emotional to my employees."
That I believe.
My mouth opened, but no sound came out at first, because the weight of his words hit harder than I expected. This wasn't a threat delivered in anger; it was a statement of fact, and that somehow made it far more terrifying.
"Yes, sir," I managed finally, nodding again like my head was powered by a motor. "I understand. Completely, it won't happen again. I promise."
He studied me for a moment, clearly deciding whether he believed me because this wasn't the first time I said those words to him funny enough, before turning back to his screen with a small nod.
"See that it doesn't." he responded, curtly.
God, I think I fell even deeper in love with him.
I sat there for another second, absorbing the fact that I was still employed, still respectable, and still capable of paying my brother's future tuition, before carefully rising to my feet with what I hoped was renewed professionalism and absolutely no visible signs of emotional collapse.
I had survived, barely.
And if I valued my life, my job, and my parents' bragging rights, I needed to seriously rethink my nighttime decision-making skills.
I let out a slow, controlled sigh, the kind meant to signal maturity and accountability rather than the emotional wreckage still rattling around inside my chest, and nodded firmly at him as though I hadn't just mentally planned my unemployment arc five minutes ago.
"Okay," I said earnestly. "You don't have to worry, sir. I'll get back on track, I'll be the best personal assistant you could ever imagine!"
I meant it too, even if my recent behavior suggested otherwise. I was very good at my job when I wasn't busy sabotaging myself with poor sleep decisions and even poorer impulse control, and I desperately wanted him to remember that version of me.
Trying to regain some sense of normalcy, I straightened slightly and added, "Would you like anything before I go? Coffee? I could grab those donuts you like...the ones with the cream filling."
I knew the moment the words left my mouth that I was smiling too brightly, because for all his intimidating presence and cold demeanor, Xavier Fairchild had a very real and very unfortunate sweet tooth, and I had been the one to discover it completely by accident during an early-morning meeting crisis months ago.
He paused his typing and glanced up at me again, his expression unreadable as ever, before shaking his head once.
"No," he said simply. "You may leave. Get back to work."
Yeesh, what a downer. But that's why I liked him. I was already chaotic, the last thing I wanted was an equally chaotic partner. I wanted someone capable of holding a gremlin like me on a leash.
Look at me talking like he was even a romantic candidate, when he barely gave two shits about me. I was a lost cause.
I smiled despite myself, a genuine one this time, and nodded. "Yes, sir."
As I turned toward the door, I had the sudden, very inappropriate urge to hug him, which I immediately crushed because hugging your terrifying alpha CEO after narrowly avoiding termination was not something covered in the employee handbook.
Still, the relief followed me all the way out of his office, warm and buoyant, settling in my chest as I stepped back into the hallway and carefully closed the door behind me.
I hadn't lost my job, miraculously. Who knew God was still at my side with all the shenanigans I've gotten into all through the years.
But if I wanted to keep it, I really needed to get my head out of my ass and start acting like the dependable, capable Theodore Pierce everyone believed me to be.
At least during office hours that is, after that I could be the sex-crazed caveman that I was.