Chapter 14: Chapter Fourteen- What's mine
What exactly does he know?
Wait... Could it be Mr Gaines already told him who I am?
That would be bad.
I stare at him blankly. "I… I don't know what you mean," I stammer, my voice barely above a whisper.
His expression darkens as he leans forward, clasping his hands on the desk. "Is that so? Then why," he says, his tone sharper now, "were you spotted leaving with his chauffeur after work? Explain that."
My stomach drops. Spotted? By whom? My thoughts race as I scramble for an explanation, but before I can speak, his hand cuts through the air in a commanding wave.
"Don't deny it, Miss Cole." His voice drops, icy. "You claim you're not close with Gaines, yet his driver picks you up after hours? Do you think I'm blind—or just stupid?"
"No, sir!" I blurt, panic rising.
He stands abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. He paces to the window, staring out as if trying to calm himself, before spinning back to face me, arms crossed. "You've already ignored my warning once about interacting with staff. Now this? Cozying up to a business associate?"
I flinch at his words. Cozying up? That's not what happened! But how do I explain without making things worse?
"I... I didn't—"
"Stop." The cold edge in his voice silences me instantly. "You're pushing your luck, Miss Cole. Consider this your only warning. Stay away from Gaines—or you'll be out of a job faster than you can blink. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes, sir," I whisper, my throat tight.
He studies me as he sits down. "I won't ask you to tell me what you discussed with Gaines. You're a grown woman. Keep your secrets. But let me make one thing clear. If Gaines so much as breathes in your direction again, you come to me immediately. Do you understand?"
I blink, caught off guard by the sudden protectiveness in his tone. "But why does it matter?" I blurt out before I can stop myself.
His eyes narrow slightly, and for a moment, I think he's not going to answer. But then he says, "Because I don't like it when people think they can take advantage of what's mine."
I freeze, my breath catching. What's his? Does he mean me? My pulse races, but I can't dwell on the thought for long.
He glances at his wristwatch, then back at me, his tone clipped again. "It's nine. Read me my schedule."
I turn on my laptop and open the file where I typed his schedule. I glance at it, my heart sinking at the sheer number of meetings crammed into his day. It's endless—strategy discussions, calls with international clients, and even a virtual meeting with some external stakeholders just an hour away.
"That's all," I say, finishing the rundown.
Mr. Crane nods. "Good. Now listen closely. My business email has been added to your laptop. You'll handle reading and responding to emails on my behalf. Filter out the irrelevant ones, and only bring the critical ones to my attention."
"Understood," I reply, mentally noting yet another responsibility.
"And clear all my meetings for tomorrow," he adds.
I blink. "All of them?"
"Yes," he says, leaning back in his chair. "We'll be visiting the hotel again. There's an investor from France arriving to discuss funding for the new product line. I like to keep it informal at first, just a casual get-together before the official meeting here."
I nod again. Then, his tone shifts, catching me off guard. "This time, you won't just be sleeping in the suite like last time." He gives me a knowing look. "You'll be attending the meeting too."
"What?" I blurt before quickly composing myself.
He raises an eyebrow, his sharp blue eyes narrowing slightly. "Is that a problem?"
"No, not at all," I say hastily.
"And one more thing," he continues casually. "We might have to spend the night at the hotel. So I get to know the investor properly. After work, my driver will take you to pick up some nice clothes. Shoes too," he adds, glancing at my worn ballets.
My stomach flips. "Spend the night?"
"Yes," he replies without missing a beat. "You'll need to look presentable for both the casual meeting and the formal one afterward. The driver has the details. Pick what you like—the store has my subscription, so don't worry about the bill."
I manage a nod, though my mind races with different thoughts.
So he's buying me clothes now? I mean, it was understandable the day my pants ripped but this? Is it just because he wants me to look presentable or is there some other reason?
No, come off it Aria. Buying clothes for your employee is a totally normal thing to do, isn't it?
But he only just raised his voice at me a few minutes ago and now he's showing this gesture like nothing even happened.
The main thing on my mind, though, is the prospect of spending the night at a hotel, with Mr. Crane. My stomach twists at the thought. It's just work. Professional. Strictly business.
But why does it feel so much more complicated? I glance at him, seated confidently behind the desk, leafing through some books and completely unbothered, as if this is just another day. Meanwhile, I'm blushing furiously and silently praying my face isn't as red as it feels.
The hours crawl by as I throw myself into work, trying to distract myself from my growing anxiety about tomorrow. Meetings come and go, emails pile up, and Mr. Crane keeps me on my toes with last-minute demands.
By noon, I'm starving. Just as I consider asking if I could go out for a snack, Mr. Crane orders lunch for both of us. Steak.
I steal a glance at him as the food arrives, noting how effortlessly he cuts into his meal. So he does eat, I think, amused by my own surprise.
As the day rolls by, I can't stop worrying about how to raise the $50,000 needed for my brother and no amount of work seems to distract me completely. I glance at my phone from time to time. No word from my mother yet.
By mid-afternoon, I inform Mr. Crane of the next meeting—a briefing with the heads of various departments in the conference room down the hall. It's my first time meeting most of them, and they're an interesting bunch.
I recognize a man with black-dyed hair and a gray beard who wears wire framed glasses. I met him in this same conference room on my first day here, which was supposed to be my interview. I look at his name tag on the table in front of him. Mr Turner. He's the recruiting manager.
Then there's Jessy, the head of PR, whose gaze keeps drifting toward me, her friendly smile almost too bright.
The meeting begins, with Mr. Crane commanding the room as he usually does, and I focus on taking notes. It's mostly technical updates and strategy discussions, and I try not to let Jessy's lingering glances distract me.
...
As the workday finally ends, I gather my things and look at Mr. Crane's who is stabbing at his keyboard with a frown. "I'll head out with your driver now."
He looks up from his laptop and nods curtly. "Okay. The driver will drop you home afterward."
"Yes, sir," I reply.
As I get to the reception downstairs, Jessy appears out of nowhere. "Wait!"
What's up with this girl?
I pause, uneasy.
"Your number?" she asks with a charming smile and flips her hair backwards. "Just in case, you know."
I remember Mr Crane's warning about not associating with employees but I shrug it off. There's no way he'll know right? And besides it's just a number. It's not like we're going to become work buddies or something.
"Uh, sure," I mumble, rattling it off quickly.
She gives me a small smile and I go outside where Mr Crane's driver is already waiting for me.
The drive to the clothes store takes about twenty minutes. The store is dazzling, with polished floors that reflect the endless racks of designer clothes. An attendant greets me with a warm smile, guiding me through the selections.
I promised myself I'd pick just one dress, something simple, professional, appropriate. But the choices are overwhelming. The sleeveless, black chiffon, high-low cocktail dress is effortlessly elegant. The deep green A-line hugs my waist like it was tailored just for me. And the blush-pink halter dress? It's pure magic, its lace detailing so delicate it feels like wearing a dream.
By the time I've chosen three dresses instead of one, guilt tugs at me. Am I overstepping? But the attendant's encouraging smile dissolves my hesitation.
"They all suit you so well," she says brightly. "You should take them all."
I nod, the decision made. It's for work after all, I tell myself.
I pair them with two sets of shoes: classic black stilettos and nude heels with a subtle sparkle.
The price tags make me wince, but I remind myself this is for work, and Mr. Crane's subscription covers it.
The drive home is blissfully peaceful and as the car pulls up to my building, I feel lighter—almost optimistic. For a brief moment, my worries seem distant.
"Thanks for the ride," I say to the driver, waving cheerfully as I step out.
But my good mood evaporates the second I reach my door. My key slides into the lock, but I notice something strange—the door is already unlocked.
That's odd. I could've sworn I locked it this morning. I push the door open cautiously, my heart thudding in my chest as I take a step inside.
The shopping bags slip from my hands, hitting the floor with a dull thud.
What I see before me makes my blood run cold.
CREATORS' THOUGHTS 
TheEnchantrexxx
TheEnchantrexxx I had fun writing this chapter. Do you have any guesses as to what Aria may have seen? Let me know!
Also, indicate in the comments if you want to see pictures of the dresses Aria bought.
Thanks for reading!!
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