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( P )

I stare blankly at the pink sheet on my desk, my face stony and impassive.

LETTER OF RESIGNATION

I've seen this paper many, many times before but this time it just seems so much more…daunting. I'm not the best superior in the world, but there's no mistaking that I'm pretty sharp, no-nonsense, and deliberate. Every move that I make has a purpose, and if my actions wind up maiming, or offending? So be it. So long as I finish, so long as I win.

Letters of resignation fall onto my desk at least twice a month like clockwork, and they may as well have 'You're a bitch.' emblazoned in the heading. Frankly, I await the day with unfounded anticipation. The day that someone actually finds the ball sack to call me a bitch to my face.

I'll probably be waiting a long, long time.

But this time is different. Instead of sliding the article into one of my drawers and continuing about my day, I remain frozen, replaying the conversation that preceded it over and over in my fuzzy head.

We were in the elevator, on our way up to my office when she, out of the clear blue said, "—By the way Ms. Grey, you should also begin looking for a new assistant as well."

Slowly, I turned my head to her. "What for?" I asked.

Alexandria smiled at me in her usual, professional demeanor. "I quit." She said very clearly, but there seems to have been something wrong with my ears, so I stuck my finger into the right one, as it was the one she'd been standing nearest to and shake the hollow canal a couple of times.

"One more time."

She doesn't skin a beat. "I quit." Professional and unfeeling smile still in place.

The elevator finally jolts to a stop on the twentieth floor, just as I remark "I see. Alright then."

Alexandria followed my footsteps all the way to my office and entered behind me. When I finally took a seat, she dug into the organ folder clutched between her chest and arm before presenting a single sheet of pink copy paper with black printed words adorning its face. I took it from her hand carefully, as if it would explode with any sudden movement.

I looked at it, then at her, then back at it again. Perfectly organized, no grammatical errors, marginally appropriate—12 pt. Times New Roman. If I had OCD, it would've been doing backflips.

"Thank you, Alexandria." I said, and she takes that as her cue to leave, closing the door behind her with a nearly inaudible click.

It's been nearly—I check the clock on my Mac—ten minutes and I'm stock still.

Alexandria Burrell, my assistant of over two years, is resigning. In the letter lies her reason, '…have found employment elsewhere…' My eyes roll the back of my head after re-reading it for the seventh time. Where?

My foot begins to shake with anticipation, shaking off one of my heels completely. It slams against the front-inner part of my mahogany desk and I jump from the noise it makes. One of my employees is resigning, and for the first time ever the question lingers on the tip of my tongue like dry ice.

"Why?" I say aloud to the large, empty space.

xxx

Alexandria brings in my lunch, along with a few documents I'd asked her for, setting them both on my desk gently. I stop typing and sit back in my chair as I watch her. "Alexandria." I finally say and she looks up at me expectantly.

"Is there a problem, Ms. Grey? You did say that you wanted steak for lunch today. I could always go grab you something else."

I shake my head microscopically. "10%." I say without context.

Her eyes drift for a moment, then they're back on me again. "10%, miss?" She reiterates, confused.

"I can give you a 10% pay raise. You've earned it anyway, this is long overdue."

She opens her mouth to speak and 4 years of business school coupled with 6 years of exposure to rejection guarantees that she's going to turn me down instantly. "Two extra weeks paid vacation and a six-figure retirement fund."

Wait…what? Am I, is this…begging? I'm used to people begging me, but it doesn't feel right when I'm the one doing it doing it. Phoebe Grey doesn't beg.

Phoebe Grey doesn't do much of anything, really.

"Miss Grey, salary is not the reason for terminating my employment with Grey House." She assures.

My brain keeps screaming don't ask, but the words still manage to squeeze their way up my esophagus like bile. "And that reason would be?" I wait, mildly dumbstruck but positive it doesn't show. I've always treated Alexandria with the utmost respect. She's punctual, organized, and handles my business with hastened precision. She is perfect in every way. I know that I have a bit of a reputation, but none of the words that are spoken from easily offended mouths should be reflective of my relationship with her, because it has always been revered and professional.

Alexandria smiles at me again, but this time it's much less guarded, almost as if she hadn't anticipated my asking. She shouldn't—in the two years she's worked for me I've maybe asked her about her personal life a total of zero times.

It's written all over her face, and she glances down to hide it. When she looks back up again her emerald eyes soften into a natural haze and she says, "I'm engaged. He proposed to me last night and he's moving me back home with him to Maryland."

Stoically, I puff out "Oh." And after a long pause, I go on, "I'd no idea you were even seeing someone." With all the work that I give her on a daily basis, the business trips she accompanies me to, and the late-night errands I have her run, it's a wonder how she managed to establish and maintain a relationship with anyone.

"It's been mostly long distance." She clarifies. Bingo.

"I see."

Alexandria begins to squirm when the silence envelopes the room. "Was there anything else, Ms. Grey?"

"No." I say dismissively. "Wait. The Letterman proposal."

"I was just about to send you that e-mail. The proposal was rejected by the board this morning." She states, immediately returning to her usual, professional self—light in her eyes extinguished. What was that?

"Leave." I mumble under my breath, resuming my work.

The door closes behind her, and I peek at the boxed meat on my desk with disgust. Not hungry, annoyed, stressed.

xxx

My office door opens again not five minutes later without so much as a knock, but my tense body relaxes when Theodore saunters in wordlessly, undoes the single button holding his blazer together and sits in one of the off-white Gia chairs across from me.

He stretches out his long legs to get comfortable and sinks into the upholstery. "Mornin' little sister." He says tiredly.

My eyes remain glued to where he is, but I'm not actually looking at him—I'm looking through him. "Please, sit." I offer, extending my hand to the seat he already occupies.

"I bought Park Industries yesterday." He says pridefully as he fiddles with the cufflinks of his thousand-dollar suit.

"I don't recall the part where I asked."

"Oh, come on. That was a tough deal and you know it. Even you couldn't get those assholes to sell. Who spit in your coffee this morning?" He asks calmly, but that unironic smile on his mouth twists a nerve. "I mean it's you we're talking about, so it could have been anyone you've ever spoken to."

"Get out of my office." I demand, but he cocks a brow at me, not budging.

I drop my pen and cross my arms. "My assistant handed in her resignation today." I say.

A laugh curls through his words. "Took her long enough. She's probably outlived everyone from your original department, right? Good for her."

"Good for her?" I ask, disbelieving. "You're calling her resignation an act of providence or something?"

He shrugs. "No. Getting as far away from you as possible? I call that self-care."

"Teddy." I say swiftly. "Why are you here?"

He smiles big. "To see my see my favorite sister."

"You pronounced only wrong."

"You misheard favorite."

"Your sister is busy keeping a two trillion-dollar enterprise afloat—as you should be. Or is it possible that after this mindless pester you have an appointment with your new flavor of the week?"

He rolls his eyes at me because clearly, I'm the annoying one in this conversation. "Mom is home from Sweden." He states. So? "Family meeting tonight at seven, Grandma and Grandpa's house." He stands.

"I'm busy."

"Doing what?" He chuckles knowingly.

"I have a very crucial appointment to watch paint dry."

"Either you come tonight, or I tell out father that you've been fooling around with Sullivan Mays."

I feel one of my eyebrows twitch. "I haven't. And I don't think I can stress that enough."

"Yeah…" He opens the door and eases his way out slowly, his face devoid of emotion. "But Dad doesn't know that." Then he smiles again. "See'ya tonight!"

I stopped in front of my grandparent's estate around 6:50. I've been waiting in the car for exactly nine minutes.

I don't want to go in there, but they must know that I'm out here by now, so I can't just drive away. Not to mention the fact that I'm being blackmailed by the tool that's been following me around since kindergarten, who I have no interest in romantically or even platonically. Even my father hates his blue-blooded guts.

Hesitantly, I climb out of the Altima and right my skirt and blouse. "Now or nothing." I whisper.

xxx

"How was Stockholm though, Ana?" Grandpa asks mom from across the table.

She finishes chewing the food in her mouth first. "Beautiful, she says, "Absolutely breathtaking. Even more spectacular than my first visit."

"That was with you, right Christian?" Aunt Mia asks.

My father nods and throws a conservative smile in mom's direction. "That was a short vacation." He clarifies.

"But I had quite of bit of work to do so I didn't get to sight-see or explore much." Mom exasperates as she holds her chest.

"Did you find what you were looking for?" I look over to find my brother's expectant face beside me.

Mom just nods. Grandma sighs. "I still think you bit off a bit more than you can chew with this whole thing. I mean collaborating with two authors from different countries? It's pretty ambitious."

Aunt Mia snorts. "Ambitious is the light way of putting it, but you've always been overly zealous, haven't you Ana? A little too much if you ask me."

"Everything is fine Grace, honestly—I can handle this." Mom assures her.

Soon, as per usual the conversation begins to melt into inaudible chatter within my uninterested head. I keep my eyes trained on the food on my plate, stabbing one lima bean at a time and popping each one into my mouth, remaining occupied so that I don't have to look up anytime soon. I'm not really hungry but if I don't eat something my father will have an aneurism.

I wonder if Tony ever finished with that report I asked him to prepare yesterday. He never got back to me about it, so he must still be working…but I'm probably going to need it tomorrow. We move our storage unit to a different unit tomorrow, and I'll be damned if we have to constantly go back and forth and risk melting the ice or even breaking it. And what if the refrigeration in the new warehouse isn't as good? Worst case scenario.

I should also probably have Alexandria remind me to redo that proposal tomorrow so that I don't forget—the Letterman one. I thought it was actually pretty good and I'm surprised they found any holes in it at all.

Speaking of holes—what's up with people who have trypophobia? What a bizarre fear.

It would be a lot more efficient and less time consuming if I simply ran the numbers myself this time around, but honestly I just don't have the spare time. Alexandria isn't the best with numbers, she's just good with the bare minimum. But I didn't really hire her because she's a mathematician, so it hardly matters.

I'll do it myself on Monday, and I'll also work on redrafting the Letterman proposal while I—

"…be. Phoebe?!" My head snaps up to several eyes, digging into me.

"What are you thinking so hard about, kiddo?" Grandpa asks. He looks the most worried of everyone.

"I think she's having some kind of internal crisis, Carrick." Uncle Ethan cackles.

I clear my throat. "Sorry. Nothing, really." I mumble.

Teddy exhales grossly. "She was probably thinking about work." He barks. Thanks bro.

"Oh Phoebe." My mom sighs, dropping her silverware on the plate and folding her arms, frustrated. "I haven't seen you in over three months. I haven't spoken to you in over three weeks, and I've only been out of the country for less than one week!" Her usual calm, soothing voice begins to rise. "Is spending an hour engaging with your family really that tasking for you?"

I'm frozen for a moment. Mom never scolds me. That's usually my father's job, and boy does he do it well.

Unsure of how to react, I remain silent and peel my gaze from hers.

What does she want from me exactly? Work is all I do, it's all I am. It's all I think about—there's literally nothing else. I'm a genius at closing a deal, but when it comes to casual conversation I transform into this socially retarded amoeba.

"Phoebe?" My father says after a while of me refusing to speak or even look up from my plate. "A word, please." He asks, but it's not a question. Father's word is law, even at my age.

I stand after he does and he leads us to the balcony out back. When he slides the glass doors shut and turns to face me, that unnerving look in his shallow gray eyes that mimic my own tell me that I'm in for a wild ride.

"Speak."

There aren't many things that scare me. In fact, I can count them on one hand: failing, leeches, acupuncture—but my father's airy silence and his directed, purposeful hostility? Well, personally that's what my nightmares are bred from.

He's an intimidating man, and I'm not easily intimidated

"There's nothing to say." I try, but he cuts me off before I can finish.

"—cut the bullshit. Now, I can tolerate your flippant despondency any other day, but your mother wanted to see you. Everyone in there does. You've been living in a cave for the last few months."

"Work has been demanding."

"Don't talk to me about work. I don't want to hear about it. I work in the same building that you do. What I'm looking for is your participation tonight, not an excuse. Go in there, tell your mother you love her, and ask her how she's doing."

My nose scrunches up. Why would I ask her how she's doing? I can see that she's doing just fine.

Father notices that internal belligerence. "Phoebe Gracelyn Gray…" He warns.

"Alright I'll…figure something out." I grumble, throwing my head back.

"That's my girl." He smiles, pulling me into his chest for a lung-crushing hug.

"Dad…I can't breathe." I wheeze.

xxx

I'm back at my penthouse at exactly 9:00PM, having survived dinner with the family. I barely spoke, but I barely ever do, no matter how much I'm hounded. There's nothing to say. They all know what's happening in my life—work. And people often surmise that I'm dejected. They'll discreetly mention that there's no emotion on my face. Tell the truth, Phoebe. They demand. Are you okay? They ask.

…okay? I don't know what that means. How do I know if I'm it? Most of the time I feel nothing.

I stand at the foot of my large, Queen-sized bed and stare at the pristine cotton sheets, my eyes tracing the intricate design of the dark comforter. When I inhale deeply, it echoes through my empty room before the decorated walls absorb it and disappears.

Silence. Golden. Beautiful.

As soon as I go to undo the buttons of my blouse, my cellphone chirps. I grab it from my purse and browse through the messages, noting this long thread from Alexandria.

Miss Grey, I'll be interviewing for a new assistant on Friday. I'll make room in your schedule to join me if—

I don't read on because I don't care, quickly replying:

Please see to it without me. I'll trust your decision.

I lock my phone, slip off my armor and hop into the shower. Heat turned up as high as possible. My skin turns red beneath the showerhead, but I don't feel it.

It's been a long time since I've felt anything.

-Monday-

The entire weekend consisted of me staring at my television while it's off, and as I walk into Grey House early this morning I'm already missing that blank, black screen.

And here's the reason why.

"Miss Grey! Good morning! You're early!" Trenton's entire body perks up as he waves for my attention and he takes long strides across the first-floor lobby to minimize the distance between us.

I ignore him, and when he tries to close in on me my shadow, Dutch, pushes him forcefully away.

Dutch knows that Trenton annoys me. I don't even like having him in my general vicinity, but as head of reception in this building I have to deal with him nearly every day. If there was anything wrong with him at all besides the fact that he's way too energetic and overly friendly, I would've had him fired by now.

He is once again taken aback by my non-acknowledgement. "Well I hope you have a great—!" I finally turn and look at him over my shoulder. I don't really know what face I'm making, but whatever it is it makes him swallow his tongue.

I step on the elevator with Dutch in tow, scan my ID, and hit 20.

xxx

The emails have piled up this weekend, meaning I have even more work to do on top of the work that I'm already behind on. Money, money, money.

I scroll through my phone some more, idly searching for exactly what's going to be keeping me busy today as I slowly tread through the twentieth floor to my office. I hear several, Good morning, Miss Grey's as usual, but keep my head down until I get to my corner office and pass Alexandria's desk.

"Good morning Miss Grey."

I push the frosted glass door to my office open, place my things on the rack and—

Wait. That last voice…wasn't Alexandria's.

Turning in place, I walk back to the door, pushing it open and step out with caution.

The man stands from behind Alexandria's desk and smiles broadly at me.

I scan him up and down, unable to see anything past his thighs. His suit is dark, his hair is dark…even his eyes are dark. Actually, I've never quite seen an eye color like that before.

Confusion grinds through my bones and I'm already positioning myself between him and the hallway, ready to find security.

Quietly, I ask. "Who are you?"

He takes me by complete surprise when he steps from behind the desk and extends his hand to me. "My names Blaze, ma'am." He explains with blindingly white, perfectly straight teeth in place. "I'm your new assistant starting today." I look at his outstretched hand and take a step back, still eyeing him cautiously.

…What?