Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 78249 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78249 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
"You know what's weird?" Julian said one evening as we were all working late. "I actually kind of like coming to work now."
"Careful," Roman warned. "He might hear you."
"I already did," Orion said, appearing in the doorway. But he was smiling—actually smiling—as he added, "And if any of you repeat that I smiled outside this office, I'll deny everything."
"There's the boss we know and fear," Julian said cheerfully.
I caught Orion's eye across the room, saw the warmth there that he no longer tried to hide. We still had our moments of friction—he was still Orion after all, and I was still me—but now they felt more like sparks than explosions.
"Speaking of our fearless leader," Monica stage-whispered, "when are you two going to make it official?"
"Make what official?" I asked innocently.
"Please," she scoffed. "The whole office has a betting pool on when he's going to propose."
I nearly choked on my coffee. "What?"
"I've got fifty on Christmas," Julian offered.
"A hundred on New Year's," Roman added without looking up.
"Better odds than Patricia Rosh got," Monica chimed in. "Did you hear what happened to Hate Notes?"
"No?" I perked up with interest.
"Apparently after Orion kept bribing away all her employees, she tried to pivot to 'Love Notes' instead. But the market for paying someone to deliver romantic messages isn't quite as robust as angry ones." Monica grinned. "Last I heard, she sold the company to some startup that's turning it into a singing telegram service."
"Complete with the red uniforms?" I asked.
"Of course. Though I hear they added sequins."
"An improvement," I decided, thinking of how far we'd all come from those morning confrontations on the steps.
“Maybe Orion could use them to propose now that they’ve changed their tune. A singing proposal!,” Julian mused with a smile. “Seems just like something Orion would do.”
“Hardly my style,” Orion said, but his words weren’t a denial that he was planning on proposing.
I nearly choked when I realized and tried to cover my surprise with a casual smile. “Yeah, Orion would probably send his proposal in a spreadsheet, or maybe a memo.”
Everybody laughed, but there was something mysterious in the smile Orion wore and the twinkle in his eyes—something that made my stomach do a few looping jumps.
44
EPILOGUE - EMBER
THREE MONTHS LATER
"Are you seriously rearranging your duck spreadsheet again?" Kora burst into my office at the Davenport factory without knocking. "Because I have news that's way better than Eleanor's latest ceramic acquisition."
I minimized the spreadsheet guiltily. "It's not just ducks anymore. We're branching into ceramic owls."
"Whatever. You need to see this." She thrust her phone at me, practically vibrating with excitement. The headline made me catch my breath:
NORTHMAN GROUP CEO TERMINATED AMID EMBEZZLEMENT SCANDAL
"Keep reading," Kora urged.
I scanned the article, a slow smile spreading across my face. Cole had apparently been stealing from his own company for years. The board discovered it during an audit prompted by "recent questionable business decisions.” I guessed that was probably his obsession with the Davenport contract.
"There's more," Kora said. "Guess who just hired half his former client relations team?"
"No way."
"Moira said they practically begged to join Foster Real Estate. And by they I also mean me. I’m working for Foster Real Estate now!”
“Oh my God!” I said, jumping up in excitement and hugging her tightly.
Kora pulled back with a smile. “Apparently, your reputation for 'ethical business practices' left quite the impression on Northman Group." She made air quotes around the words, grinning. "Who knew doing the right thing could be profitable?"
I looked around my office—my real office, not a converted janitor's closet—taking in the mix of modern furnishings and historical photographs of the factory workers. Three months of hard work were already showing results. The museum portion would open next month, and we had a waiting list of companies wanting to lease the renovated office spaces. The July heat made the factory's air conditioning feel like heaven as my thoughts swirled around everything that was changing and new.
My phone buzzed with Eleanor's special ringtone: "Duck Tales," because I couldn't resist.
"Eleanor! How's the historical society fundraiser coming along?"
"Oh, splendidly," she said, and I could hear the smile in her voice. "Marcellus has some wonderful ideas for the venue."
I bit back a grin. Eleanor and Davenport's romance had become Manhattan's favorite gossip—two childhood sweethearts reuniting after sixty years. They tried to be subtle about their dates, always disguising them as "business meetings" or "charitable events," but nobody was fooled.
"I'm sure he does," I said. "And I'm sure it has nothing to do with wanting to dance with you again."
"Hush, you." But she sounded pleased. "Will you and that handsome man of yours be attending?"
"Wouldn't miss it. Though speaking of my handsome man, I should head home. He's watching the cats today and I'm a little worried about what I'll find."
After saying goodbye, I gathered my things and headed out. The factory halls echoed with the sounds of construction. Workers were carefully modernizing the space while preserving its character. Several called out greetings as I passed.