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Thalia

“What’s up with the boss today? He looks even grumpier than usual,” says one of the lawyers whose desk is right next to mine.

I don’t remember his name, and at this point I’m too embarrassed to ask again. I’ll just pay attention when someone addresses him and memorize it then. Hopefully.

“Isaiah messed up a contract,” answers a woman from HR I don’t know.

“And he got fired?” the lawyer replies, a trace of amusement slipping into his tone.

“Yep,” she says, popping the “p” at the end.

I can’t help it—my head snaps toward them, eyes widening, and both of them exchange amused looks before chuckling at my reaction.

“Let me guess, you think it’s insane to fire someone over a single mistake, right?” the lawyer asks.

“Well, yes,” I admit, still a little stunned.

“Not when that mistake costs the company millions of dollars,” he replies, giving me a wink.

My God.

I mean, I know the kind of scale Ethan works on, but I can’t even begin to imagine how many zeros are on one of those contracts.

Still, firing an employee over one mistake? Couldn’t he at least give the guy a warning? Something. Anything.

While I’m still caught up in these thoughts, Irina gets up from her desk and walks into Ethan’s office.

The floor is completely open space—rows of desks, the quiet hum of keyboards, and the low murmur of conversations blending into a constant background noise. The only enclosed office belongs to Ethan—glass walls, sleek lines, minimalistic decor.

Of course, he has a privacy system. And he uses it. A lot. Especially when Irina goes in there.

Like right now, for instance. She barely closes the door before the glass walls turn opaque.

What are they doing in there with the privacy system on? I think everyone here knows the answer.

It’s only my third day on this floor, and it’s already the second time he’s locked himself in there with her.

Perfect, Ethan. Seems like you still find time for sex, even when you’re drowning in work.

Trying to pull my thoughts away from what they might be doing, I force myself to focus on my projects.

This morning, I received an urgent request that Irina specifically asked me to handle. She mentioned the client is one of our key associates, and she wants his entire event to be flawless.

I already have the plan in place—the sketches, the layout, everything. I’ve selected three options for each category: locations, decorations, and catering.

I go through everything again, double-checking each detail, making small adjustments where needed, determined to have all the details perfect before sending the proposals. Once the client reviews them, I’ll schedule the ballroom visit accordingly.

About thirty minutes pass before the opaque glass finally clears, and not long after, Irina steps out of Ethan’s office, with him following behind her.

They walk side by side toward the conference room, speaking in low, focused tones, and it’s impossible not to notice how effortlessly they move together, how naturally they complement each other.

I’ve never seen Antonia around here. Ethan hasn’t attended a single public event since we all came back home.

But a few weeks ago, an article surfaced—photos of him and Antonia dining together at a high-end restaurant in London. In one of the pictures, it looked like they were kissing.

With either of them—Antonia or Irina—he can speak as an equal. They’re both the kind of women who can stand their ground and still make him lose his mind over them.

“Thalia, come with me for a moment,” I hear Irina say suddenly.