Page 1 of Never Let You Go

one

Alexandra

You ever have that feeling that your day started off wrong, and you might as well give up ’til tomorrow?

I’m the opposite.

Take today. January’s first Monday morning in Manhattan, sidewalks full of people shoving me to the side so they can get to their nine-to-five, city buses splashing snow and mud and salt on my new boots, my two coffees spilling off the container.

Because of this, I’m looking forward to the rest of the day. It can only get better. Bright, beautiful mornings? They set up the wrong expectations. Trust me—I’ve been there. At least tonight, I have something to look forward to: microwaved ramen and wine from the box with my roommate and BFF, watching a trashy show. Now, that’s a day with an upswing.

My stomach clenching, I slosh through the marble floors of Red Barn Baking headquarters, the chain of industrial bakeries owned by my late grandmother and my current place of employment. As I swipe my card through the turnstiles and make my way to the row of elevators for the first time since her passing, the finality of her death hits me like a slap. What am I even doing here? It’s not like she’s going to start noticing me now.

The pit in my stomach grows while I make my way to my cubicle in the Marketing Department, returning the fake smiles of my coworkers. I quickly switch my boots for the pumps I keep under my desk, smooth my skirt, fluff my hair, and take my two dripping coffees to the office of the CEO’s assistant, Barbara.

Her warm smile greets me, but she waves her hands, No, across her desk.

“Organic, sustainably harvested, soy milk and honey, just how you like it. Don’t you want to make your Monday better?” I’ve known Barbara my whole life. She was my grandmother’s assistant. And from the day Mom died fifteen years ago, she’s been there for me. So, although she’s now the CEO’s assistant and I’m barely above entry level, I take some liberties with protocol. Especially since Rita, my grandmother, died last week, and her constant frown and pursed lips are no longer here to chase me away like she did whenever she patrolled the hallways of her empire.

“Sweetheart, you’re the best,” Barbara says. A whiff of patchouli hits me like a sweet memory. “I just don’t want you to spill it on my desk again, is all.”

“Spill already happened this morning, and it wasn’t even my fault this time,” I say, handing her a messy cup and pulling up a chair.

“Don’t sit down, honey. Boss wants to see you ASAP. Conference room.”

Oh shit. I’m never called into a meeting with the CEO. It’s so above my paygrade. “What about?”

She raises her eyebrows and makes a my-lips-are-sealed gesture.

“Does this have anything to do with Rita?”

She tilts her head, maybe. “Be smart,” she says. Her eyes are kinder than usual. My stomach bottoms out. Am I being let go? This company is the last tether to any form of family I have. Please don’t let it be that.

I square my shoulders and force a smile. “I’m very smart.”

“Not that kind of smart. And leave your soggy mess here,” she adds, pointing to my coffee.

I put the tray down. “Gotta make a bathroom run.”

She shakes her head. “No time for that. Robert already asked twice for you.”

Am I really that late?

She waves me out. “They’re waiting for you.”

Who’s they? I clench my bladder and take a deep breath. Doesn’t look like the day is getting better just yet. Ramen and wine, and a trashy show. Focus on the little things that’ll get you through the day.

The big boss, Robert Norwood, is sitting at the top of the conference table with two other people in suits on one side, a man and a woman. Stacks of paperwork are lined in front of them in neat piles. On a side table, a silver tray holds a steaming pot of coffee, croissants, and immaculate porcelain mugs with our new logo on it. I love that logo. It’s a stylistic rendition of a red barn, not unlike the one on the giant picture frame hanging on the wall right above. It’s been a pain to get everyone to agree on that logo, but after exhausting the patience of two external firms, we ended up doing the job ourselves and—

“Alex! Are you with us?” Robert’s voice booms, pulling me out of my thoughts. “Help yourself to some coffee. You look like you could use it.” He sounds even more annoyed with me than usual.

“Thank you.” I almost take him up on the offer, but my bladder rings the alarm, so I choose the safer route of sitting down and getting this over with quickly. I smile at the people across the table from me. They smile back, lips pinched.

Not good.

“Alex, this is the law firm representing your grandmother’s estate,” Robert says. He doesn’t bother with their names, and for some reason that makes me feel a little closer to them.

I nod their way and smile again.

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