Page 27 of Under His Protection

“Good morning, Ava Parker,” Gilbert says politely. I almost forgot that we both work at Spectrum—accounting is like a different planet down the hall, and we’ve never really spoken.

“So, how’s work at Spectrum?” Sarah asks, her eyes twinkling. She’s leaning against Gilbert, her fingers tracing a pattern on his shirt. “I love it that you two work at the same place!”

“It’s been—busy,” Gilbert says, pushing up his glasses, his brow furrowed in concentration.

“Yeah, Gilbert told me Spectrum is expanding, Ava,” Sarah says.

“Expanding?” I say, raising my eyebrows.

“Yes, they’re hiring a bunch of new people. Apparently, some big investor is pushing money into Spectrum,” Sarah says. “You know, it’s amazing how quickly that company grows. Cole Cohan has really got a knack for it.”

“Really,” I manage, cocking my head.” Cole Cohan? But he’s not responsible. That would be the owner expanding, no?”

Gilbert looks up from his coffee, “Well, Cole is the owner.”

My heart thumps against my ribs, a sudden, uncomfortable awareness settling over me. Why didn’t I know that? I feel stupid. I always thought he was just my boss, my direct superior. But now, a realization dawns. I don’t know anything.

“Right, of course,” I say, pretending to know. “Is this common knowledge?”

“Honestly, I don’t know. I don’t talk to many people,” Gilbert says. “I just do the numbers and paperwork. And the papers say he’s the owner. But he’s a strange one, you know? He’s—different.”

“Oh, how so?” Sarah asks, leaning in closer.

"I’ve heard some stories," Gilbert says, adjusting his glasses. "He’s a man who likes to be in control. Everything has to be perfect. He doesn't like surprises. He's like a chess player, always looking ahead." He hesitates, a flicker of something in his eyes, then adds, "It’s hard to believe he started his business with so little money. He's from a rough part of town, they say— But you wouldn't know it now. He seems to have a way of getting what he wants. I've heard stories, you know? Like that time he bought that old abandoned warehouse near the docks. A real fixer-upper, they said. But he somehow turned it into a gold mine.” He laughs nervously, “Sorry. I’m just rambling."

“I love that about you, Gilbert, hun. You’re so smart and so dedicated to your work, and your rambling is off the charts!” Sarah says, her eyes sparkling. She leans in, her red lips leaving a faint smudge on his cheek as she pulls away. He ducks his head shyly, a nervous grin spreading across his face.

“Well, I do pay attention to things, you know,” Gilbert says, his cheeks flushing even deeper.

The shrill ring of Sarah’s phone pierces the silence. The screen flashes a bright blue, but she ignores it, her eyes still locked on Gilbert. She reaches for a stray lock of hair and twists it around her finger.

My hand shakes as I lift the mug she has prepared for me to my lips, the coffee sloshing dangerously close to the rim. Eventually, the coffee spills onto the countertop, a dark brown stain spreading across the surface. “Damn it,” I mutter, reaching for a cloth.

“It’s okay,” Sarah says, her voice calm. “The place is a mess anyway.”

As I clean up the mess, the thought of Cole owning Spectrum starts to click. It would explain a lot. He’s always been elusive. He’s constantly observing, never revealing his hand. It’s like he’s a ghost in the machine, watching, assessing, knowing everything—a CEO in the shadows, the puppet master behind the curtain.

It’s brilliant, actually. My shoulders ease, the tension easing a little.

“You need a shower, hun,” Sarah says, tossing a bright pink, fluffy towel at my face. It matches her yoga pants perfectly, a splash of color on a gray day.

“Right,” I mutter, grabbing an apple from the fruit bowl as I exit the kitchen. The coffee was stale anyway, and the apple feels more grounding, a small, crisp rebellion against the havoc in my head.

I head towards the bathroom, a small, steamy delight might do me good. The shower might wash away the night’s grime—both physical and emotional. The hot water against my skin, helps to center me for a moment, to silence my brain’s buzz.

But the silence is fleeting. Alexander, Michelle, the Raven. The images, the memories, come crashing back.

What did Michelle mean by “just like a beat-up old car”? When she was attacking me yesterday. The thought stays with me, a persistent glitch in my brain’s code. Something feels off, and I can’t quite figure out how it all fits together.

I know I need to get back to Michelle— and Alexander. I want to check on her, but a part of me wants to linger in this warm, steamy cocoon, pretending that the world outside isn’t spinning out of control.

“You’re all set,” Sarah’s voice calls from the other side of the bathroom door. “Everything you need is in the bag.”

I emerge from the steam, my body feeling lighter, but my mind is not clearer. Sarah stands there, her brow furrowed, a worried crease forming between her eyes. She holds out a jumpsuit—a canvas of color, a riot of blues, yellows, and greens.

I smile, “Really?”

Sarah knows I’m not usually one for bright colors, but I decide I may need a little bit of sunshine. I slip it on, the fabric feeling light and airy against my skin.

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