Page 83 of Sweet Sinners
She flinches, nostrils flaring, but doesn't look away. "Is it a lie, Cali?" she snaps back, her voice quivering slightly with barely restrained anger.
I stand slowly, palms flat on the desk, leaning forward until only inches separate us. My voice drops, icy and firm. "The only truth I see is that you’ve become a terrible employee. You're fired."
She blinks, face going pale, eyes widening. "Cali, wait—I didn't mean—"
"Didn’t mean what?" I interrupt harshly, cutting through whatever excuse she tries to offer. "Since I took over, you've repeatedly made me late for important meetings, hidden critical tasks from me, and you’ve been far more concerned with office gossip than your actual job." I shake my head slowly, disappointment bleeding into my tone, matching the betrayal I feel. "I tried to see you outside work, to fix whatever broke between us—but you put up a wall every single time. I don’t have the time or energy to break down walls right now, Anna. I’m done."
Her mouth opens, but no sound comes out. Her fingers tremble around her tablet, but the flash of panic quickly shifts back to anger. "Cali, don't do this," Anna warns, voice low, eyes narrowing into slits. "You won't like what happens next."
"Start whatever rumor you want," I say coldly, my voice steady despite my racing pulse. "I've already proven I can handle it. I've proven I’m capable. Tell me, Anna—what exactly have you proven since I got here?"
She falters, her mouth opening and closing as her face flushes deep crimson. "I—I’ve done plenty! I—"
"You've coasted," I snap, voice rising with frustration. "That's it. You've skated by on friendship and excuses. Something is seriously wrong here, and you don't have to tell me what it is—I doubt you would anyway." I tilt my head, watching as she shifts nervously, her eyes darting toward the office door. "But I have a feeling if I start digging into how the embezzlement story leaked to the press beforeit ever reached me, or how every other rumor started circling this office, your name—and your bank account—might suddenly get very interesting."
Anna’s jaw clenches, eyes wide with shock before narrowing again with fury. Her fingers shake as she grips her tablet tightly. "This company owes me," she hisses through gritted teeth, stepping closer, shoulders rigid, hands trembling with barely restrained anger. "Your father owed me, and you—"
"I don't care," I interrupt, tone icy, eyes locked on hers. "If this is the kind of ‘work’ you did for my dad, then he grossly overpaid you. Business comes first here, Anna. Fail to do your job, and you lose it. I’ll give you a reference if you want, but I wouldn’t suggest applying as anyone else’s assistant."
Her eyes flash dangerously, nostrils flaring, body stiffening as her voice drops low, venom dripping from every syllable. "Last chance, Cali."
"For you to walk out of here without security? Absolutely," I reply calmly, reaching toward the intercom, letting my fingers hover pointedly above the button. "Your call—quietly or with an audience?"
Anna’s expression twists bitterly. She whirls around, raising her voice so everyone nearby can hear. "Fine. Then I'll get a lawyer, since you're firing me for outing that you’re fucking your stepbrother."
A few heads turn our way, whispers starting almost immediately. My cheeks heat, but I shove the embarrassment away and force a bored smile onto my lips. Everyone watching quickly averts their gazes, but my eyes narrow back on Anna, whose triumphant expression falters at my calm facade.
"Lawyers require proof, Anna. Something you clearly don’t have," I say coolly, arching an eyebrow.
She sputters furiously, tossing out my father's name, spitting accusations that I'm exactly like him. Her face is a mask of desperation and anger, eyes glistening with the threat of tears she won’t let fall. But her protests are silenced quickly when two security guards appear at the doorway, quietly stepping inside. Anna flinches, eyes darting to the men behind her, her shoulders slumping in defeat.
"Escort Ms. Parrish out," I instruct softly, not looking away until they guide her from my office, her angry threats fading down the hallway.
When she's gone, I sink slowly back into my chair, exhaling a shaky breath and pressing a palm to my forehead. My pulse pounds loud in my ears, anxiety clawing up my throat. Under the desk, my fingers tremble as I quickly text Connor, grateful that at least one mystery finally has a name—Anna Parrish.
As I hit send, my heart finally slows to something manageable, and I turn back to the tasks I still owe the company, trying to ignore the whispers outside my door. At least one problem is solved.
My office feels colder after Anna’s gone. It's not logical, but anxiety rarely is.
I spend the morning obsessively checking my phone, waiting for a text from Connor, waiting for something—anything—that says Anna’s the leak and not the murderer. Because there's a difference. A big one. And the thought of not knowing iseating me alive.
My eyes sting from staring at the screen, and when I feel another wave of panic climbing up my throat, tightening like an iron collar, I finally shove away from the desk. I lock myself in the bathroom, gripping the edge of the sink, fingers trembling, vision swimming. I can't keep spiraling. I won't.
Before I can overthink it, I pull out my phone and tap out an email to Dr. Anderson.
Can we schedule a session ASAP? I’m struggling. Need to talk soon.
My thumb hovers over send, hesitation gripping me. No one here sees me like this—weak, fragile. Everyone in this building looks at me and sees the perfect little CEO doll my father molded, calm and poised under pressure. They don't know about the panic attacks, the anxiety that claws at my chest, or how deeply loneliness cut through me all those years at boarding school. Every night I spent alone in a dorm room, telling myself it wasn't rejection—it was preparation.
I exhale slowly and press send. It’s done.
Straightening, I fix my makeup in the mirror, erasing any visible cracks. I’m fine. Or I will be. Dr. Anderson will help pull me back together, just like he did before.
I return to my office, only to realize with frustration that I have no assistant—and no lunch. I pinch the bridge of my nose, exasperation building, when a gentle knock interrupts my thoughts. Dean stands in the doorway, a smile on his face and a tray of sushi in his hands.
"I heard you might need lunch," he offers warmly, eyes searching mine for permission. "Mind if I join you?"
A tiny voice in my head warns me to say no, but I ignore it. He's been kind since I arrived, professional yet friendly, even after I rejected his offer to go on a date.Safe.
