Page 4 of His Little Angel
A nod. “Morning.”
I set his coffee on his desk, the porcelain clinking softly against the expensive oak. I watch the way his throat moves as he takes the first sip, the faint tension in his jaw easing by a fraction.
He’s a coffee addict—scratch that—he’smycoffee addict. He only likes coffee the way I make it. I don’t do anything special to it, but he always knows when it’s not me who made it, and he gets pissed.
“I need to discuss something with you,” I gulp.
I’m actually doing it—and I’m a little terrified. And a lot sad.
His pen halts mid-line. He lifts his eyes to mine, entirely present.
“What is it?” he asks.
My fingers loosen on the folder I’m holding. This is it.
“I’m resigning.”
Something flashes across his face—quick. Violent. His temple pulses. Other people wouldn’t even notice, but I do, because I’ve spent years learning this man’s smallest tells.
“Why?” he growls.
“I think I need time for myself. Maybe travel. Just… step back and experience life.”
He studies me with that unnerving focus of his. “Can I persuade you to stay?”
“Sir—”
“A salary increase. More PTO. And a bigger office.”
It’s hard to refuse. The thought of my salary increasing even more is insane to me. But what’s the benefit of all this money if the tradeoff is my mental health?
A stupid, pathetic part of me is hopeful about what this might mean for us. Is he offering all this because he can’t stand the office without me?
I extinguish the thought before he can see the light.
“No,” I say quietly. “My mind’s made up. But thank you so much, Sir—for the offer and for everything. Working with you has been a life-changing opportunity. I’m forever grateful to you and your company.”
A small, pulsing line appears at the base of his throat—a vein that only shows when something gets under his skin.
For a heartbeat, I think he’ll push. Demand that I stay, and my stomach flutters.
But then he tamps it all down.
“Understood,” he says.
Just that.
I keep my face neutral. I don’t want him to see that the fact he let me go so easily hurts.
“When is your last day?”
“In two weeks.”
“I’ll need your transition files. And a full breakdown of current priorities.”
“Of course.” My voice stays even. My heart does not.
He nods and reaches for his pen again, as if it’s just another normal day.