Page 93 of The Boss and the Wedding Mess

London

The week is extremely strange.

Alexander seems very cold and distant. On top of that, Stephanie is here every afternoon, briefly greeting me before disappearing cheerfully into Alexander's office.

I fear the worst...

I suspect the two of them are having an affair.

And yes, I'm jealous. Angry. Hurt.

I'd love to interfere, storm into his office and tell him what a miserable cheater he is. She's married! To his best friend! Couldn't he have chosen Stephanie before she got married? And what was I then? Just a replacement? A temporary solution? A convenient opportunity?

Did I just imagine everything? What about the trip to the field, with the starry sky? No one has ever done anything so romantic for me before...

My probation ends next week, and I haven't received an offer for a contract yet. Not even a discussion.

It's good that I have plans with Mr. Volt tonight. If the conversation goes well, I'll be able to resign next week to start my job there.

Maybe that's why Stephanie is here? Is she supposed to take my place? That would make sense.

I stop by Alexander’s office before leaving. "Need anything else before I go?"

"Thanks, no. I have everything. You can leave." He smiles faintly. "Have a nice evening."

"Thanks, you too." That’s all. My heart breaks. But maybe I needed this to be able to leave. I mean, to actually leave. Not just for the evening, but forever.

I wander into the kitchen, look around, and get a bit nostalgic. The melancholy hits me harder than I thought, but that's just how it is. And this is only the kitchen...

When I return to my desk, it hurts to shut down the computer and switch the phone to the main center. I'll be back on Monday, but the thought that this will be my last week weighs heavily.

I take the elevator down, say goodbye to the security team for the weekend, and then get into my car.

Mr. Volt sent me an email earlier with specific instructions about when and where our meeting will take place. He warned me in advance that it wouldn't be at his company, but probably in a restaurant. He wrote that he likes to handle such conversations somewhere pleasant. I sincerely hope he's not going to hit on me. It would be really nice if I was hired based on my skills, and not because I'm expected to be constantly available for sex.

When I get home, I open the email that arrived just minutes before. It states exactly what to do:

- Choose an elegant evening outfit. Preferably black or red, long and feminine, not too revealing.

He also sends me the address of a well-known upscale restaurant downtown. He explains that I should ask for him at reception, and the staff would then lead me to the reserved table.

It would be very good if I arrived at exactly 9.

Since I assume punctuality is very important to him, I'm careful not to arrive too early.

"Turn around," Vanessa says during our video call. It’s only 7, but of course I want to look perfect and be on time. I still haven’t found the ideal dress.

"Isn’t red too flashy? I don’t know… I’d prefer the black one."

The red feels too bright, the burgundy too somber. The black is timeless, classic. "I’ll try on the black dress again."

"Yes, show me again. I need to see the comparison."

I dash out of the frame, toss the red gown onto the bed, and slip back into the black one. It has a beautiful sweetheart neckline, off-the-shoulder cut, and a tailored waist. It’s full skirt that makes a striking impression.

"I thought I could put my hair up," I say, gathering it into a bun.

"No, wear it down. With your hair up, you look too severe—and too old."