"You destroyed a twelve-thousand-dollar suit. You owe me twelve thousand dollars."
The number landed like a punch. Twelve thousand. That was more than I’d made at the diner. That was more than I’d arrived in Miami with. That was a number designed to make me fold.
I didn’t flinch.
"Fine," I said. "I’ll pay you back."
"In full."
"In installments. Monthly." I held his gaze. "Unless you’d prefer a kidney. I’ve got two, and at this rate, I’m not using them both."
He didn’t respond right away, which was new. I’d been bracing for another ice-cold dismissal, but instead he just looked at me, like he was recalculating and the math wasn’t adding up the way he wanted.
"Should I set up a formal arrangement?" I continued. "Get it notarized? You probably have twelve lawyers. Should I borrow one?"
He stared at me for a long beat. Then, barely audible, more to himself than to anyone in the room: "Why is she so impossibly hard to get rid of."
He turned. Walked into his office. The door closed behind him with a click that sounded very much like a man who’d run out of ammunition.
Miles exhaled. "That went better than I expected."
"Better? He just charged me twelve thousand dollars for a suit I ruined with cocktail vomit."
"But you still have a job." He patted my shoulder. "Perspective. Don’t worry about the suit, I’m going to?—"
"I’ll pay for the suit myself. Don’t offer."
"I wasn’t going to."
"You were. I interrupted you."
He sighed. Rubbed the back of his neck. His usual easy charm dimmed for a second.
"He's not always like this," Miles said.
He caught my expression and reconsidered.
"Okay. He's mostly like this. But underneath the ice and the sanitizer and the emotional availability of a filing cabinet, he's—" He stopped. His eyes drifted toward the closed door, then came back to me. "We're worried about him, Anna. Our family. He doesn't have anyone outside of us, and even with us he keeps everyone at arm's length."
He was quiet for a moment. I didn't fill it.
"I'm not asking you to fix him. I'm just asking you to not give up on the job because he makes it difficult."
Worried. That word stayed with me all day.
I spent the morning learning the systems I could access from my own computer.
His filing was organized with a precision that felt almost religious. Every folder labeled in his handwriting, neat capital letters, no shortcuts. Every document dated. His calendar was blocked in fifteen-minute increments, color-coded: green for internal meetings, blue for external, red for calls, gray for blocks labeled "non-negotiable personal" every Thursday from two to four.
I didn’t ask about those. I had a feeling I already knew.
During lunch, I took a chance to visit the game development floor, which buzzed with a different energy entirely.
"You’re the new assistant, right?" A woman with short hair and a pixelated dragon on her tee stopped next to me, coffee in hand. "I’m Priya. Art department. Welcome to the madhouse."
"Anna." I smiled. "Is it always this intense?"
"This is a slow day." She grinned. "Wait till we’re three weeks from a launch. People sleep under their desks. Literally. There are blankets." She nodded toward Jace’s floor. "How’s the boss?"
