Chapter 15 #2
When I open them, I catch movement out of the corner of my eye and notice Joe and one of the camera crew hovering nearby. They weren’t there when I sat down, but based on the satisfied look on Joe’s face, they definitely caught our entire interaction.
Maybe they’ll take pity on me and this scene won’t make the final cut.
If Alex notices them, he doesn’t say anything as he quietly takes his place next to me, brushing his hand over my thigh before returning to his phone.
It’s a small gesture, but it sends electricity skating down my spine at the gentleness and intimacy of the touch.
I dip my head and press a kiss to his cheek before pulling out my phone, silently scrolling next to him.
Just two people sharing a quiet morning together before the insanity of the week intrudes.
?????????
By the time I badge into the building, the glow of the weekend has completely abandoned me.
The sky outside is still a pale, early-summer blue, but inside the call center is all washed out under buzzing fluorescent lights.
The rows of gray cubicles stretch out in front of me, identical and endless, each one containing someone already logged in, fully resigned to ten hours of customer service calls.
The difference between the lively baking tent and my drab daily job has never been more apparent or offensive than it is right now.
I pause for a second just inside the door, letting the atmosphere wash over me: the low murmur of voices speaking in practiced customer-service tones, the rhythmic clicking of keyboards, the occasional sharp ding of a call connecting from someone’s too-loud headset.
It’s amazing how quickly this place can drain the color out of you. I suck in a sharp breath. I can’t believe I’ve survived this long in such a joy-crushing job.
Less than twenty-four hours ago, Alex was standing across from me in the kitchen with hazelnut coffee steaming between us, his attention focused fully on me like there was nowhere else he needed to be. Like I was worth being seen.
I exhale slowly and force myself to move.
My cubicle feels more suffocating than it used to. The walls are just a little too close, the screen of my computer a little too bright. I set my bag down at my feet and start to log in to the Elite Connections client management system.
My fingers move on autopilot through motions I’ve performed hundreds of times before.
Kara rolls toward my cubicle in her chair until her elbow rests casually on the low divider between us. She watches me intently for a minute before speaking.
“Okay, Sunshine.” She squints. “Whatever it is, spill it.”
I smile despite myself. “Good morning to you too.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” she replies, gesturing with a hand. “Good morning. Now spill it—something’s different, but I can’t put my finger on it.”
I glance down at my screen, pretending to read the login confirmation, ignoring the fact that I could recite it from memory.
“Different how?”
She tilts her head, studying me again. “You look… lighter, somehow. Which is saying a lot, because you’ve always got your head in the clouds anyway. Which I love, by the way. But you also seem distracted. Which is a suspicious combination.”
I hesitate, then lower my voice. “Things with Alex have taken a turn. He made me coffee yesterday morning before I left.”
Her eyes widen.
“And?” she presses.
“And…” I trail off, flicking my gaze around the room to make sure nobody is eavesdropping. Which is silly, of course nobody is listening in. Having a camera crew around all the time is creating some strange reflexes.
“We kissed on Sunday.”
One hand clutches her chest, the other snapping loudly before pointing a knowing finger my way. “I knew it.”
“Kara,” I hiss.
“I knew it,” she repeats, quieter this time, grinning. “You don’t look like that unless something really good happens.”
Warmth spreads across my cheeks as I replay the kiss in my head—his hands, his mouth, the way everything else seemed to fall away. “It wasn’t planned,” I say softly. “It just… happened.”
“Those are usually the best kinds,” she murmurs.
Before I can dish out more details, the ones I know my best friend is dying to hear, a familiar shadow falls over my shoulders.
“Clock-in time is nine sharp.”
The Trunch’s voice cuts through the air behind me, clipped and cool. I straighten instinctively. “I’m logged in.”
She peers over my shoulder at the screen, lips pursed. “Mmhmm. Just barely.”
Kara swivels back to her desk, her expression carefully neutral. I don’t blame her for retreating. I’d wheel myself away from this conversation, too, if I could.
The Trunch lingers at the threshold of my cubicle longer than necessary, her presence compressing the small space.
“Your call times were up last week.”
“I stayed late on Thursday,” I explain with a sigh. “Some of the accounts needed more attention.”
She hums, unimpressed. “Efficiency matters more than empathy here. You know we don’t do unapproved overtime.”
I wince as her words land, though I’ve heard versions of them before. No matter what I do, The Trunch will always find something to complain about when it comes to me. I don’t know why I bother at all, sometimes.
“I resolved everything,” I amend in what I hope is a pleasant tone, knowing I need to keep this job. At least until I find time to line something else up.
“I’m sure you did.” Her gaze flicks up to my face. “While that may be true for last week, you seem… out of sorts today.”
“I’m fine.”
“Are you?” She crosses her arms. “Because bad moods tend to show in performance, especially when people start getting the wrong kind of ideas.”
My stomach tightens.
“What kind of ideas?” Kara interrupts, unable to keep the edge out of her voice or mind her own business any longer.
Our boss smiles thinly. “The self-obsessed kind that come from being on TV.”
The floor threatens to drop out beneath me.
“I’m still doing my job,” I say carefully, choosing each word with precision. How have I gone from doing too much to doing not enough in a matter of seconds?
“For now,” she quips with a shrug. “But I’ve seen this before. People get a little attention, then think it means they’re special. Let me be very clear, Taylor. We uphold certain standards here. No exceptions.”
It’s impossible not to think of Alex’s hand under my chin, his voice steady as he reassured me I could make my dream come true. That my vision wasn’t silly or small. That he thinks I am some kind of special.
“This is real life,” The Trunch continues, cocking her hip. “Running a business takes dedication. We can’t all be out there playing around in a baking fantasyland.”
Kara’s jaw tightens. “That’s unnecessary.”
“Maybe. But, it’s true.”
She looks back at me, a cruel smirk curving her lips. “Focus on your calls, Taylor. This isn’t the place for daydreams.”
Then she turns and walks away, heels clicking sharply against the floor. I stare at my screen, the cursor blinking patiently, waiting.
She’s right. This isn’t a place for daydreams. It’s the abyss where dreams go to shrivel up and die.
Kara leans closer again. “She doesn’t get it.”
“Maybe she does.” My throat is tight. I swallow hard.
“No,” Kara says firmly. “She just doesn’t want you to want more. She clearly gave up on her own dreams a long time ago. Don’t let her get to you, okay? You’re doin’ the damn thing.”
The phone chimes, signaling an incoming call, and I slip my headset on, accepting it. My voice automatically smooths into something polite and pleasant.
But inside, everything feels off-balance.
Between calls, my mind drifts back to the kitchen. To flour-dusted counters and heated kisses. To the way Alex listened as I gushed over pink awnings and checkered floors like it wasn’t ridiculous to imagine something so vibrant.
My boss’s voice echoes faintly in my head, heavy and dismissive.
Focus on your calls, Taylor.
I glance down at my hands resting against the keyboard. The same hands that knead dough and shape pastries and ache in the best way after a long day in the kitchen. Hands that feel wrong typing repetitive responses into our system about strangers who will forget my name the second the call ends.
When my break finally comes, I stand and stretch, my spine cracking with every inch my hands rise above my head. Kara catches my eye and gives me a small, encouraging smile.
“You okay?” she asks.
“I think so,” I reply, though I’m not entirely sure.
Because something has shifted.
Being seen—really seen and heard—has a way of changing your perspective on things. And now that I know what it feels like, this place feels colder than it ever has before.
I don’t know exactly what comes next.
I just know that the life waiting for me outside these gray walls suddenly feels closer than it ever has. Even if the next step isn’t starting my own bakery, my time at Elite Connections is coming to an end.
And that scares me almost as much as it excites me.