Morning at Blackwood Towers

Anya’s phone buzzed aggressively against the wood of her nightstand, shattering the tense silence of her bedroom. The violent vibration pulled her out of the lingering, sweat-drenched shock of her nightmare. She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes, trying to scrub away the phantom sensation of icy blue eyes and broad shoulders pinning her down. Snatching the phone from the table, she tried to wrangle her uncooperative morning hair into a messy bun with her free hand. She swiped open the screen and immediately let out a heavy sigh.

Another text message from her dad glared back at her, asking whether she had saved enough money for the pastry shop yet.

Mason Bakery was her parents’ blood, sweat, and legacy. It was the place she grew up in, filled with the scent of vanilla and fresh yeast. They had been forced to sell it years ago just to afford her college tuition, a sacrifice that weighed like lead on her chest every single day. She had promised her parents they would buy back their family’s business. Her dad held onto that promise with a desperate grip, much tighter than her mom, likely because the shop held a profound sentimental value tied to his own father. It was the sole reason she endured her miserable corporate existence.

Anya typed out a quick, defeated reply. “Not yet.”

She tossed the phone onto her bed and dragged herself out of the room. She walked down the short hallway into the living room, stopping in her tracks at the disaster zone. Her roommate, Piper, was curled into a tight ball on the couch. The twenty-year-old was surrounded by a mountain of crumpled Kleenex, three empty bags of Cheetos, and a massive, half-empty bottle of diet Coke.

“Piper, aren’t you going to work on that term paper?” Anya asked, stepping over a discarded textbook on the rug.

“I’m not feeling well.” Piper rasped from the depths of her blanket fortress, her voice thick and nasal.

Anya crouched next to the edge of the couch, pushing aside a pile of snack wrappers. “Sweetie, it’s been two weeks. Your ex-girlfriend has even posted a selfie with her new girl. She has moved on, and I think you should too.”

Piper sniffled loud enough to echo in the small apartment. “I was the one who ruined a perfectly good relationship. How can I possibly move on from that fact? I deserve this, whatever I am going through right now. I fucking deserve this.”

“It’s called a heartache, and goodness, Piper, everybody goes through that. And you cheated on her with your research partner. You had a choice, and you knew it was wrong, but you still chose to cheat on her.” Anya shook her head, offering no empty platitudes.

“Anya, you’re not helping.” Piper whined, her lower lip trembling on the verge of another massive meltdown.

“Well, all I’m saying is be brave and face the music, sweetie. And honestly, I don’t think you’re really that in love with Elsie. Because if you were, you wouldn’t dare make the slightest move on Tasha. She wouldn’t interest you at all. And that strong emotion that’s making you miserable right now, I think that’s guilt.” Anya stated firmly, keeping her tone even but direct.

“I know.” Piper sat up and wrapped the fleece blanket tighter around her shoulders. Her eyes were puffy and red rimmed from crying all night. “Dammit, I just miss her so much, you know.” Fresh tears pooled in the corners of her dark brown eyes, her voice choking on a sob.

Anya grabbed her glasses from the coffee table, slid them onto her face, and stood up with a slight frown. She was five years older than Piper, who had managed to blow up her own life by getting caught cheating during her twentieth birthday celebration. Despite the messy drama, Anya could not help but feel bad for her. There was no question that Piper was a spoiled rich girl. They shared absolutely zero common interests, yet Anya had somehow morphed into the closest thing Piper had to an older sister in this city.

“Listen, I’ll bring you back some of that Pad Thai from down the street later, okay?” Anya offered, softening her gaze.

“Aren’t you doing some overtime again?” Piper asked, wiping her nose with the back of her sleeve.

Anya shook her head and forced a reassuring smile. “I’ll come home early for you.”

“And can we watch The Little Women?” Piper pleaded softly.

Anya chuckled, grabbing her keys from the bowl by the door. “I thought you didn't have time for any period drama.”

“I heard about Jo March, and I think I can so much relate to her. She’s a very passionate person, and you know how passionate I am too.” Piper defended herself, sitting up a little straighter.

Anya bit the inside of her cheek. She knew exactly how much Piper loved wild parties, chaotic dressing up sessions, obscure makeup tutorials, and reckless shopping sprees. Piper constantly used the YOLO mindset to rationalize her impulsive, destructive behavior. Anya pushed back the overwhelming urge to tell her roommate that she and Jo March were utterly different species, passionate or not.

“Alright. Pad Thai and Little Women tonight. It’s a date.” Anya grinned at the messy girl on the couch and marched out the front door into the chilly morning air.

The commute was a brutal half hour drive through the grinding, early morning rush of Seattle. Anya carefully pulled her beat-up green hatchback into the asphalt parking lot, claiming one of the last available spots near the outer concrete wall. She grabbed her green tote bag from the passenger seat, hurriedly got out, and made her way toward the massive, imposing structure of steel and glass that was Blackwood Towers. Just as she stepped onto the sidewalk, her phone vibrated wildly in the depths of her bag.

She dug her hand inside, pulling the device out to check the screen. Nolan calling.

“Nolan, I am already on my way up.” Anya pressed the phone hard against her ear, raising her voice to compete with the blaring horns and the aggressive rumble of rush hour traffic surrounding her.

Nolan was Darius’s personal assistant, and quite frankly, the only good thing to come from working in that hellish department. She had met him in passing back in college, and they had been fast friends ever since. Even though Nolan was a couple of years older, they operated on the exact same wavelength. It also helped that she harbored a silly, harmless little crush on the man. With his perfectly styled light blonde hair, his sharp chiseled jaw, and a smile that could melt ice, it was impossible not to look at him.

“What time did you actually sleep last night? You’re late.” Nolan sounded rushed, his voice tight with professional anxiety.

“I know.” Anya grimaced, the memory of her tossing and turning—and that twisted, filthy dream—flashing behind her eyes.

“I’m on my way for my meeting with Darius.” Nolan continued, not missing a beat.

Anya felt her stomach churn violently at the mere mention of their CEO’s name.

“Okay. You need anything from me?” Anya asked, speeding up her pace toward the grand entrance.

“Just prepare the second quarter budget proposal for Blacken Energy. I need it ready before noon. And ah—” Nolan paused, the background noise on his end shifting.

“What?” Anya prompted.

“Think again about what you told me last night.” Nolan urged, his tone shifting from corporate assistant to concerned friend.

The call abruptly ended before Anya could even formulate a response to his pleading. She shoved the phone back into her tote and pushed through the heavy revolving doors of Tower I. The pristine, climate-controlled air of the enormous lobby hit her face, but her mood instantly plummeted. Hanging on the massive marble wall was the huge, commissioned portrait of the Blackwoods.

Her eyes immediately locked onto Darius. He stood right next to his father and the company’s chairman of the board, Winston Blackwood. In the painting, Darius looked ridiculously dashing, exuding an untouchable, aristocratic aura that made Anya want to scream.

Anya pursed her lips into a thin line and joined the crowd filtering into the sleek elevator bank, offering tight, forced nods of greeting to a few faces she recognized.

Anya hated Darius. She hated him with every single ounce of her being. She hated his smug, flawless face. She hated his pompous, arrogant personality. She hated the way he carried himself through the building, acting with the absolute certainty that he was entitled to anything and everything breathing in his domain. But mostly, she hated that she was trapped working in his empire just because she lacked a better opportunity right now.

She had worked for the company as a naive intern during her college years. Knowing the CEO’s assistant had worked massively in her favor when they offered her a full-time position the second she graduated. A huge portion of the city, especially the women, would gladly kill for a desk at the Blackwood Group of Companies. But after getting the miserable chance to actually know Darius Blackwood, Anya had been secretly plotting her permanent exit from the building.

The perks were incredible. The promising career growth they dangled over her head seemed perfect on paper. None of it mattered anymore. Putting up with Darius’s profound incompetence was a crushing level of stress she refused to deal with for the rest of her life. He was a man who took the credit while she and Nolan bled over the actual work. She didn't have enough money yet to pack up, move back to her hometown, and buy back her parents’ pastry shop, but she swore to herself she would find another way out of this nightmare.

The elevator chimed, pulling her from her dark thoughts. Arriving at her floor, Anya stepped out of the metal box and navigated the maze of the open office area. She made a mandatory stop at the breakroom coffee machine, ignoring the usual morning gossip from a few coworkers lingering by the counter. She filled her oversized ceramic mug to the brim with dark roast and carried it like a shield toward her designated cubicle.

Dropping her green tote bag onto the floor, she sank into her cheap office chair. She placed the steaming mug next to her keyboard and stared at the blank monitor. Anya took a long, deep breath, forcing the lingering shadows of the morning out of her mind to start her punishing routine.