THE HEARTLESS HEIRS

THE 11 PM PUNISHMENT

*

I had been at my tiny desk by the printer for 9 hours.

My job as Junior Jewellery Designer at AURELIA & CO was supposed to be drawing beautiful rings.

My actual job was watching Asher reject my entire soul.

"Redo."

"Trash."

"No."

"Boring."

"My 12-year-old niece could do better."

He said it without even looking up from his laptop. He had a red pen and he used it like a weapon. By 7 PM, my 20 sketches for the new "Eternal" collection were covered in red X's. And one that said "Are you serious?" with three question marks.

The other CEOs had left at 6. Even Leo left, whispering "Don't worry, he's like this, he rejected my engagement ring design for my own girlfriend."

At 8 PM, the office lights went off automatically.

Asher was still there. Typing. In his perfect suit. Like a robot that didn't need food.

I stood up with my bag. "I'm going home. To... your house. Our house."

"You're not going anywhere," he said, eyes still on his screen. "Your collection is due for the client tomorrow at 9 AM. You have 20 failed sketches. So you will sit there and draw 20 new ones. Now."

"It's 8 PM! I've been here since 7:55 AM because YOU made me come early!"

"And? I have been here since 5 AM. Do you hear me complaining? No. Because I own this company. You own nothing. Sit."

I wanted to throw my sketchbook at his perfect head.

"I'm tired, Asher."

"I don't care."

"I'm hungry."

"Not my problem. There's protein bars in Silas's drawer. Steal one, he won't notice, he's too busy flexing in the mirror."

"You're heartless."

"Yes. You've said that. It's still true. Now draw. And if you draw another broken-heart necklace, I will personally melt it."

I sat down. And cried. Quietly. Because I was tired and my hand hurt and he was so mean.

He heard it. Of course he heard it.

He sighed like I was inconveniencing him with my tears.

"Don't cry. It's pathetic. And it smudges your sketches. You think clients want jewellery designed by someone who cries over a red pen? No. They want strength."

"I'm not crying because of the red pen! I'm crying because you're a bully!" I snapped, wiping my face. "You are rude, mean, controlling, and you think you can treat people like this because you're rich!"

He finally looked at me. Really looked at me.

He got up, walked to my tiny desk, leaned both hands on it, caged me in.

"I'm not a bully, Zara. I'm honest. Everyone else will tell you your designs are 'so pretty' while they laugh behind your back. I tell you they're trash to your face. That's respect. You want a boss who lies to you? Go work for a brand that sells plastic from China."

His voice was low, cold, controlling. Every word a slap.

"You work for AURELIA. My grandfather built this from nothing. My name is on every piece. If you put something ugly out there, it's MY name that gets ruined. So yes, I will control every line you draw until it's perfect. Because I don't accept mediocrity. Especially from someone living in my house for $250."

"Then fire me!" I yelled.

"No. Because that necklace — that stupid broken-heart thing Leo made — we got 3 pre-orders already from the photo Jude posted. So you have talent. You just have no discipline. So you will sit here until you learn discipline."

He pushed a fresh sheet of paper toward me. And his personal Montblanc pen. The expensive one.

"Use this. It writes better. And stop shaking. Your lines are shaking."

It was the meanest compliment anyone ever gave me.

I drew. For two hours. While he worked next to me, typing, calling people in London at 10 PM saying things like "I don't care if he's sleeping, wake him up, the diamonds didn't arrive."

At 10:47 PM, I finished sketch #18. My eyes were closing.

I didn't remember falling asleep.

I woke up at 11:30 PM with a suit jacket over me. Asher's suit jacket. It smelled like him — expensive, cold cologne and coffee.

He was still working. But the AC was blasting now. 68 degrees, like his house rule. I was shivering.

He didn't look at me. "You fell asleep. You drool. It's disgusting. Wake up. Two more sketches."

"You put your jacket on me?"

"No. It fell. I was going to throw it in dry cleaning anyway. Now it's contaminated, so thanks for that."

Liar. His jacket was neatly placed.

"And why is the AC so cold?"

"Because it's set to 68. House rule. Office rule. My rule. If you're cold, work faster, you generate heat."

He was so rude. So heartless. So mean.

But he didn't wake me up harshly. He let me sleep for 43 minutes. And he gave me his jacket.

I finished the last two sketches with his jacket around me.

He looked at them. One second. Two seconds.

Then took his red pen... and didn't mark them.

"These two. These are AURELIA. Finally. You listened."

He took the sketches and walked to the printer.

"Go home, Zara. You're done. My car is downstairs. Driver will take you. I have to stay and approve production."

"You're not coming home?"

"It's not home. It's an asset. And no. I sleep at the office when idiots cost me money."

I stood at the door with his jacket still around me.

"Asher... thank you. For... not firing me."

He didn't look up.

"Don't thank me. Thank yourself for not being completely useless. And leave my jacket on the couch when you get to the house. I don't want it back smelling like your cheap shampoo."

"My shampoo is not cheap!"

"It smells cheap. Goodnight, Zara. Don't forget rent is in 4 days. 8 AM sharp."

I left his office, wearing the jacket of the rudest, meanest, most controlling CEO alive, smiling like an i***t.

Because for the first time, he didn't say my designs were trash.

And in Asher language, that was basically a love letter.