Of All People,It's You

SATURDAY SHOPPING

"Why are you crying? Who died? What happened?"

I dropped my bag onto the floor and practically threw myself onto the sofa. "Poppy, talk to me!"

She looked up, tears pouring down her flushed cheeks, her phone still clutched in her hand. "Diane..."

"Poppy, please, you're scaring me!"

"Diane," she repeated, suddenly letting out a watery, breathless laugh. "I start work on Monday."

I froze mid-panic, staring at her. "...What?"

"I start work on Monday!" She wiped her wet cheeks with the back of her hand, a massive, brilliant smile breaking across her face. "I just told my mum. She was crying so hard, Diane. You should've heard her."

I slumped back against the cushions, letting out a long, ragged exhale. "You absolute nightmare. I thought someone was in the hospital!"

"I'm sorry!" She laughed, pressing her hands to her glowing face. "I can't help it! I came home, checked my email, and there it was. I'mresumingon Monday. Its official."

That shut me up instantly.

Poppy’s eyes welled up again as she looked down at her lap. "I actually get to do what I love. For once, I don't have to take a job just because I need the money. I don't have to worry about whether my paycheck will cover Mum’s rent or my brother's tuition."

My chest tightened. I knew how hard Poppy had fought to get here. Ever since her father walked out, she'd spent years taking soul-crushing retail shifts and squeezing classes into late nights, putting everyone else’s survival ahead of her own dreams. She’d never had the luxury of choice.

Until now.

"I feel like..." She wiped away another stray tear, laughing softly. "I feel like I've actually made it."

I leaned in and pulled her into a tight hug. "You deserve every single bit of this, Pops."

"I get to work with Lucia!" She squeezed me back, her voice muffled against my shoulder. "Lucia! Do you understand how crazy that is? Real, experienced artists, Diane."

"It's going to be incredible," I said softly, feeling a sudden surge of pride so strong it made my own throat tight. She had earned this.

When we finally pulled apart, she sniffled loudly and pointed a finger at my face. "Okay. No more crying. Because we have serious shopping to do tomorrow."

"Oh, right."

"We need wardrobe upgrades."

"You definitely need clothes," I agreed.

"So do you," she countered, eyeing my work attire. "You're entering your executive-secretary era."

I rolled my eyes, though the thought of Garrett’s parting warning—*a three-month trial period*—flashed through my mind. "Fine. Tomorrow."

"Tomorrow."

***

Saturday morning arrived with the violent roar of Poppy driving the vacuum cleaner through the hallway at eight-thirty.

By noon, the apartment was spotless, the laundry was folded, and Ethan was still passed out in his bedroom. He’d stumbled in past midnight after staying behind to help some lost interns, so we decided to let him sleep and head out on our mission.

Our destination was Sarah’s Closet.

Apparently, stepping into real corporate positions meant we suddenly needed outfits that screamed, *I know what I'm doing and I definitely belong here.*

We spent the next two hours wading through racks of structured blazers, silk blouses, and tailored trousers. Poppy gravitated toward soft knits and comfortable trousers, while I kept pulling high-end blazers that looked like they belonged in the Boisnoir executive suite.

"It's official," Poppy said, tossing a pair of crisp leather sneakers into her basket. "These are coming home with me."

A few minutes later, I spotted a pair of gorgeous nude kitten heels on a display shelf. I picked them up, admires the sleek cut, and then flipped them over to check the tag.

*£800.*

I slowly set them back on the shelf like they were made of live dynamite.

Poppy peeked over my shoulder. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I'm just suddenly deeply attached to my old shoes."

She snorted. "You're going to be earning a proper executive salary now!"

"Which I would like to actually keep," I pointed out, pulling my hand back. "Especially considering my boss reminded me yesterday that the board is evaluating me for ninety days before deciding if I'm permanent."

Poppy winced. "Okay, fair point."

An hour later, I held a impeccably tailored grey suit against myself in the mirror. It fit like a dream.

Poppy glanced at the tag. "Twelve hundred."

I immediately hung it back on the rack. "Never mind."

"Come on, Diane! You looked like a CEO!"

"I am an executive secretary with debt," I deadpanned.

Despite my restraint, by the time we left, my arms were full of shopping bags filled with sensible blouses, work skirts, and a modest bottle of perfume. For the first time in my life, spending money didn't trigger an immediate wave of nausea. It felt good.

***

When we got back to the apartment, Ethan was standing in the kitchen, stirring a pot on the stove and looking like a ghost.

"Look who finally woke up," Poppy called out, dropping her bags onto the sofa.

"I can see you two raided the entire mall," Ethan muttered. But his voice lacked its usual bite, and his skin had a pale, clammy sheen to it.

I walked over, setting my bags down. "Ethan? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," he said, a second too fast.

Poppy marched into the kitchen and pressed the back of her hand straight to his forehead. "Ethan, you're burning up."

"I said I'm fine—"

"You look terrible," Poppy insisted. "Go sit down."

"I'm an adult, you know," he grumbled, though he didn't put up a fight as I took the wooden spoon from his hand and ushered him toward the couch.

Within twenty minutes, we had him wrapped in a thick blanket on the sofa with a hot bowl of soup. Overworking himself for those interns had clearly caught up to him. By eight o'clock, he’d already passed out again in his room, leaving the apartment dead silent.

Poppy and I curled up on the rug, surrounded by tissue paper and new clothes, lazily chatting about the week ahead.

Then, at precisely nine-fifteen—

*KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.*

The heavy, frantic banging rattled the front door, echoing loudly in the quiet living room.

Poppy and I both froze.

*KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.*

From the back bedroom, Ethan’s groggy, annoyed voice called out. "Diane! Someone's at the door!"

I sat up, my brow furrowing. "Who would be knocking like that at nine at night?"

The knocking came again…sharper this time, demanding and persistent.

*KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.*

I stood up slowly, a sudden, uneasy chill creeping down my spine. Who on earth could that be?