Chapter 7: Warm Milk and a Dangerous Theme
982 Words
Hours later, the residence had fallen silent.
Maren woke with a dry throat and reached for the water beside her bed.
The glass was empty.
She checked the time.
Three seventeen in the morning.
After several seconds of debate, she left the room.
A strip of light cut across the hallway from Lucian’s suite.
His door was partially open.
Maren slowed.
A low voice came from inside.
Lucian was speaking in English, then switching smoothly into French as another person responded through the conference system.
He was still working.
At three in the morning.
Maren frowned.
The original novel had barely described Lucian beyond his wealth, power, and eventual divorce from the foolish supporting character.
Dominic had been given a dramatic stomach condition, allergies, a car accident, and conveniently timed memory loss.
Apparently, fictional male leads were not allowed to be healthy.
Lucian, as a background husband, had not even received a proper diagnosis.
Maren listened for another moment.
He sounded completely alert.
That did not mean he was fine.
No one held international meetings at three in the morning because they had an excellent sleep schedule.
She went downstairs.
The kitchen lights responded automatically as she entered.
After searching several cabinets, she found milk, a saucepan, and honey.
She heated one cup, then stood staring at it.
Would Lucian drink something left outside his room?
He had severe standards about personal space. Perhaps food prepared by a near stranger would be worse.
Arthur would know.
Unfortunately, waking the butler to ask whether the master of the house accepted midnight dairy products seemed excessive.
Maren found a small serving cart.
She placed the cup on it, added a covered glass of water, and searched a drawer for paper.
The only stationery she found was pale cream, embossed with the Ravenscroft crest.
She wrote:
You work too much.
The milk is warm. Drink it before it becomes evidence of my failed domestic skills.
Try to sleep.
—Maren
She considered the note.
Then drew a small, round cat beneath her name.
The cat looked concerned.
Accurate.
Maren pushed the cart upstairs and left it outside Lucian’s suite.
She knocked once.
Before he could answer, she hurried back toward her room.
Lucian opened the door several seconds later.
The corridor was empty.
His gaze dropped to the cart.
The meeting had ended ten minutes ago, but sleep remained impossible.
It usually did.
He picked up the note.
The drawing at the bottom resembled a frightened potato with ears.
He read the message again.
You work too much.
No employee spoke to him that way.
No family member did either.
Most people assumed his body operated with the same efficiency as the companies he controlled.
Maren had known him for less than two weeks and had already decided he needed warm milk and sleep.
Lucian touched the cup.
Still warm.
He should have left it there.
Instead, he carried it into his room.
The next morning, Maren arrived at work with less sleep than she preferred and significantly more energy than she expected.
Alden & Rowe had dismissed the original Maren after Elise’s accusation. Her new company, Lumen Atelier, was smaller and far less prestigious.
It was also peaceful.
No one looked at her as though she were an intruder who had accidentally wandered into her own family.
Maren settled at her desk and opened the project files waiting in her inbox.
Around her, several coworkers were discussing a scandal involving the heir of a political family and an actress old enough to be his mother.
Maren tried to focus.
She failed within forty seconds.
“So the actress left him for his father?” she asked.
Three heads turned toward her.
Maren paused with a piece of toast halfway to her mouth.
“What?”
One of the designers blinked.
“You never join these conversations.”
“The old me was under-rested.”
Another coworker leaned closer.
“No. She didn’t leave him for the father. The father bought her a gallery to keep her quiet.”
“That is less romantic and more efficient.”
The group laughed.
Someone offered her coffee.
Maren opened the snack bag Arthur had prepared that morning and placed it in the center of the table.
“Trade.”
Within minutes, she had exchanged two pastries for the entire scandal.
After the accusation, Maren had spent her days isolated, terrified someone would hear the story and judge her first.
Maren had no intention of shrinking.
Work passed quickly.
Near the end of the day, their department head entered the studio carrying a folder.
“Everyone, I need five minutes.”
A collective sense of caution filled the room.
No employee trusted a manager who asked for five minutes near the end of the day.
The department head opened the folder.
“Vantelle is holding the Vantelle International Design Prize this year. The theme is Muse.”
No one spoke.
“Our studio has been offered one entry.”
Still no response.
Maren looked around.
Every designer suddenly appeared fascinated by their screens.
The competition was prestigious.
It was also global, demanding, and nearly impossible to win.
The department head’s expression tightened.
“Does no one want the opportunity?”
Maren took a quick drink of sparkling water.
The bubbles caught in her throat.
She coughed.
Her manager looked directly at her.
“Excellent.”
Maren froze.
“What?”
“Maren will represent Lumen Atelier.”
The room erupted in relieved applause.
Maren stared at her coworkers.
Traitors.
Her manager closed the folder.
“The preliminary concept is due in three weeks.”
Three weeks.
A global jewelry competition.
A theme broad enough to destroy her sanity.
Maren looked down at the competition packet placed on her desk.
Muse.
She slowly smiled.
Perhaps this world had finally given her a problem she actually knew how to solve.
- Writer
