You Were My Last Straw

Chapter 2

Daphne’s POV

Welcome to a perfect day in my life.

Yes, perfect. I mean it. Because my life is perfect. My life is great.

Well… if we ignore the part where freaking Dereck, my so‑called sneaky link, went and got married four months ago. Straight from my bed to an altar with another woman. I was actually starting to fall for this guy, but apparently God said, “Nope, not for you, babe. We’re not making that mistake.”

And honestly? I’m good. I’m fine. We weren’t dating. WE WERE JUST HAVING FUN.

My alarm went off at 5 a.m., but I didn’t move right away. I lay there, staring at the ceiling, thinking about what was… what could’ve been. But I’m honestly glad it’s over.

Eventually, I peel myself out of bed and head to the kitchen. I brew a cup of coffee, then place an order for a crepe from my favorite breakfast spot across from my office. It’s my little ritual every workday.

Two cups of coffee later, I’m awake and ready. I brush my teeth, hop in the shower, and when I step out, I smell like vanilla heaven—my favorite part of the whole routine.

I smooth lotion and oil over my skin until it’s soft and glowing, then pick out my outfit: sharply tailored black pants, cinched at the waist, straight‑leg to the ankle. A silky white camisole tucked in perfectly, and a pink oversized blazer to turn heads. Bold choice. I slide into strappy seven‑inch heels instead of my usual nudes, and slick my hair back into a sleek middle‑part bun. Light, neutral makeup, my favorite gold earrings, and a black watch to finish the look.

I feel unstoppable.

Downstairs, I grab my Tesla keys from the valet, one of the first gifts I ever bought myself when I hit it big. I drive to work with Celine Dion humming through the speakers, only fifteen minutes until I’m pulling into my reserved spot. I take the elevator to the second floor, and as soon as the doors open:

“Good morning, Miss Daphne,” Kala at reception beams.

“Hi, Kala,” I reply with a smile.

I stride through the halls and into my office. The sweet smell of chocolate and crepes greets me as I set down my medium, Nicol Evie black handbag. I settle into my chair, take a bite of my crepe, and start mapping out the day ahead.

I’m the head of the creative department at Niqson’s, one of the biggest high‑tech companies around. Don’t ask how I landed this seat; I worked my ass off for it. And thankfully, I have a boss who sees talent, not age.

Just as I’m finishing up breakfast, my assistant slips in.

“Late again, Cynthia?”

“I’m sorry, Miss Daphne. There was… another emergency this morning.”

Of course. Always with the excuses.

It’s only 7:30 a.m., and I don’t usually start working until 8. So, I step out to check in on Mr. Eric, just to make sure he’s feeling well today. He’s our elderly cleaner at the office, and I’ve made it a habit to look out for him.

On my way back, I notice a few people waiting in the reception area. We’ve got an open position in the marketing department, so I assume they’re here for interviews. I don’t pay them much attention until I spot someone sitting apart from the others, right near my secretary’s door.

Smooth brown skin. Dark hair. A ridiculously handsome face.

He looks up at me, eyes widening in shock.

I don’t acknowledge him. I keep walking straight down the hall and into my office.

SHIT.

WHAT. THE. f**k.

Please, God, don’t let them hire him.

***

I’m buried in work when my boss, Mrs. Belladonna, steps into my office… with the very same guy from Saturday night. The same one I just saw in reception.

THEY HIRED HIM?!

“Hey, Daph, have a minute?” she asks.

“I mean, you’re already in here, might as well,” I joke. We both laugh.

“So, I wanted to introduce my bundle of joy to you, my grandson, Benjamin,” she says, gesturing to the motherfucker standing next to her, grinning like this is some kind of meet‑and‑greet.

“Hi, Benjamin,” I say evenly. “How are you doing?”

“I’m doing okay, thank you,” he replies.

“He’s joining our marketing division as our first social media marketer,” Mrs. Bella announces proudly.

“Oh wow,” I say, keeping my cool. “Welcome to the team, Benjamin.”

“Okay, I’ll leave you to your work now.”

As soon as they step out, the door clicks shut, and I just sit there for a moment, staring at the polished surface of my desk. My pen is still in my hand, but it’s not moving.

Benjamin.

His name is Benjamin.

I didn’t even bother catching that before.

Of all people.

Of all the men in Atlanta, the universe sends me him?

What the actual hell is he doing here, in my office, my safe space, smiling like he’s in on some secret joke.

And yes, he is holding a secret. But for the love of God, don’t make it obvious. Poker face on.

I lean back in my chair, lips pressed tight, mind racing. Did he plan this? No… couldn’t have. This city is sprawling, and this company is enormous. And yet here he is. Grandson of Mrs. Belladonna herself.

Really, universe? That’s the game we’re playing?

I rub my temples, force a slow exhale. No. Not today. He’s not getting my energy, not my time, not my headspace.

Lock it up, girl. Focus.

I bury myself in work, emails, campaign boards, and concept revisions. I let the rhythm of the day drown him out. And it works. Hours slip past in a blur. Cynthia brings my lunch, but I barely notice it. My desk is a battlefield, and I’m winning, pushing him out of my thoughts.

Until there’s a soft knock.

Hesitant. Like the person on the other side knows they shouldn’t.

“Come in,” I call without looking up, pen scratching across notes.

The door creaks open.

That voice.

“Hey… got a minute?”

Of course, it’s him.

I take a breath, mask sliding back into place.

“Yeah, sure. Sit.” I don’t even glance up, motioning to the chair across from me as if he’s just another employee.

He lowers himself into the chair. Doesn’t speak right away. I can feel his eyes on me, heavy.

Just leave, Benjamin. Leave and let me forget that night.

Let’s get one thing straight, I don’t regret that night, I just don’t like the fact that he is in my space. I would love the night even more if I never had to see him again.

But he doesn’t.

“You really gonna act like you don’t know me?”

My head lifts slowly. Cool, controlled.

“Am I obligated to act like I do?”

“You don’t have to,” he says, leaning forward a little, elbows on his knees. “But you could at least acknowledge me. That’s basic.”

“Why?” My tone is ice.

“No real reason,” he shrugs. “It just feels rude. You weren’t rude Saturday night.”

Oh, he’s bold. Cute.

“Listen, Benjamin…”

“Yes, Miss Daphne,” he cuts in with a crooked smile that’s all challenge.

I ignore the jab. “We met at a club. We had… fun. You left satisfied. I left satisfied. That’s all there is to the story. So I’d appreciate it if you went about your work here like we’ve never met.”

He leans back now, arms folding over his chest.

“I meant to get your number Saturday night.”

“I wouldn’t have given it,” I shoot back, sharper than I mean to. “I’m not interested in another crazy club bathroom moment.”

He lets that hang in the air, eyes narrowing slightly.

“I don’t want that either. I want to actually get to know you.”

That one catches me off guard for half a beat. Get to know me? After what we did?

I clamp down on the thought.

“Not interested,” I say evenly. “Now, please leave my office. I have work to do.”

He doesn’t move. His knee bounces slightly, energy buzzing off him like static.

“You seemed so nice when we first met,” he murmurs, head tilting like he’s trying to read me.

“I am nice,” I reply, voice clipped. “I just don’t appreciate your presence in my space right now. So please. Leave. Thank you.”

Still, he stays seated.

“You don’t have to like me, Daphne,” he says slowly, “but at least be real with me. That night meant something. I could feel it.”

Oh, hell no. We’re not doing this. We are not going there.

“It meant exactly what it was,” I say, fingers curling tightly around each other. “Fun. Done. Over.”

“You don’t believe that,” he presses, leaning forward again, eyes locked on mine now, relentless. “I saw how you looked at me before you walked out. You don’t just walk away from something like that.”

My jaw tightens. He’s fishing. He thinks he’s clever. He doesn’t get to know a damn thing.

“You’re wrong,” I say calmly, forcing my shoulders back. “Now I need to work.”

But he doesn’t leave right away.

He studies me, searching my face for cracks.

Poker face, Daphne. Don’t let him see you flinch.

Finally, after what feels like a full minute, he stands.

“Alright,” he says quietly, gaze still pinned to me. “But I’m not done.”

Of course, he isn’t.

I don’t respond, don’t even look up again as he walks out. My heart is thudding, but my face stays calm as I bend back over my notes.

Focus. Work. Forget him. Forget that smile. Forget that night.

And yet… a tiny part of me knows he won’t stop coming back.

OH MAN, FORGET IT, THIS IS NOT HOW A PERFECT DAY IN MY LIFE LOOKS LIKE.

I’ll show you another day.