Chapter 2 - Your Dog Was Right
1058 Words
The next few days, I can’t shake him. That stranger’s gray eyes linger in my head, uninvited, like a memory I didn’t ask for.
Every morning, Simba drags me through the park, and my gaze snags on that spot by the trees, heart kicking like it expects him to appear.
He doesn’t. Maybe he changed routes. Maybe I’m just invisible, like always, Mom’s voice in my head, reminding me I’m never enough to hold anyone’s attention. Still, every runner who passes sends a jolt through me, sharp and unwanted.
The evenings aren’t any better. It’s Sunday, and tonight Mom shows up without calling. Again. Just walks in like we still live together.
“You left your coat on the chair again.”
No hello. Just straight to what I f****d up.
“Always leaving things around…”
Her tone is this fake-sweet thing like when I was a teenager and her eyes linger on my phone, to sneak-read my texts, it makes me want to smash something. I want to scream, It’s my apartment, my coat, leave me the hell alone. But I don’t. Because then I’m the “crazy daughter” who can’t take a little feedback.
So I swallow it. Again. I mumble “sorry” like a twelve-year-old and shove the coat away, and watch her settle into my couch like she’s inspecting the place for sins.
Like always, the silence becomes uncomfortable. I need to say something before she finds another flaw.
So I try to sound natural and ask : “Want to come to Ethan’s for dinner tomorrow?”
She stops reaching for her coffee. “Maybe. I have to check.”
And she looks away like I asked her to donate a kidney. Jesus. Why do I even bother? We talk about Ethan and Sarah after that. Safe topics. Mom gets all interested when there’s drama, like she’s watching her favorite TV show.
“Are they having problems still?”
“They’re fine.”
“Sarah looked stressed last time. And Ethan seemed…”
“They’re working it out, Mom.”
I keep my answers short because I know what she’s doing. She wants gossip. Wants to be right about them breaking up eventually. It’s like she collects this s**t.
When she realizes I’m not giving her anything good, she gets up with this big sigh.
“I should go. Work tomorrow.”
She grabs her purse, does that fake smile thing. The second the door closes, I just… collapse. Like all my energy got sucked out through my feet or something.
Simba leaps onto the couch, pressing his warm fur against me, tail thumping like he can chase the weight away. He doesn’t judge, doesn’t pry, just stays close, my only space where I’m not watched. I hug him tight, whispering, ‘You’re all I’ve got.’ My eyes burn, but I don’t cry. Not tonight. I drift off, Mom’s shadow still lurking in my mind.
---
When I show up at work the next day, I’m shaken from last night. Coffee in hand, I try to shake off the lingering tension and focus on the hotel opening tonight, my first big project. But the office is chaos. Everyone's running around like their asses are on fire. Samantha clutches her clipboard like her life depends on it.
“Emma!” she squeals, practically vibrating. “Did you hear? Massimo De Luca is coming. The CEO. Himself.”
She’s still buzzing about how terrifying and gorgeous he is when my stomach drops. Because I see him.
And my brain just… blanks.
It’s him. The runner. The stranger. Except he’s not a stranger. He’s Massimo f*****g De Luca. The kind of man who lives so far out of my league, I need a telescope just to see him.
And… yeah. He’s looking right at me.
Here, in a suit, he’s not the guy from the park. He looks bigger somehow, more precise. Everything about him is controlled, measured. People shift around him.
He scans the setup, voice cutting through the chaos.
“This sign is too close to the entrance.”
Silence. Every eye turns. At me. Because of course it’s my sign. My event. My f**k-up.
“Mr. De Luca, I can explain.”
His eyes snap to mine. Sharp. Heavy. Like he already knows. Like he’s just waiting for me to dig my own grave.
“You’re in charge of signage?”
My throat scrapes raw. “Y-yes, sir.” I sound like a balloon someone’s letting the air out of.
“Then explain. Why there?”
Each word drops like a weight. Calm, controlled, but there’s something under it. A dare. Like he’s asking if I even deserve to breathe the same air.
“To guide guests naturally toward the main entrance without blocking the central flow,” I answer, praying my logic holds.
“And you tested this theory?”
My mouth dries. f**k. Heat rushes to my face. No, I didn’t. I trusted my gut… and now I’m about to be publicly executed.
“I…I… no, sir.”
The silence is brutal. My coworkers watch like it’s a live execution.
He steps closer, and that same scent from the park hits me.
“In business, Miss…?”
“Miller. Emma Miller.”
“Miss Miller, instinct without data is a gamble we don’t take.”
His words cut, sharp as glass. But his gaze lingers, a flicker of something raw behind the steel, gone so fast I might’ve imagined it.
“Your logic holds, though. Move the sign two meters right.’’He turns, but as he passes, his voice drops, low and private. “Your dog was right about me.’’
Then he’s gone, leaving my heart hammering like it’s trying to break free. His words echo, a puzzle I can’t solve.
Samantha rushes over, eyes wide.
“Emma, that stare… it was like he stole the air from the room. You okay?’’
I sink into my chair, hands trembling. His gaze felt like Mom’s, judging, dissecting, but with a spark that saw me, not through me.
“I think I need a new job,’’ I mutter.
Samantha laughs.
“Or a bulletproof vest. I’ve got one in my car.“
Outside, storm clouds gather, mirroring the chaos in my chest. Even here, I feel exposed, like someone’s still watching.
- Writer
