The billionaire’s sweet editor

I STARE at my grandmother, clasping my mouth tightly so I don't laugh at her new hairstyle. She plastered her natural hair on her forehead using hair gel to make these huge baby hairs only drag queens could pull off.

"What is that?" I finally choke out, not able to hold my laugh any longer. "What did you do to my beautiful grandma?"

Grandma bats her eyelashes innocently at me," It was Christoph, not me. He said he learned to do this on YouTube."

" No, I didn't Bertha!" Grandpa defends himself, " You said you wanted me to try it on you." We can all hear his shaky voice as he tries to compose himself, and when the silence in the house stretches all of us laugh in one united roar that sends echoes around the house.

It's only after a few minutes pass that we all finally compose ourselves and I have Grandma on a chair, removing the disaster of a hairstyle her husband put on her. Grandpa Christoph is sitting on the couch facing us as he sips his espresso with a smirk on his face that tells me he's enjoying seeing his wife's new look.

"Stop laughing," grandma whines. Her brown eyes twinkle at her husband's almost identical ones and they smirk at each other. After being married for forty years, one would assume seeing each other every day would get old, but these two seem to be going on strong-which is extremely sweet by the way.

"I am not laughing," Grandpa replies, his smirk growing wide with each passing taunt between them. I roll my eyes playfully at them.

"Can we please focus on your hair or I'll leave you with these gray baby hairs your husband plastered on your forehead."

Grandpa snorts but immediately stops when Bertha raises her flip-flop. We both know she never misses her target when she locks on it, even if it's a playful throw like the one she intends to do.

"You may proceed," she adds after shutting up her husband, and I continue with 'defrosting' the gel. Since the chemical hasn't yet dried, it's a piece of cake removing it, but I hope that it doesn't mess up grandma's melanin skin. It's the cherry on top of her rich librarian aunt's look.

As for her husband, his receding hair and now protruding belly are the only minus, everything else is above five. When I saw their pictures from college, I had a mental breakdown of some sort because both of them looked like the type of kids I wouldn't have hung around with, not to mention dating. Grandpa used to be a football player for his college team, even though he majored in the accounting department, so you can only guess how he looked.

His girlfriend—Grandma Bertha—was an English major who always walked in heels. I've never seen a picture of her at school in flat shoes. She was a diva, the kind that judges people just by looking at them, and she still kind of has the tendencies, although they're now slightly visible. I've never asked how the two met, but I do know that they met in college, to form a beautiful college sports romance only novel readers like me can understand.

I'm rubbing the final layer of freeze off my grandma's forehead when my phone vibrates in my pocket. Laying the towel on Grandma Bertha's lap, I grab my phone and unlock it, frantically heading to the notifications tab. My body freezes when I see that it's an email from Adder, and I brace myself for the impact I'm about to experience, be it good or bad.

"Why do you look like you're going to die?" Grandpa Christoph asks, but I hush him.

"Shhh, I'm having a moment here and it could determine whether I'm going to be employed or not." I don't need to tell him a second time what I'm talking about because Grandpa uncrosses his legs and focuses on me. "Go ahead and read it then," he quips.

I open the email and read it in silence. With each sentence that I take in, my legs begin bouncing on their own, and when I'm done, I give my grandparents a toothy grin. "I got the job!" I scream in an upbeat voice.

Both my grandparents stand and clap their hands gleefully. "Told you you'll make it," Grandpa asserts with a grin that matches mine. Without the gray eyes and biracial skin, I look more like him than any other family member I've ever met, so it's no surprise that he dotes on me more than Grandma does.

"So when do you start?" Grandma asks as she walks toward me for a hug.

I beam at her. "Tomorrow."

★★★★★

The next day, I arrive at the company grounds thirty minutes before the designated time thanks to my paranoid grandparents and my excitement, not that I'm complaining. This moment is what I'd been dreaming about my entire university life, and I finally get to relish it-so being a little too excited is to be expected.

As for Grandma being paranoid, it's because she used to write articles for Adder when her young editor friend was still alive. However, after her friend's death, Grandma claimed that she lost her touch and inspiration to write, so she quit. Thanks to her connection, I was able to land an interview here, but I guess it also means a lot to her to see me somewhat carrying her legacy forward.

I take a look at myself using my rearview mirror and God damnit I look good in my pink blazer dress. Topped with the radiant sun, my melanin skin and curly hair seem to glint in the mirror and I can't help but snap a few selfies before heading towards the walkway.

Deja Vu hits when I take a step on the soapstone as memories from my walk of shame in my coffee-drenched pinafore last week flood my mind, and suddenly the mental note I made to myself during my interview with Lucas is pulled from the pits of my brains archives. My upper lip curls into a sneer as I make my way towards the front office, suddenly feeling even more excited for this day than I was a few moments ago.

As if luck is on my side this morning, I spot the HR lady who interviewed me speaking to the receptionist and I pick up my speed even though the stilettos I am wearing are killing my toes. Although it is convenient because the noise they're making draws the ladies' attention and they look in my direction.

"Iris!" HR lady beams at me. "Welcome honey. I didn't think you would arrive this early, that's very commendable."

I feel guilty that I don't remember her name even though she clearly remembers mine, so I shamelessly look at her name tag, but it's not there. I rack my brain for her name again, but nothing pops up. Where do the archives in our brains go when we need to remember the important stuff?

"Before I lead you to your department, I'd like to apologize a second time for the incident last week. That was so unprofessional of us to let you leave like that," she adds to my guilt and I smile at her.

"Oh please, it's okay, don't beat yourself too much Ma'am-"

"You can call me Kayla. I think we're around the same age if I'm not mistaken. I'm twenty-five, you?"

"Twenty-two," I reply, finally feeling relaxed and making a mental note so that I don't forget her name again.

Kayla lets out a gasp and I blink at her. "Oh my god you're young," she says turning to the receptionist, " and beautiful too."

I know she means well, but the flattery feels faked. It's as if she's trying to cover up for the coffee incident by being overly sweet and nice, and it's starting to make me cringe a little. However, I don't let it show. Instead, I smile brightly at her. "Oh please, you're too kind."

Kayla turns around to face me, and maybe my thoughts are written clearly on my face because her smile drops a little. "Okay, enough of this chit-chat, I believe I have a tour to give you," she says clearing her throat.

About time.

" First let me introduce you to the front office manager here. Iris, meet Bertha. Bertha, meet Iris, the new editor for the Adder magazine."

I beam at her. " My grandmother's name is also Bertha."

" Then I'll be watching your every step from now on," Bertha lets out. She looks somewhere between thirty-five and forty, but I don't bother asking. "Nice to meet you, Iris. I hope you have a wonderful time working at Adder."

" Thank you, Bertha."

"Good, now that you two have met, let's go and meet your boss. He usually comes to work an hour early, so I believe he's here already."

Great. So aside from being an unapologetic asshole who leaves you doubting your judgment skills after using his confusingly deep voice to operate a smooth interview, Lucas is also a workaholic. I nod at Kayla, adjusting my dress as she leads us to the elevator and presses the third-floor button.

"As Bertha said to you earlier, I hope you have a great time working with us. If you have any queries, feel free to call me or come to my office. I'm available any time of the day."

" Then I'll need your phone number for that."

" Oh." Kayla takes out her phone and presses it for a few seconds before passing it to me. " Scan the WhatsApp code and you'll have it."

I follow her instructions just as the elevator lands on the third floor and we make our way out. There are golden letters plastered on the cream walls to my left, to make the words "magazine DPT". Aside from them, the humongous corridor grabs my attention and my pinky toe screams in pain from anticipating all that walking I have to do in heels today.

" Here we are," Kayla says as she opens the door written "editorial DPT" in gold letters. I notice how the same applies to the other doors filling the corridor before stepping inside my new workplace environment. It looks cozy and eco-friendly, with the desks separated well enough to allow each employee some personal space.

In front of each desk are see-through half-guards probably from the pandemic era, and the fresh lavender scent filling the office makes me inhale unintentionally without thinking.

" Smells good doesn't it?" Kayla chuckles and I blush a little. "That's the perk of working with Lucas. He loves it when everything smells and looks clean. Oh. There he is."

My gaze follows Kayla's finger and I see him in what seems to be a glass cubicle on the far end of the editorial department block. Everything in his office (including him) is huge, but not different from our desks, except for a few things like his Titan chair and the dispenser. I also spot a coffee maker on the far edge of his office, or at least I think I do.

Lucas must feel my gaze on him because he shifts in his chair before turning away from the article he is reading to face us. Then our eyes make contact and I swear I spot a slight smile creep up his face. He stands and makes his way outside what I now refer to as a cubicle, before reaching over to us.

"Iris, you're here."

"Morning sir," I greet, surprised by his friendliness. I thought he'd be in business mode at the office, but he seems to have let his guard down for a minute, or maybe it's just so I feel welcome.

"Excuse my bad manners. Morning to you too Iris," he says, turning to Kayla. "I will give her a tour around the company, so you can leave her here."

My guts churn in my belly and I groan silently. I know I wanted a chance to tell him to apologize, but I didn't think that I would spend the day with him as my tour guide.

"Are you sure?" Kayla asks, even though her face suggests she wants to take up Lucas's offer and dump me pronto.

"Yes, I am. Thank you for leading her here."

Without any reply, Kayla nods at me and turns on her heel, leaving poor me to smack my head and remind myself to be careful about what I wish for.

"Shall we?" Lucas asks after the door is closed, and I give him a forced smile.

"Yes, we may."

★★★★★

Two hours later, we are making our way towards the elevator and my feet are sore from touring around the thirteen-floor building whose offices are big enough to build a house and leave enough space for a car park.

Lucas made sure to show me everything, even the offices on the topmost part of the building where the CEO is. I let out a sigh of relief when the elevator opens, fighting the urge to remove my heels right on the spot considering how we are the only ones inside the lift.

"So, how was the tour?" Lucas asks after pressing the third-floor button before the elevator begins descending.

Boring. If it wasn't for the friendly people here, I'm sure as hell I'd have asked to stop the tour midway.

"It was fine," I smile at him, "although my feet are killing me in these heels."

Lucas drops his eyes to look at my feet. "I didn't take that into consideration," he says still lingering his eyes at my legs. " Sorry about that."

My cheeks heat up when I realize I'm looking at him looking at my feet, so I tear my gaze away from him. "You know, you've apologized for everything you did wrong but not the coffee spi-"

I don't manage to finish speaking when the elevator jerks us to the side. Then my worst nightmare happens-the lights turn off. I reach for the walls and back myself there before clasping my mouth. I hate the dark. All the blood that had been burning my cheeks a few seconds ago disappears, and I begin sinking slowly to the ground as I gasp for air.

" Ah shit, must be a blackout," Lucas grunts, oblivious to the silent battle I'm having by myself, but not for long. A low moan escapes from my lips when I try to gasp for air and this time, Lucas notices.

"Iris? Iris, are you okay?"

I don't answer. I can't. It's as if my tongue is grounded to the base of my mouth. The darkness made it like that.

"Iris?" I hear Lucas rummaging through his pockets, and the next moment a flashlight from his phone lights up the space, making my nerves settle down a little.

Damnit, why didn't I think about that? Now he's going to think I'm a traumatized little damsel in distress when it's only the fuckin nyctophobia haunting me. Lucas leans ever so gently next to me and clasps my hand, confirming my thoughts exactly - so I do the first stupid thing my brain thinks of at that moment.

I let out a laugh.

★★★★★