Chapter119 – Go to work
Atticus had filled it with an impressive spread: pancakes, eggs, fruit, pastries… and a bowl of porridge, already cooled and placed at her seat.
“I didn’t know what you’d want, so I got a little of everything,” Atticus said with a hopeful smile. “And I made your favorite porridge. Want to try it?”
Clarissa didn’t answer. But after a moment, she walked over and sat down.
She picked up the spoon and ate half the bowl in silence. Then she looked up.
“Atticus, you should move out.”
That wiped the smile right off his face. “Why does you want me gone again?”
“I—” Clarissa faltered. She couldn’t bring herself to bring up what had happened last night…
But before she could come up with a convincing excuse, Atticus spoke first.
“I know you went on vacation with Master just to avoid me. You hate me, right? So I told myself to stay away.”
“Atticus…” Clarissa frowned.
“I didn’t drink on purpose,” he said, eyes on the floor. “It’s just… when I close my eyes, all I can see is you. And if I didn’t drink, I’d probably go find you anyway. But I knew you didn’t want to see me…”
Clarissa’s frown deepened. Her heart twisted.
“I didn’t mean to do anything wrong last night,” Atticus added, voice soft. “But if I crossed a line… if I really did something unforgivable, then go ahead. Hit me again. I won’t stop you.”
His words from the night before echoed in her memory: “Don’t cry, I won’t hurt you. Clarissa, how can I bear to hurt you…”
A deep ache bloomed in her chest.
She blinked fast, trying to hold it together. “Idiot… when have I ever hit you?”
Well, except for that night on his birthday—and this morning, when she’d twisted his ear.
Atticus immediately brightened. “I knew you couldn’t stay mad at me.”
She muttered, trying to hide the way her lips curved up. “Now eat before it gets cold.”
“So you’re not kicking me out?”
“If you ask again, I’ll toss your things on the lawn myself.”
Atticus grinned, immediately sitting up straight and reaching for his bowl of porridge.
He took a bite—too hot—and started coughing.
Clarissa jumped up, handing him a glass of water.
He took it gratefully, drinking a long sip before smiling at her.
“Feeling better now?” she asked.
“Much better,” he replied with a playful wink. “Water tastes sweeter when you pour it for me.”
Atticus flashed Clarissa a dazzling, sunlit smile—so handsome it was almost blinding.
Clarissa’s heart skipped. Her fingers tightened around the spoon as she dropped her gaze and buried her face in the bowl of porridge.
“W-What nonsense are you spouting now? Just eat already,” she mumbled.
In the past, a smile like that from him wouldn't have fazed her at all. But now… her pulse quickened and heat crept up her neck.
She hated how easily her guard crumbled around him.
Afraid of spiraling deeper into whatever strange thing was happening between them, Clarissa scarfed down the rest of her breakfast, grabbed her bag, and rushed out the door.
If she stayed any longer, she might really lose control.
.
But the moment she sat down at her desk, she couldn’t focus. Her thoughts kept drifting back to Atticus—his smile, his voice, the memory of his breath hot against her neck the night before.
“Clarissa?” Nova’s voice snapped her out of it. “Wesley said there are multiple errors in this draft…”
Clarissa took the form and rubbed her temples. “Damn. Sorry—I’ll fix it right now. Tell him to wait a few minutes.”
Nova lingered a moment, her eyes filled with concern. “Clarissa… is everything okay? You’ve been distracted lately. First you took unexpected vacation time, and now this…”
“I’m not trying to pry,” Nova added quickly. “I just... you’re usually so precise. It's unlike you to make mistakes.”
Clarissa forced a faint smile. “Something came up at home. I didn’t sleep much last night, that’s all. I’m fine.”
“Want me to grab you a coffee?”
“Sure. Thanks.”
“I’ll be right back!”
Nova rushed off, and when she returned, Clarissa sipped the coffee gratefully and finished the corrections.
When the cup was empty, she stood to get a refill. As she entered the break room, hushed voices drifted in from just around the corner.
“She’s cost the company millions skipping work like that. And they didn’t fire her?”
“Come on, you know what’s going on. The boss calls her to his office all the time.”
“You mean, she's the boss' mistress?”
“Wouldn’t be surprised…” The voices faded as the women left the room.
Clarissa stepped out from behind the partition, her face blank.
She’d deliberately concealed her background when she came to the company.
Last time, when Ophelia found out she wasn’t at Lancaster Group, she’d called Nathaniel in a rage. Her father retaliated in the market and crashed their stock price overnight.
It had taken Clarissa flying back personally, staying at the Lancaster house for half a month, and promising Ophelia she was just looking for personal growth to smooth things over.
She’d never cared what others said—without saying a word, she took her coffee and went back to her desk.
That afternoon, Clarissa had a styling appointment with a rising actress. She triple-checked her plan, then headed out with Nova to the studio.
The client’s name was Rhea. A former model turned actress, she’d landed a few recent film roles and had started getting a taste of stardom.
Ever since she replaced Sienna, Rhea had acted like she was too good for the agency.
She was already an hour late.
When she finally arrived, her high heels clicked against the floor like gunshots. Her eyes swept the room and locked on Clarissa.
Nova’s face darkened. “Ms. Rhea, if I’m not mistaken, our appointment was for 1:00 PM.”
Rhea’s manager stepped in with a scoff. “Oh please. She gets stuck in traffic and it’s the end of the world? ”
Nova opened her mouth to argue, but Clarissa put a hand on her arm, gently stopping her.
“No time for arguments,” she said quietly. “Let’s just get started.”
Every minute wasted would reflect badly on them, not the client.
Nova took the hint, grabbed the kit, and began prepping.
Clarissa walked over and set the lookbook and style plan in front of Rhea.
“Ms. Rhea, I’ll be doing your makeup today. This is the outline for—”
Rhea’s gaze snapped to her face. Clarissa’s beauty was effortless, elegant, the kind that drew attention without trying. And for someone like Rhea—who worked hard to curate every inch of her image—it was infuriating.
She couldn’t stand it. That face. That voice. That poise.
“This? Just a garbage?”
Nova stepped forward defensively, but Clarissa raised a hand.
“For new attending a major event like this, I’d personally advise against being too ostentatious,” she said in a soft, steady voice. “This look is elegant but not excessive—just enough to attract the right kind of attention without drawing too much. It will benefit you long-term—”
“I don’t care!”
Rhea cut her off sharply, her voice slicing through the room.
She jabbed a finger at another look on Clarissa’s design board. “I want that one. I have to be the most unforgettable woman today.”
Clarissa blinked once. She hadn’t expected Rhea to choose that dress.
Nova, standing to the side, couldn’t help herself. “I’m sorry, that piece belongs to Clarissa personally. It’s not company property, so it can’t be used.”
Rhea let out a mocking laugh. “Oh? Hers? Don’t insult my intelligence.”