Or so she believed until the man who cleaned her floors became the only person in her house she actually wanted to talk to. She never did talk to him, not really. A few words here and there, professional, distant. But her eyes lingered a second longer than they should have. And Marcus, though he never acknowledged it, felt it every single time.
It happened on a Thursday night in October. Victoria had come home late from a board meeting that had gone badly. A merger she had been orchestrating for months was falling apart due to internal resistance. And for the first time in a long time, the pressure cracked something inside her. She sat alone in the living room with a bottle of whiskey and drank it the way someone drinks when they are not trying to enjoy it.
They are trying to disappear. Marcus was finishing his shift. He had folded the last set of towels and was about to leave when the head housekeeper, Mrs. Calloway, stopped him. "Miss Hayes requested fresh towels in the master suite.
She spilled something." Mrs. Calloway's expression made it clear she did not want to be the one to go up there. Marcus took the towels without a word and climbed the stairs. The door to the master suite was open.
The lights were dim. Victoria was sitting on the edge of her bed, still in her work clothes, a black blouse unbuttoned at the collar, her shoes kicked off, her hair loose for the first time Marcus had ever seen. The bottle was on the nightstand, nearly empty. She looked up when he walked in and her eyes were glassy, unfocused, but something in them sharpened the moment she saw him. "You're still here," she said.
It was not a question. It was almost an accusation. As though his presence at that hour was something personal, something he had chosen rather than been assigned. Marcus set the towels on the chair near the bathroom door. ""Mrs. Calloway said you needed these."" He turned to leave.
"Marcus." The way she said his name stopped him. Not loud, not commanding, just honest, raw, like she had been holding it in her mouth for a long time and finally let it fall. He turned back. She was standing now, closer than she should have been, and the look on her face was not the CEO, not the ice architect, not the woman on magazine covers.