2025-09-07 09:03:05
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His Text, My Trouble.
April’s POVGrandpa stayed silent for a minute, looking like he was this close to crying his eyes out or cursing his fate.“Get out, Sinclair. Go back to your company," he finally said with a dismissive wave. “You’ve always treasured it more than me, haven’t you?”His tone dripped with the sort of accusation meant to guilt a child, but obviously it didn't reach Sinclair. He just stood there, with the faintest twitch in his jaw serving as the only sign of irritation.Beside him, I awkwardly shifted, unsure if I should defend him or stay quiet. After all, this was family business, and I was… well, not family.“Grandfather....” Sinclair began, but Chairman Hale cut him off with surprising energy for someone who had supposedly fainted minutes ago.“No. Don’t you dare argue with me.” His eyes, surprisingly lively, slid to me. Then, with a sudden burst of mischief that made me blink, he added, “April stays. I want to spend my last days with her.”I blinked. What?Sinclair’s head snapped to
The Grandfather Who Wouldn’t Die.
Sinclair’s POVIf you asked me how my morning started off, then I'd say it started off as a circus act.How? Let's see, how about the fact that I could still hear April's wide-eyed scream ringing in my ears from when she barged into the bathroom, frozen at the sight of me under the shower, her gaze darting places it shouldn’t have, before she fled like the hounds of hell were after her.Second, the car ride had been filled with her desperate attempts to avoid looking at me, as though pretending her boss’s body didn’t exist would erase her mortifying memory.I let her do what she wanted though. Watched her fumble with her tablet as her cheek turned scarlet pink. Hell, this was more entertaining than the paperwork I was going to meet when I got to the company.Eventually, we reached. But just as I parked my car and got out with her, we'd barely walked ten steps before my phone buzzed in my pocket.Caller ID: Hale HospitalThat wasn't a number that popped on my phone that easy.I answere
Best 24 Hours.
April’s POVI woke up with the weight of the world pressing down on my eyelids. My lashes fluttered open, my brain sluggishly trying to reboot like an old laptop that hadn’t been updated since the early 2000s. For a full minute, I stared at the ceiling fan, wondering if I’d somehow woken up in someone else’s apartment.I finally made the decision. I was going to move. Even if I really didn't want to.Fabric rustled under me. My bed. My room.So why did I have the feeling that something was so wrong somewhere? I looked around trying to recall the events of last night.I froze.I had no memory of walking into this room, no memory of climbing into bed. The last thing I remembered was sitting in the living room with spreadsheets open, listening to Sinclair’s voice drone on about profit margins while I stared at him like an exhausted ghost. Then… blackness.“Wait.” My eyes widened. “Did Sinclair carry me here?”Had he gone home?I sat up so fast I nearly gave myself whiplash. My bed was tu
Chicken And Chaos.
Sinclair’s POVApril stood in the middle of her living room like a war general surveying a battlefield. She had her hands planted on her hips, chin tilted at a stubborn angle, she let her gaze sweep across the disaster zone of unfolded laundry, stacked books, discarded sketches, and coffee mugs that had clearly been sitting there long enough to qualify for archaeological excavation.I, on the other hand, stood with folded arms, waiting for her to say something since she forbade me from sitting inside all this mess.If you asked me what I prepared for the night of project planning then I'd most likely say a laptop, a drink, and maybe a couple arguments here and there. But look what I got instead.“This...” she gestured dramatically at the chaos “...is uninhabitable. We cannot possibly work in here.”I looked around. Messy? Sure. But I’d grown up in worse. My grandma used to be a journalist before she started falling sick on a daily basis. Now, you can imagine the home of a journalist w
Miss Clown.
Sinclair's POVBy the time we finally wrapped up for the night, technically, the morning.....April stretched with the kind of dramatic flair you’d expect from someone winning an Olympic gold medal in “Suffering Through Corporate Life.”I could relate to that though. You probably could too.“We. Are. DONE,” she declared, half-singing it as she grabbed her tote bag and swung it over her shoulder like she was about to walk a fashion runway.She turned toward me, eyes alight with joy despite how drained she looked, and grabbed my hand. “Come on, let's get out of this death trap before someone invents another task.”I was about telling her it was midnight and we were the only ones left here, but on second thoughts.....no.I let her drag me toward the elevator, her fingers still laced with mine.Then she stopped dead in her tracks, in front of the metal doors.I knew that expression.“Oh hell no,” she said.I raised a brow. “What?”She looked at me with wide, are-you-fucking-kidding-me eyes
Electric Bolt.
Sinclair's POVIt was way past working hours, and the office had begun to take on that weird, eerie silence that only hits when everyone’s gone and the lights are half off. I rubbed at my eyes and leaned back in my chair, sighing as I glanced over the spreadsheet still open on my screen.Believe you me, I was the definition of the word tired.Apparently, our team had to pull extra hours thanks to some “urgent” client deliverable that came in at 4:55 PM like chaos itself had hit the send button or something.Most of them had gone home though. Literally almost everybody. The only person I could see in sight was April who was seated across the room, hunched over her desk with that stubborn furrow in her brow. I’d learned early on that it showed up when she was deep in thought, or about to lose it completely. Probably the second one, considering it was almost 11 PM.I grabbed two paper cups from the break room and poured us both some of that bitter, stale office coffee. At this hour, it w
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