Chapter 12: First Day on the Job (Part 6)
Emma looked up, surprised.
“Thank you. I… like words. They’re easier to control than vases.”
Mrs. Whitmore almost, almost smiled. Almost.
“Go. Before I regret saying that.”
Emma climbed the main staircase with the report in her hand, her heart beating a little faster with each step. The second floor was darker, quieter, and smelled more strongly of old wood and something indefinable she still hadn’t been able to name. She found the study door, knocked twice as instructed, and waited.
“Come in.”
Nicco’s voice sounded calm from the other side.
Emma opened the door. The study was spacious, with low bookshelves, an antique globe, framed maps, and the desk where he sat. He didn’t stand. He simply held out his hand.
She handed him the report.
Nicco read in silence. Time seemed to stretch. Emma stood with her hands behind her back, trying not to shift from one foot to the other. When he finished, he closed the notebook and looked at her.
“You have a talent for storytelling.”
“Is that a compliment or a veiled threat?”
“An observation. The report will be filed. And Mrs. Whitmore will teach you the proper technique for handling porcelain tomorrow. No feather dusters. No elbows.”
“Understood. And… what about gluing the bird back together?”
“The bird has already been discarded. With respect, as I requested.”
Emma lowered her head, looking a little dejected.
“He deserved better.”
“Most things we break do,” Nicco replied, his voice quieter.
Then, returning to his usual tone, he added, “You may return to work. And try to get through the rest of the day without destroying any more survivors of a dynasty.”
“I’ll do my absolute best.”
She turned to leave. At the door, she hesitated.
“Mr. Ross?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you for not firing me. Truly.”
Nicco watched her for a long second. His earlier smile had disappeared, but a trace of that brief glimmer still lingered in his eyes.
“Don’t thank me just yet, Miss Craven. The day isn’t over.”
Emma left, closed the door carefully, and went downstairs with a slightly lighter heart. In the kitchen, Mrs. Whitmore merely raised an eyebrow in silent question. Emma nodded.
“I survived.”
“For now,” the housekeeper replied. “Now go help fold the tablecloths. And no drama.”
As Emma disappeared down the corridor carrying a stack of white linen, Mrs. Whitmore shook her head once more, alone in the kitchen, and muttered to the pots and pans:
“Genetic elbow. Spiders. Love letters. What on earth will be next?”
Two floors above, Nicco Ross continued staring at the closed door longer than necessary. Then he opened his desk drawer, placed Emma’s report in a folder marked only with the date, and allowed himself one last smile that day.
Brief.
Genuine.
And dangerously memorable.
He didn’t know yet that, from that point on, life at Ross Manor would never be quite the same again.
But for now, he was content with the fact that, for the first time in many, many years, someone had managed to make him smile for real… because of a broken vase and a story about spiders.
And that, Nicco Ross decided, was far too much information for a single day.
He closed the folder, switched off the desk lamp, and left the study immersed in the comfortable half-darkness he preferred.
Downstairs, Emma Craven was folding tablecloths with military precision, mentally updating her list.
“Twenty-six: the boss has a hidden smile. Dangerous. Do not investigate.
Twenty-seven: absurd reports work. Continue using them sparingly.
Twenty-eight: Mrs. Whitmore knows more than she lets on. Do not annoy her.
Twenty-nine: survive the rest of the first day.
Thirty: remember that it’s still only five years.”
And with that, Emma Craven’s first official day of work at Ross Manor came to an end… with one less vase, one more report, and a secret smile that neither of them would admit to anytime soon.