That night felt different from the moment Mrs. Grace told me, “Mr. Romano wants to see you.”
Her voice was calm, but my stomach twisted itself into a nervous knot. I wiped my hands on my apron as I walked down the hallway, trying not to overthink. But my brain did what brains do—it created a thousand possible reasons he could be calling me.
Maybe he wanted to complain about something.
Maybe I did something wrong.
Maybe… I didn’t even know.
When I reached his door, I paused for a second just to breathe. Then I knocked softly.
“Come in,” he said, voice deep and steady.
I pushed the door open, and the first thing I noticed was the lighting. The lamps were dimmed, casting warm, golden shadows over everything. The air smelled faintly like his cologne—clean, warm, expensive—and something
