Chapter 7
"But about that share transfer agreement, I need to run it by the legal team," he said.
"That's not between you and me. It's a Symons family issue. Just deal with their legal team," I replied.
He turned around and called out, "Evelyn Symons."
It was the first time he'd ever called me by my full name, not "Evelyn," not "Hey, come here."
I didn't say anything.
"So, is that boyfriend of yours even real?" he asked.
"What do you think?" I replied.
His expression shifted.
"No need to lie to me," he said.
"Why would I lie to you?" I retorted.
"Because if you really had a boyfriend, you wouldn't have been helping me organize my engagement dinner yesterday," Adrian said.
The room went quiet.
I had to admit, Adrian was more perceptive than I'd thought.
But none of that mattered now.
"Mr. Holt, you're getting engaged next month. Whether I have a boyfriend or not is really none of your business," I said.
I set the handover checklist on his desk.
"Everything's here. Celine's been working with me for three months, so she knows the ropes," I said.
He glanced down at the checklist.
"If there's nothing else, I'll head out," I said.
I walked to the door.
"Evelyn," Adrian called out.
I paused for a moment, but didn't turn around.
"If you want to leave, I won't stop you. But there's one thing you need to know," he said.
I waited.
"You weren't just someone I used these past eight years," Adrian said.
My hand tightened on the doorknob.
"And you were never just staff to me," he added.
I turned the doorknob.
"But you're too late, Mr. Holt," I said.
I walked out.
The door closed softly behind me.
The hallway was empty.
I took a few steps and paused at the corner.
Leaning back against the wall, I tilted my head up.
The bright overhead lights glared down at me.
I didn't cry.
I was thirty-four. I wouldn't cry over someone who wasn't worth it.
For the next three days, I finished all the handover work quietly.
Celine was always hovering around me, bringing me coffee, asking if I needed anything, fussing over me like I was some kind of VIP.
She wasn't nearly this attentive back when she just called me "the assistant."
"Ms. Symons, I've saved this client's contact info. I'll handle the follow-up," she said.
"Ms. Symons, want some fruit? We just got fresh cherries today."
"Ms. Symons..."
"Celine," I cut her off. "Just ask what you really want to know."
Celine's smile faltered for a moment.
"I just wanted to ask are you planning to come back to Holt Group? After all, you've got seventeen percent of the shares," Celine said.
"I haven't taken those shares," I replied.
"But—"
"Just focus on the handover. The rest is none of your concern," I said.
Celine fell silent.
But I knew the whole company was buzzing with gossip.
The Symons family's granddaughter had been working as a secretary at Holt Group for eight years, and Adrian was totally in the dark the whole time.
This story was going to keep them talking for a whole year.
On the last day of the month, I packed up my personal stuff from my desk.
All my stuff from my desk fit into just half a box.
I left the plant I'd been taking care of for six years with the intern next door.
"Ms. Symons, are you really leaving it behind?" the intern asked.
"It won't fit in my new life. Take care of it for me, okay?" I said.
I stepped out of the elevator on the first floor and made my way through the lobby.
The two girls at the front desk stood up in unison.
"Ms. Symons, bye," one of them stammered.
I gave them a small smile.
As I stepped through the revolving door, sunlight hit my face.
The June breeze was warm and gentle.
I stood on the steps and took a deep breath.
My phone buzzed in my pocket.
It was a message from Edward.
[Come home for dinner. I've got pork rib soup simmering.]
I texted back: [Okay.]
Then I slipped my phone back into my pocket and headed for the parking lot.
After eight years of standing outside Holt Group's doors, today was the last time.
There wouldn't be a next time.
The first week after leaving Holt Group, I didn't do a thing.
I slept in, went downstairs to the supermarket for groceries, cooked for myself, and spent my afternoons lounging on the couch with a book.
My phone rang a few times.
Celine called twice, and my realtor friend called once.
Adrian called once.
I picked up for Celine and my realtor friend, but let Adrian's call go unanswered.
On the eighth day, Nathan took me out to dinner.
We met at a foreign restaurant downtown, in a private room on the third floor with a view of the river.
Nathan looked more relaxed than I'd remembered; his suit jacket was draped over the back of his chair, and his sleeves were rolled up halfway.
"I didn't think you'd actually show up," he said.
"You're treating me to dinner. Why wouldn't I come?" I replied.
He laughed.
"You're just like your grandpa, never letting anyone get the better of you," Nathan said.
The waiter brought out the first dish.
"Evelyn, I've got a project I want to talk to you about," Nathan said.
"What kind of project?" I asked.