A small noise pulled me out of my head—a soft thud, followed by a kid’s sigh. I turned. A little boy stood in the doorway, holding a deflated soccer ball like it had personally betrayed him.
Before I could say anything, Ellery noticed him. Her whole face softened, tension melting away like someone had flipped a switch.
“What happened, bud?” she asked gently, setting down her clipboard.
“Ball popped,” he said, lip wobbling just a little.
She crouched down to his level, smile kind and steady. “We’ll fix it. Go grab another one from the bin, okay?”
He nodded, and when he ran off, she went right back to work—same focus, same rhythm, like that whole moment had been muscle memory.
It hit me harder than I expected. The shift in her—sharp professionalism one second, warmth the next—was seamless. Natural. The kind of balance I’d never figured out how to pull off.
“You ever take a break?” The words slipped out before I could stop them.
Without looking up, she said, “Not when there’s still work to do.”
“That explains a lot.”
She arched an eyebrow. “You mean why I’m not losing my temper in front of reporters?”
I huffed out a laugh. “Touché.”
For the first time all day, the tension between us cracked just enough to let in a hint of something else—amusement, maybe. Respect, if I was being generous.
She didn’t look up again, just kept typing, but I could feel her smirk from across the table.
And damn it, I couldn’t decide if I wanted to argue with her… or keep her talking.
Either way, I was starting to understand why everyone here followed her lead.
Even me.
By midafternoon, I was starting to think Ellery had a secret vendetta against downtime. She moved around the office like a machine—fielding calls, organizing donations, checking in with volunteers—and I was barely keeping up. Then she handed me a clipboard, like I hadn’t already done my penance in boxes and banners.
“Here,” she said, sliding it toward me. “Tomorrow’s schedule.”
I took it, mostly out of curiosity. The thing looked like it had been built by NASA. Meetings, sponsor calls, gala setup—every line color-coded, neatly tabbed, and highlighted within an inch of its life.
“You color-code meetings?” I asked, flipping through the pages.
“Of course,” she said, not missing a beat as she typed something into her laptop.
I blinked. “You’re insane.”
She smiled faintly, eyes still on the screen. “Efficient.”
I snorted. “Right. That’s one word for it.”
She didn’t even rise to the bait, which made me want to push harder. So I did.
When she turned to grab something off the printer, I shifted a stack of folders from the edge of her desk to the middle—just to see if she’d notice.
She did. Immediately.
“Put those back where they belong, please,” she said without even looking up.
I raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t realize office supplies were sacred.”
