No Second Chances Ex-husband (Lauren and Ethan) novel Chapter 92

CHAPTER 092

LAUREN’S POV

“The manager said you can come into her office.” The receptionist said, her voice calm and neutral, though her eyes carried that flicker of recognition that told me she knew exactly what kind of reunion was about to take place.

–

Great. That annoying, proud asshole of a manager was still in the headquarters. I had silently prayed no, I had hoped with every fiber in me that she’d either been promoted out of here, transferred somewhere across the country, or better yet, fired for her terrible attitude. But clearly, the universe wasn’t on my side this morning.

From the moment my manager back in Italy told me about my immediate transfer back to America, I had started suspecting it was her. It made too much sense. Headquarters didn’t even give me a week, not even a couple of days, to gather my things or prepare Aria. They demanded I return so quickly it felt personal, as if someone at the top had an issue with me. And who else could it be, if not her?

Still, a part of me had tried to reason with myself back then. Lauren, you’re overthinking it, I told myself. There’s no way she could still be around. She was rude, abrasive, and downright cruel to half the employees here. Surely she couldn’t have survived five years in this company. People like her burned out or got chewed up by corporate eventually.

But now, standing here in the reception, something in my gut told me she was still here, still the same thorn in my side.

I set my jaw. Fine. If it was her, then I knew one thing: the last time I was here, I had been desperate. I needed the job, and because of that desperation, I let her talk down to me. I let her dictate everything. I endured her precision-cut because I couldn’t afford to lose my chance.

But this time was different. This time, they needed me. I wasn’t begging for crumbs anymore. I wasn’t the scared woman searching for a job to keep her head above water. I had built myself up in Italy. I had proven myself. And if this manager thought she could push me around again, she was dead wrong.

Without another word to the receptionist, I turned and began walking toward the manager’s office. My strides were firm, confident, but I kept my expression composed. I knew her type, predators who sniffed out weakness like blood in the water. One hint of hesitation, one nervous glance, and she would use it against me.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, interrupting my thoughts. I pulled it out, glancing at the screen. It was Tessa.

She had reminded me earlier to text her once I got to headquarters. Living together now meant she worried about me more, especially on days like this when I had to face old ghosts. I had been so caught up in my nerves that I’d forgotten. But I’d reply now – better late than never.

My fingers flew across the screen as I typed out a quick message, my attention glued to my phone while my feet carried me down the familiar hallway. I didn’t think much of it, the path was clear, no one in sight, just the floor stretching ahead of me. I thought I was safe to multitask.

I was wrong.

Out of nowhere, someone barreled into me from the left. The impact was sharp, enough to make me stumble. My phone slipped from my hand, and I watched in slow motion as it tumbled through the air before crashing

onto the hard floor. The sound of shattering glass echoed in my ears.

My heart sank. I didn’t even need to pick it up to know that the screen was broken. I let out a long, frustrated sigh, my shoulders sagging as I crouched down. “Seriously? I liked that phone,” I muttered, more to myself than to anyone else.

I reached for the device, confirming my fear as I turned it over. Cracks spiderwebbed across the display, distorting the light. Perfect. Just perfect.

I was expecting – no, waiting for a “sorry” from the woman who had crashed into me. After all, she had been carrying a ridiculous stack of papers and books, blocking her line of sight. It wasn’t all my fault, though yes, I had been distracted with my phone. Still, common courtesy existed for a reason.

But no apology came. Not even a guilty glance. Instead, she was crouched on the floor, frantically gathering the mess of papers scattered everywhere.

I narrowed my eyes, watching her. Part of me wanted to just walk away, but another part, the better part felt guilty. I had been on my phone, and accidents happened. Even though she hadn’t said anything, I decided to help her out. It was the least I could do.

I bent down, reaching for a few sheets of paper that had fluttered near my feet.

But before I could pick them up, a sharp smack struck across my wrist. The sting made me jerk my hand back in surprise.

I blinked at her, stunned. Did she really just hit me?

“I don’t need your help,” she said finally, her voice dripping with venom, thick with a hatred I didn’t understand.

I froze, my hand hovering awkwardly mid-air as my brows furrowed. What? That was the last thing I expected.

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