Chapter 9: Fries, Flashbacks, and Fear

Half asleep, memories hit me from years ago.

Back when the company was tiny, Marcus took us old-timers to business dinners. Not that they were real dinners—he never let the women drink. We were just there so the other guys wouldn’t try anything sleazy.

One night, after a contract fell through, we sat on the curb outside a greasy pizza joint, sharing a box of fries and watching the neon sign flicker. The other boss had tried to put his hand on my waist. Marcus yanked me behind him, made up a story about my fake allergy, and drank in my place. The deal crashed and burned, and the rival squeezed us out of the market. For a while, Marcus couldn’t even pay salaries. We all blamed ourselves. But Marcus blamed himself most—for not protecting me and still losing the deal.

That’s why he’s always watched out for me.

I tried to comfort him: "Ordinary people always take losses in this world. I joined right after college, youngest here, and you took me in. Marcus, without you, I’d have had it worse."

We talked for hours that night, promising each other there’d be a day with fewer losses. And eventually, we made it.

With company perks and holidays, Marcus never short-changed anyone. That’s why even with layoffs looming, nobody trashed him. He deserved ‘good boss’ status.

How could I not have a crush?

But I didn’t dare hope for more. He was always gentle—with everyone. I was too scared to believe I was special. So I kept my boldness in my stories, where I could be whoever I wanted. Out here, I was just Aubrey, the girl with a hopeless office crush.

Even on the darkest days, Marcus made things bearable. I remembered sitting on that curb—sneakers scuffed, knees tucked up, sharing fries and hope. That stubborn, American sitcom kind of hope.