Chapter 2 - The Pink Lunchbox
“Two years, Mr. Mercer,” Maya answered, her voice dropping slightly as she tightened her grip on the strap of her cleaning apron. “Every Tuesday and Thursday. Sometimes Fridays if the extra rooms need dusting.”
Adrian nodded slowly. Two years. In that time, millions of dollars had shifted through his software firm, corporate partnerships had been signed, and skyscrapers had risen across the city. Yet within these four walls, life had been measured only in the spotless gleam of marble countertops and the silent rotation of the seasons outside his floor-to-ceiling windows.
“And you never brought her before?” Adrian asked, his eyes shifting back to Lucy, who was now carefully unwrapping her peanut butter sandwich with intense concentration.
“I didn’t want to impose,” Maya said quickly, casting an apologetic look at her daughter. “Childcare in the city is expensive. When the center had to shut down for emergency pipe repairs this afternoon, I didn’t have a choice. I thought she would stay quiet in the staff quarters. I’m truly sorry she wandered out.”
“It’s fine, Maya,” Adrian said. He reached for his wineglass, taking a slow sip. The heavy cabernet tasted dry against his tongue. “She’s not disturbing anything.”
Lucy looked up from her sandwich, her eyes wide with curiosity. She pointed at the crystal glass in Adrian’s hand.
“Is that juice?” she asked.
Adrian almost laughed. “No. It’s wine. It’s juice for grownups, but it tastes terrible.”
“Can I try?”
“Definitely not.”
Maya flushed red. “Lucy, do not ask the gentleman for his drinks. Eat your sandwich right now, or we are leaving.”
“I am eating,” Lucy said defensively, taking a deliberate bite. She chewed thoughtfully, then stared at the massive chandelier above them. “That light looks like a frozen waterfall.”
Adrian stopped chewing. He looked up at the sparkling tiers of crystal. For two years, interior designers had told him it was a seventeenth-century Venetian masterpiece. None of them had ever called it a frozen waterfall.
“A frozen waterfall,” Adrian repeated, tasting the phrase. “Yes. I suppose it does.”
Lucy smiled crumbs onto her napkin. “You have a very big house. Where do you sleep? Is your bed a giant cloud?”
“Lucy!” Maya hissed, mortified. “Mr. Mercer, please excuse her. She has zero filter.”
“It’s alright,” Adrian said, holding up a hand to stop her apologies. He realized with a strange jolt that no one had spoken to him with such unvarnished curiosity since he was a child himself. Board members spoke in corporate strategies. Business associates spoke in contract clauses. Acquaintances spoke in polite, hollow pleasantries designed to extract favors or avoid awkwardness.
This four-year-old girl simply wanted to know if his bed was a cloud.
“My bed is large,” Adrian answered honestly, “but it’s not a cloud. It’s just a mattress.”
“Can I see it?”
“No,” Maya intervened firmly, her cheeks burning. “We are not going to tour the gentleman’s bedroom. Finish your apple slices, Lucy. We are wearing out our welcome.”
“You aren’t wearing out anything,” Adrian said, surprising himself again. He looked at the empty seats stretching down the mahogany table. For the first time, the vastness of the dining room didn’t feel like a monument to his isolation; it felt like a room that was simply too big for one person. “In fact, sit down, Maya.”
Maya froze, her hand hovering over the back of an adjacent chair. “Sir?”
“Sit down,” he repeated, gesturing to the chair. “You’ve been cleaning this penthouse all afternoon. You must be tired. And I have more food than I could possibly eat.”
“Oh, I couldn’t—I’m on duty—well, I’m off the clock, but still—”
“Sit, Maya.”
Hesitantly, Maya pulled out a chair and sat down near the edge, as if expecting the furniture to vanish beneath her. She looked remarkably out of place against the luxury of the dining set, yet her presence brought an odd warmth to the sterile room.
Lucy kicked her legs under the table, completely unbothered by the sudden shift in social decorum. She held up one of her dinosaur crackers.
“Do you like tyrannosaurus rex, Mr. Mercer?”
“I think they’re very noisy,” Adrian replied.
May you like
“They roar like this!” Lucy dropped her sandwich and threw her hands up, letting out a ferocious squeak that echoed softly against the high ceiling.
Maya covered her face with her hands, groaning softly, while Adrian let out a low, genuine chuckle—a sound so rare in this penthouse that even the air-conditioning seemed to pause.
