Chapter 4 (Felicity)

                                        

                                              
The elevator doors slid open with a whoosh, and I stepped out onto the twenty-second floor of Barrington-Williams Consulting International. It felt like a Monday. The hum of gossip, the clacking of keyboards, the smell of burnt espresso already told me I was behind. I knew stopping at Starbucks would make me late—but honestly, I didn't care.
I forced a smile that felt like a bandage over a bruise and headed toward my office, mentally rehearsing small talk. Anything to drown out the loop in my head: He gave my birthday gift to Macy. . . My customized, stupidly-expensive, ridiculously extravagant bag—to his eleven-year-old daughter.
"Morning, Felicity." Callie, our newly promoted project manager and analyst, handed me a stack of project briefs. "Ethan asked if you'd swing by his office when you have a sec."
Of course he did.
I thanked her and headed for my office, dropping my tote beside the desk. The Boston skyline was visible through my floor to ceiling windows, sunlight gleaming off towers and rooftops. The foot traffic below buzzed with movement, people going somewhere, doing something. I loved this city. I loved this office. Just standing inside it reminded me how hard I'd worked to get here.
I exhaled and unpacked my bag. Laptop. Files. An unnecessary quantity of baked goods from Starbucks. I laughed softly when I pulled out the full box of granola bars. What the hell was I supposed to do with all these? They weren't Reese's. I tossed everything into my desk drawer and connected my laptop to the docking station. All three monitors blinked to life.
Finally—something I could control.
A soft knock at my open door pulled me from my inbox. "Knock-knock."
Ethan Hayes leaned against the frame, sleeves rolled to his forearms—forearm porn level, and yes, he knew it. Tie loosened just enough to whisper casually polished. Most of the office called him McSteamy. They also called him my "work husband." He wore the title like a badge of honor.
I nodded toward the guest chair. "You summoned?"
"I did." He grinned, but his expression softened the longer he looked at me. "But first—happy early birthday. I know it's not for a couple days, but I'll be out of the office, and I didn't want to miss the chance."
My pulse stumbled. My birthday wasn't exactly my favorite subject this week. "Thank you. But really, you didn't need to do anything. It's just another year."
Ethan tilted his head, one brow arched. "Just another year? It's not every day you turn twenty-one for the nineteenth time."
Without waiting for permission, he placed a matte black gift bag on my desk—sleek, discreet, and suspiciously heavy.
"Ethan..."
"Just open it."
"I'm serious—you didn't have to—"
"Humor me."
I pulled out the box. Jesus—Montblanc. He got me a Montblanc? My heart did a slow, startled somersault. I lifted the lid. Holy shit. The Smart Writing Set. This thing had to be close to a grand. Inside: a set of notebooks, the stylus pen, and a leather folio that practically whispered luxury. Is he serious? 
First thought - I love it - it screams "me." Second thought - I can't accept this, right?
It was beautiful. It was thoughtful. I couldn't look away as I started running my hands over the folio and lifting the pen out of the box.
"You're always scribbling on sticky notes and in the margins of printouts," Ethan said quietly. "I figured... maybe you deserved something that could actually keep up. It's supposed to be great - seamless with your phone, whatever you write down will translate into the app. You can organize everything from there."