CERCI IN HER EMPLOYER’S OFFICE -1
CERCI LANNISTER:
“Cerci, you practically begged me for this position,” Sandra reminded me, her voice softening as she leaned across her desk Monday morning. The sunlight streaming through her office window caught the copper highlights in her hair. I had slept through all of Sunday, missing six of her increasingly concerned calls. I hadn’t realized how completely exhausted I was until my head hit the pillow–I’d fallen into a dreamless void without even stopping to eat.
“I know, and I still want to work for you,” I said, fidgeting with the delicate silver bracelet on my wrist. “Just… not at that particular penthouse. Perhaps I could exchange. assignments with another housekeeper?”
Sandra’s eyes narrowed with immediate concern, searching my face with the protective intensity that had made me trust her from our first meeting. “Did something happen. there? She leaned closer, her gaze scanning for any sign of mistreatment. “If either of those men touched you inappropriately, I swear-”
“Nothing happened,” I assured her quickly. At least, nothing in the way she was imagining. “I just…” I needed an explanation she would accept without further questions. The truth- that I couldn’t stop thinking about Bernard’s intense blue eyes or George’s knowing smirk -was far too complicated to share. “I’ve developed feelings for one of them,” I confessed, the half–truth burning my cheeks. “It’s affecting my professionalism. I become awkward around them, and I need to maintain my focus.”
“You–Cerci ‘the Warden‘ Lannister–have developed feelings?” Her eyebrows shot up
genuine astonishment.
in
“Please don’t call me that!” I groaned, burying my face in my hands. The girls at the Bunny Rabbit had bestowed that unfortunate nickname on me as a joke about my rigid self–discipline, but it had stuck despite my protests.
“Something about this doesn’t add up,” she pressed, her intuition as sharp as ever.
I gestured toward the angelfish swimming lazily in the aquarium in the corner of her office. “Maybe it’s your fish that smells suspicious.”
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CERCI IN HER EMPLOYER’S OFFICE -1
Her lips twitched despite her attempt to maintain seriousness. “You’re not nearly as amusing as you think you are.”
“I’m at least a little funny,” I countered with a smile. “Sandra, you know me better than almost anyone. I’ve always prided myself on maintaining professional boundaries. That’s why this is so unsettling. I need to step away before something happens that I can’t take back.”
“So there is potential for something to happen?” Her eyebrow arched with undisguised curiosity.
“Sandra. Please.” I met her gaze, allowing some of my genuine confusion and vulnerability
to show.
She sighed, relenting. “I can’t simply reassign you without explanation. Mr. Stark was extremely specific about having only one housekeeper. Protocol requires that I inform
him.”
“I understand,” I conceded, trying to ignore the flutter in my stomach at the mention of his name. “But while that’s being sorted out, do you have any other assignments available?”
Her expression shifted to one of reluctant amusement. “You have the most peculiar luck
sometimes.”
Luck? The concept was so foreign to my experience that I nearly laughed.
“Irene Monrova–the client you assisted Friday evening–specifically requested you for Mondays. That’s why I was so persistent in trying to reach you yesterday.”
This was precisely the kind of ‘luck‘ that defined my life–jumping from one complication
into another with barely a moment to catch my breath.
“What’s wrong?” Sandra asked, noticing my expression.
“Nothing at all. I’ll head there now–it’s only just past noon.” I rose gracefully, gathering
my scarf and bag.
“Are you still available for Mrs. Crofton on Wednesdays and Mr. Wells on Thursdays? Or are you harboring secret desires for them as well?” she teased with an exaggerated grin.
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CERCI IN HER EMPLOYER’S OFFICE -1
I pretended to consider the question seriously. “Now that you mention it, Mr. Wells has a certain distinguished appeal. The way he navigates with that polished mahogany cane, his distinguished silver hair, those reading glasses perched just so on his nose… there’s something undeniably captivating about him.”
“Cerci!” Sandra’s face contorted in mock horror as she squirmed in her chair, as if physically trying to dislodge the image. “That’s borderline disturbing.”
“Goodbye, Sandra,” I laughed, offering the smile she always encouraged me to share more freely. “And thank you for understanding.”
Just like that, I had extricated myself from the dangerous orbit of Bernard Stark and George Clement. I refused to subject myself to further embarrassment or confusion. The second vital lesson I’d learned during my difficult childhood was that when situations became complicated or potentially harmful, strategic retreat was perfectly acceptable.
Those who criticized running away were inevitably the first victims in horror films. Self- preservation was nothing to be ashamed of.
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