At the company party, a man flirted with me—charming, confident. Twelve hours later, I was scrubbing floors in a janitor’s uniform. That man turned out to be the new CEO.
When Nate kicked me out, I didn’t even get to ask why. I packed our life into trash bags in under an hour. My three-year-old daughter, Lina, slept in the car while I shoved the last of our things into the trunk.
We found a leaky studio at the edge of town. It wasn’t much, but I kept telling myself it was temporary.
Returning to work after maternity leave was terrifying. But I had a portfolio—designed during Lina’s naps. My best friend Kenzie, now at a media company, pushed me to apply.
“Don’t hide your talent,” she said.
At the interview, HR head Cheryl sneered at my gap. “We don’t have room for beginners. But we do have a cleaning position.”
I took it. Cleaning wasn’t shameful. Quitting was.
At the holiday party, I hid in the office kitchen until Kenzie dragged me out. She found a borrowed dress in the showroom and convinced me to wear it.
“You’re not just the help, Marley. You’re a designer.”
So I went. At the bar, I met Rowan. We talked. He listened. I showed him my work. He said it was good. Better than good.
Then Kenzie texted: “The dress. 20 minutes. Run.”
I spilled wine. Ruined the gown. Ran out without saying goodbye.
The next morning, Cheryl stormed up to me—furious. Someone wanted to meet the mystery woman from the party. That woman… was me. She accused me of lying, stealing, stepping out of place. Then she knocked over my mop bucket and I slipped.
I hit the marble. And that’s when I saw polished shoes—Rowan.
“Marley?” he asked. I ran.
Later, I returned to the office for my things. Cheryl was rifling through my locker, waving a dry-cleaning receipt like proof of my crime.
“You think you can flirt your way to the top?” she snapped.
“Enough,” Rowan said from the doorway.
He looked at me. “Did you take the dress?”
“I borrowed it. Paid to clean it.”
“She’s just a cleaner,” Cheryl scoffed.
“She’s a designer,” Rowan corrected. “Better than half our team.”
He turned to me. “Take off the uniform. You’re done mopping floors.”
Then he smiled. “We’ll need to find you a new dress. We have a dinner. Company-related, of course.”
My hands trembled. My hair was still a mess. But for the first time in a long time, I felt seen.
Not as the janitor.
But as the woman the CEO invited to dinner.