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Abercrombie Alternate Ending

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“Mr. Van Der Wells?” Noah smiles wickedly. “I’m not Abercrombie anymore?”
“Before, you were Abercrombie. As of ten seconds ago, you are my boss.”
“Noah will do.”
“I’m comfortable with Mr. Van Der Wells.”
He stands, straightening his jacket. “You want to keep this job, you’ll call me Noah.”
Biting my tongue to refrain from acting out like the little girl he thinks I am, I try seething in silence. But that lasts all of two seconds. “If addressing you appropriately—that is, by your surname—is such a big deal, why not just put it in the frickin’ contract?”
Lacing his fingers before him, he nods at the contract on the desk and raises a brow. “You signed without reading all of it?”
He’s got to be kidding. “That’s really in the contract? I …show more content…

The wordless gesture is like a sharp sword beheading the pointless tension between us.
I walk in, ignoring the static, hair-raising goose bumps as my arm brushes against his. It’s an accident, I swear.
“This is some kind of help quarters,” I drone in a bored voice, even though I’m anything but. I’m, in fact, in a light haze of reminiscence, of when I used to be someone. Of when I had a life worth living. When I was happy and problem-free and wore a lot of fuchsia.
Space. Lots of it. King-size bed—say what?—with pristine white covers and violet throw-pillows. A beige love-bench at the foot of the bed. Gentle lilac accents in the paintings, curtains, lamps, and rug. A small sitting area over by the floor-to-ceiling windows, with two accent armchairs and ottomans.
Letting my bag, which feels like garbage in this immaculate place, fall to the floor, I wander around the room, checking it all out, before slipping into the bathroom. All marble. Lush white towels, shiny steel pipes and handles, jetted bathtub and rain shower.
“The real help quarters is next to the pantry,” Noah informs me with a poker-face when I return from examining the …show more content…

Taking Noah’s advice, I run myself a hot bath. Lord knows I haven’t had one in a while.
While the bath runs, I pad into the closet to unpack my scraps of clothing. Not surprisingly, it’s a spacious walk-in.
Hanging on a rack to the side are seven starch-pressed uniforms. I pout at the absence of cute French frills or a sweetheart neckline for cleavage. Just a boring black and white straight tunic with a hidden zipper down the middle, a stiff white collar, and double box pockets.
Boo!
There are also two pairs of tennis shoes, I assume to be worn as part of the uniform. Clearly, Noah’s aim is to make me as unattractive as possible, and I can’t help but wonder if it’s to protect me from him, or to protect himself from me.
After unpacking, I pad back to the bathroom, strip down, and climb into the scorching hot bath.
Perfect. Perfect place to start, get my head in the right place, and begin adapting. I lay my head back on the rim and close my eyes.
For the first time since becoming best friends with Andrew’s fist, I’m able to think, relax, without fear clinging to every nerve ending.
Safe. That’s what I feel. At least, for the time

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