Sir
## Chapter 2 — Sir
The manager remained bent for one breath too long.
When he straightened, the color had left his face. He held the coin out to Ethan with both hands, not like he was returning lost property, but like he was afraid to be caught touching it.
“Mr. Calloway,” he said. “Sir.”
Mia’s fingers went slack around the white box.
Ethan took the coin and closed it in his fist.
“Don’t.”
The word was soft.
It landed harder than a shout.
The woman in brown laughed.
Not fully. Just enough to prove she still belonged above the moment.
“Mr. who?”
The manager turned to her.
His expression had changed in a way Mia could feel across the room. The trained politeness was still there, but something iron had moved behind it.
“Mr. Ethan James Calloway.”
Mia heard only the middle of it.
Ethan.
James.
Calloway.
She knew Ethan as Ethan Reed.
The name on his delivery app badge. The name on the mailbox outside his third-floor apartment. The name she had written on birthday cards, coffee cups, and one stupid little note she’d left in his jacket pocket that said, Don’t forget dinner, Reed.
Her throat tightened.
Ethan looked at her, and that was the worst part.
Not guilt.
Preparation.
Like he had always known there would be a day when she looked at him and found a stranger standing beside the man she loved.
The woman in gray recovered first.
“There must be a misunderstanding.”
“There is not,” the manager said.
The woman in brown’s smile sharpened.
“He’s wearing a courier jacket.”
Ethan glanced toward the door.
“I am a courier.”
The manager’s hands tightened together in front of him.
“Yes, sir, of course.”
That sir made Ethan flinch.
Mia saw it.
The saleswoman stepped away from the register as if the counter itself had become unsafe.
“Would you like the private room prepared?” she asked.
“No.”
“Champagne?”
“No.”
“I can call the regional director.”
“No.”
Each answer came faster than the last.
The woman in gray’s face flushed under her powder.
“This is ridiculous.”
The manager turned toward the security guard.
“Mr. Calloway and Miss Alvarez are guests of this house. The ladies’ accounts will be reviewed.”
The woman in brown stiffened.
“Excuse me?”
The manager did not raise his voice.
“Your treatment of him was witnessed by staff and recorded on camera.”
“You cannot be serious.”
“The Calloway Group handles our international distribution, bonded storage, and private client security.”
Mia looked at Ethan.
He closed his eyes.
For half a second, he looked more tired than he had after twelve hours delivering in sleet.
The saleswoman lifted the scarf box with both hands.
“Miss Alvarez, please accept our deepest apology.”
“I paid for it,” Mia said automatically.
“Your purchase has been taken care of.”
“No. I don’t want—”
Ethan stepped forward.
“She’ll pay for her own gift.”
The manager nodded at once.
“Of course, sir.”
Ethan’s jaw tightened.
“Stop saying that.”
The manager swallowed.
“Yes.”
The woman in gray looked from Ethan to the manager, to the coin now hidden in Ethan’s fist.
The first clean fear entered her eyes.
Mia should have enjoyed it.
She didn’t.
The room smelled suddenly too sweet, too perfumed, too expensive. She wanted cold air. Traffic noise. The coffee cart outside. Anything honest enough to be ugly.
She turned to Ethan.
“Calloway?”
He looked at her.
“Mia.”
“That’s your name?”
His mouth opened.
Closed.
The woman in brown made one last attempt at laughter.
“Well, if this little performance is meant to embarrass us—”
Ethan turned to her.
“It isn’t.”
That silenced her more than anger would have.
He picked up the quarter from the floor.
Not with dignity.
With two fingers, like it was something that had fallen from a wound.
He placed it on the glass counter.
Then he reached for Mia’s scarf box.
“Let’s go.”
The manager moved immediately.
“Your car is waiting at the curb, sir.”
Ethan went still.
Mia saw the blood drain from his face.
“What car?” she asked.
The manager faltered.
“The black car. Your father’s office called ahead. We were told to expect you and make sure you reached it safely.”
Ethan’s hand tightened around the scarf box until the ribbon dented.
“I didn’t ask for a car.”
“No, sir.”
He looked toward the windows.
Outside, beyond the blurred reflection of handbags and bright glass, a black sedan idled at the curb.
A driver stood beside the rear door with his hands folded.
May you like
Exactly as promised.
He'd spent two years making sure no car like that ever followed him home. Today, it found him anyway.
