Mr Fernandez

Susan

I stared at the untouched coffee in front of me, my fingers tracing circles around the rim of the mug. The café was bustling, the clinking of cups and soft hum of conversations blending into the background, but all I could hear was the echo of my own thoughts.

Meera slid into the seat across from me, her eyes immediately narrowing. “Okay, you’re giving off serious ‘I did something bad’ vibes,” she said, tossing her bag onto the chair beside her. “What now?”

I sighed, finally looking up to meet her gaze. She already knew the basics...I’d told her about Mrs. Prescott offering me money to leave Elliot, and yeah, she knew I’d taken it. But the weight of it felt heavier today, like it was suffocating me.

“She texted me,” I said quietly.

Meera raised an eyebrow. “Who?”

“Mrs. Prescott. She wanted to know why I haven’t broken up with Elliot yet.”

Meera’s eyes darkened. “That woman’s got some nerve.”

I gave a bitter laugh. “I told her it would take time, that I couldn’t just end things overnight. But Meera… I don’t know if I can do it at all.”

Meera leaned forward, her voice dropping. “Susan, I know why you took that money. You thought it would make it easier to walk away, to feel guilty enough to leave him. But let’s be real...you don’t want to leave him.”

I swallowed hard, feeling the sting of tears threatening behind my eyes. “I don’t. God, I don’t. But his mother...she’s relentless. I thought if I made Elliot hate me, it’d be easier. I’ve tried everything. For a whole week, I’ve been doing the most ridiculous shit to push him away, and he just… won’t.”

Meera snorted. “Because he loves you, dumbass. And you love him.”

The words hit me like a punch to the chest. I hadn’t said it out loud...not to Elliot, not even to myself. But hearing Meera say it made it real.

“I’m scared, Meera,” I whispered. “What if fighting for him isn’t enough? What if his mom finds another way to pull us apart?”

Meera leaned back, crossing her arms with that fierce look she always got when she was about to drop some hard truths. “Fuck his mom. She’s got too much damn money and too much time on her hands. Let her waste both. But you? You keep your man. You fight for him. Because if you don’t, you’re gonna regret it for the rest of your life.”

I stared at her, the knot in my chest loosening just a little. Meera wasn’t one to sugarcoat things, and if she believed I could fight for this, maybe… maybe I could.

“What if Elliot finds out I took the money?” Meera asked quietly.

I rolled her eyes. “Girl, he already knows. You think Adrian can keep his mouth shut? Elliot wasn't fazed at all." I replied covering my face.

"And he still want you. Because he knows who you are. And it’s not some gold-digger who can be bought off with a fat check.”

I let out a shaky breath, feeling the weight of everything pressing down on me. But now… now there was something else too. A spark of hope.

“Okay,” I whispered, more to myself than to Meera. “Okay.”

Meera grinned, reaching over to squeeze my hand. “Now go get your man, Susan Hart.”

****

Susan

I was halfway through replying to an email when my phone buzzed with a notification from the marketing team’s group chat.

“Guys… you won’t believe this. Manuel Fernandez just agreed to collaborate with us. Like, the Manuel Fernandez!”

I froze, rereading the message twice. Manuel Fernandez? The name alone carried weight in the art and fashion world. He was the artist...enigmatic, reclusive, and notoriously difficult to pin down for collaborations. Companies had thrown obscene amounts of money at him, only to get polite rejections. The idea that we had managed to snag him for our brand felt like a corporate miracle.

A flood of follow-up messages exploded in the chat.

“How the hell did we land him?”

“Is this a prank? Check if it’s the real Manuel.”

“Confirmed. It’s him. And get this...he wants to start immediately.”

My eyebrows shot up. This was too good to be true. I shot a glance at Elliot’s office door, wondering if he’d heard the news already.

Just as I was about to dive into the email thread to see the official correspondence, another message from the marketing lead popped up.

“There’s one condition. He wants to work directly with Susan Hart.”

I blinked at the screen, my mind struggling to catch up.

What?

Before I could process it, my phone buzzed with a direct message from Sarah in marketing.

“Susan, girl… do you know Manuel Fernandez? How did you pull this off?!”

I stared at the message, my brain blank. Do I know Manuel Fernandez? The name didn’t ring any personal bells beyond his public persona. I wracked my memory for any encounter, any possibility of a connection, but came up empty.

Before I could type a response, my office door burst open. Elliot leaned against the frame, his eyes gleaming with a mixture of amusement and curiosity. “Well, well,” he drawled, arms crossed over his chest. “Is there something you’re not telling me, Miss Hart?”

I groaned. “Don’t start. I have no idea why he wants to work with me. I don’t even know him.”

Elliot’s smirk deepened. “Apparently, you made quite the impression.”

I rolled my eyes, but my curiosity was piqued. What impression? I barely remembered what I had for breakfast, let alone any mysterious encounter with an elusive artist.

“I guess I’ll find out soon enough,” I muttered, pulling up the official invite email from Manuel’s team.

But deep down, a strange unease settled in my stomach. Whatever this was, it felt like the calm before a storm.