Chapter Text
Sera knew not every morning would be a piece of cake. You work with Eden’s clientele long enough, and you learn to dance around an ego or two. But Adam was in one of his particular moods today—the kind that made sure everyone around him knew it. They hadn’t quite reached the stage of property damage, but Peter had already sent a dozen emails about the noise punctuating the hall.
Her phone buzzed. An email notification blinked across the screen.
Subject: Get your ass down here, now.
No text in the body—typical.
She exhaled, slow, before typing her reply with brisk precision.
Adam, we’ve discussed this. As acting CEO, you are to address me with professionalism. I’ll be down shortly. Try to keep yourself contained.
(And try not to break anything.)
— Sera Finn, Acting CEO 'Eden'
The phone buzzed again. She braced herself—then blinked at the next subject line.
Subject: Hey, sis! The internship is going GREAT!
That almost pulled a smile from her. She opened it.
Signing an email with “love” was hardly professional, but Sera supposed she could forgive it. At least Emily was finding her own rhythm—even if the outlook was a bit… naive.
The screen dimmed, and for a blissful moment, silence. Then another buzz. Peace never lasted long.
Outside her glass door, the rest of the floor performed the usual pantomime of calm; rows of neat cubicles, phones pressed to ears—ongoing conversations with whatever "hip new face" signed on this time. Their mission was to elevate, to enhance the mundane into a state of modern divinity. Eden: Your very own slice of paradise.
She stood, smoothing the wrinkle from her skirt. The soft lights and orderly murmurings of the office did little to quell her rising frustration as she set off. By the time she reached the elevator, Peter was already waiting—coffee in one hand, tablet in the other, looking far too pleased with himself.
“Good morning, Saint Sera,” he sang. “Or should I say—blessed morning? Have you been enjoying the little concert? Couldn't resist a front row seat?”
She leveled him a look. “If you have time to joke, you have time to handle your inbox.”
“Oh, I have. Twelve applicant forms, three cancellations, and one invitation to a potluck. Guess who sent that last one?”
She didn't dignify that with a response. The elevator doors slid open, and Peter followed her with sprightly enthusiasm.
“You know,” he went on, “I told your sister to log Adam’s outbursts under workplace environmental hazards.”
“She’s just an intern, Peter.”
“And learning fast! If she survives the week, she's up for sainthood.”
Peter tapped the button for the first floor, as Sera's brow furrowed at the sharpie marks distorting the ‘1’ into an ‘A’. “Peter, do me a favor and handle anyone else coming in.”
He smirked, raising his cup in zealous deference. “Always, boss. I'll watch the door for ya!” With a casual salute, he stepped out onto the main floor, returning to his desk by the entrance.
As Sera made her way to the back of the lobby, she heard the bass thrum through the wall. It had grown so loud by the time she reached the door, she could feel the headache forming between her brow.
Adam’s “office” took up almost the entire ground floor—an indulgent holdover from his father’s era, now refitted into a private studio at the company’s expense. His back faced her, hunched over the desk, head bobbing to the beat. Papers littered the floor—some crudely scribbled shest music—a handful slashed through with black ink, fluttering with every kick from the twin speakers looming on either side. A gold guitar lay abandoned against the leg of his chair, probably worth more than a month’s salary. Sera stepped around the mess, heels clicking over the paper trail, and laid a hand on his shoulder.
He jolted, nearly spilling out of his chair.
“Jesus—don’t sneak the fuck up on me like that, Sera!”
“Hardly sneaking,” she said dryly. “You’d hear me if the music wasn’t about to blow out your speakers.”
“I know, it fuckin’ rocks, right?”
He laughed, a nervous bark, rubbing the back of his neck.
“This childish nonsense needs to stop, Adam. How old are you again?”
He dragged out the answer. “Uhhh—twentyyy-niiiine?”
“You’ve insisted on that for years. You’re thirty-three, and you’re the heir to this company. It’s time you started acting like it.”
“Whoa, Sera, chill on the thirty bomb. Age is just a number, okay? I gotta live through my prime before I retire into a life of pencil-pushing bullshit. Wiping the asses of lamer, less talented people. Who wants that?”
Her brow arched.
“Sorry,” he muttered, weaving his fingers together.
“Adam, this was old when it started. Now it’s just detrimental. Your father won’t be around forever—it’s time you stepped up and—”
He fiddled with one of the dials built into his desk. The speakers spat a few clipped riffs before settling on a heavy guitar line that clawed at her temples.
“Sorry, wasn't digging the vibe on that one. You were saying?”
“Adam. You need to start taking this company seriously.”
“Ohhh, this again.” He spun his chair halfway toward her, flashing that insufferable grin. “Come on, Sera. I put in face time, I don’t crash the stock. What more does the company really need?”
“It needs someone serious.”
“And that’s what you’re here for! Great job, by the way.”
Sera exhaled, patience thinning. “I’m glad you think so. Because starting Monday, you’ll have someone helping you stay that way.”
He frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I’ve already hired a secretary.”
“That's not funny. You think I need a fucking babysitter?”
“I'm not laughing. If this is what's necessary for Eden's future—to get you in line—then so be it.”
He let out a low laugh and turned back to his desk. “You think some demure pair of tits is gonna set me straight? What’s she gonna do—bore me to death with her clipboard? Tell me about her feelings?” He crooned in a mocking falsetto.
“She’s far from demure, Adam,” Sera said evenly. “Maybe she’ll manage what I haven’t—teaching you some discipline.”
He twisted another dial, the bass climbing higher—an obvious attempt to drown her out.
Sera’s gaze flicked toward the console. “Fine. If this is how you want to do things.”
“Come on,” he groaned, leaning back in his chair, “would it kill this place to have a little personality?”
“You provide more than enough of that.” she said, already heading for the door.
“You’re killin’ me, Sera.”
She paused at the threshold, sparing him one last glance. “No. Just reminding you why you're here.”
With that, she hit the power switch on the wall as she left, cutting the music dead mid-riff.