Too Late To Love Me I Already Left With His Twins (Lydia and Dave) novel Chapter 46

First day at work

Lydia POV

I stared at Madam Eloise’s card for so long my supervisor had to physically pluck it from my hand.

“Lydia.”

I blinked.

She waved the card once in front of my face.

“You’re not seriously considering saying no, are you?”

The affice had gone suspiciously quiet.

Even Clara was staring.

“I…” I looked around. “It’s just very sudden.”

My supervisor snorted.

“Success usually is.”

One of the account executives leaned over my cubicle.

“That woman built half this city’s reputation management industry from scratch.”

Another added, “She does not recruit. She acquires.” 1

Clara folded her arms.

“If you stay here after being personally headhunted by Madam Eloise, I will report you for criminal stupidity.” 1

I stared at her.

“You are… strangely supportive.” 1

She shrugged.

“You’re irritatingly talented. We all knew this place was temporary for you.”

My throat tightened.

That caught me more off guard than it should have.

My supervisor softened.

“Take the offer, Lydia.”

Quietly:

“This place was always too small for you.”

I made it home somehow.

I do not remember the train ride.

Or climbing the stairs.

Or unlocking my door.

I only remember setting the twins down, staring at the card again

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And screaming.

A full–bodied, deeply undignified scream.

Eli startled so hard he fell backward onto his diaper bag. 1

Ava blinked at me once.

Then both children screamed too.

“Exactly,” I told them breathlessly. “That is the correct reaction.”

I put on reggae music.

Loud enough for the neighbors to complain if they lacked joy. 1

Then I scooped up both babies and spun around my tiny apartment laughing like I had temporarily lost my mind.

Which, in fairness, I may have.

“My babies,” I told them between kisses to their cheeks, “your mother is moving up in the world.”

Eli grabbed my earring.

Ava sneezed directly into my mouth.

The moment remained magical despite setbacks.

That night, after they slept, I sat at my kitchen table with a calculator.

Because celebration was lovely.

But numbers remained deeply committed to realism.

I wrote down my projected first salary.

Subtracted rent.

Utilities.

Food.

Transport.

Daycare.

Then stared at what remained.

Two hundred dollars.

I looked at the paper.

Then at the ceiling.

Then back at the paper.

“Well,” I told God, “this is rude.”

The thrift store cashier watched me examine the same blouse for three minutes.

“You know it’s three dollars, right?”

“Yes,” I said.

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“I’m emotionally processing that.”

She blinked.

I bought it.

And two others.

A black pencil skirt.

One pair of sensible heels that looked professional and felt mildly vindictive.

That night I stood in front of my mirror wearing all of it.

The blouse fit properly.

The skirt sharpened my posture.

The heels made me look expensive from the knees down.

I tilted my head.

Then smiled.

Slowly.

Because for the first time in years

I did not look like someone trying not to drown.

I looked like someone arriving.

Daycare nearly killed me.

Not physically.

Emotionally.

Which frankly felt ruder.

The woman at reception smiled warmly.

“They’ll be absolutely fine.”

I nodded like a liar.

Eli sat in my arms chewing my necklace.

Ava clung to my blouse with the grim intensity of a soldier boarding transport.

I knelt down.

“Listen to me, my loves.”

Two small solemn faces stared back.

“Mummy is going to work.”

Eli frowned.

“No.”

A reasonable position.

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“I know. Tragic. Capitalism.”

Ava’s lip trembled.

That nearly ended me.

I kissed both of them six times each.

Possibly more.

Then handed them over.

Walked out.

Reached the parking lot.

And cried in a garden for four minutes like a Victorian widow.

Then I fixed my face and went home.

Because if I was going to suffer, I would suffer moisturized.

Madam Eloise’s office occupied the top floors of a building so polished I became briefly aware of my own breathing.

The receptionist smiled.

“Miss Lydia?”

“Yes.”

“Madam Eloise is expecting you.”

Of course she was.

I suspected Madam Eloise expected tectonic plates to move on schedule.

Her office door was already open.

She looked up once.

Her eyes scanned me from head to toe.

Blouse.

Face.

Her mouth twitched.

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“Sit.”

I sat.

She slid a thick folder across the desk.

“Review.”

I frowned.

“My orientation package?”

“No.”

She adjusted her glasses.

“Orientation is for people I intend to keep mediocre.”

I stared at her.

“Explain.”

“It reads defensive.”

I flipped the page.

“You’re centering the accusation instead of the client. Innocent people don’t beg to be believed. They behave like truth is obvious.”

Silence.

Then:

“Good.”

That was apparently all the praise available in this establishment.

She stood.

“Come.”

“Where?”

“To see whether that was luck.”

By noon I had:

Corrected two senior associates.

And offended one man named Trevor by pointing out that his crisis strategy relied too heavily on public sympathy. 1

He stared at me.

“You’ve been here three hours.”