My Ex, My Employee
She wanted me to kneel to help her try on a shoe. Then she cooed for him to buy it for her.
"The commission on this one sale is probably more than he spent on you in the entire last year, right?" she whispered, loud enough for me to hear.
I smiled. A genuine, honest-to-God smile.
"I don't blame him," I said, my voice light. "It's my fault, really. I'm the one who set his salary."
1
The reason Caleb and I broke up was simple: he thought I was poor. He said we were from different worlds, that our futures didn't align. His family was comfortable, maybe upper-middle-class on a good day, but Caleb carried himself with the desperate swagger of a man trying to cosplay as a billionaire. He lived and breathed brand names, a walking billboard for new money.
I was the opposite.
My father is the kind of man you see profiled in Forbes or the Wall Street Journal. To give me a normal childhood, a "happy and simple" one as he put it, my family kept me out of the spotlight. His one constant lesson was to be discreet. My clothes, my shoes, everything was bespoke, custom-made by designers who valued craftsmanship over a gaudy logo.
To Caleb, this just looked cheap. He thought my quiet luxury was embarrassing, that I wasn't "presentable."
So, a year after we started dating, on the day of our college graduation, he ended it.
"Sophie, you and I are on different tracks," he'd said, his tone laced with a kind of pity that made my skin crawl. "I just got an offer from Prescott Holdings. I'm building a career here. You get that, right?"
Oh, I got it.
Prescott Holdings is my father's company. Caleb was going to work for my dad, who would be signing his paychecks, while I was "demoted" to a sales floor associate, earning nothing but "experience."
But seeing his Instagram story later that day—a hard launch with his new girlfriend—I decided it wasn't worth the explanation. The girl was a sophomore from his department, someone who was always "borrowing" his textbooks. I hadn't realized their study sessions were quite so involved.
And now, on what was supposed to be my last day behind the counter, they walked in.
Caleb saw me first. Surprise flickered across his face, quickly replaced by a frown etched with disgust. "Sophie? What are you doing selling shoes? I know it's tough finding a good job, but this is..."
This is what? My family's flagship store? How dare I work here?
Before I could respond, Amber, his new girlfriend, spoke up. Her voice was pure saccharine, but her words were laced with acid.
"Sophie, sweetie, could you help me try this pair on?"
Helping a customer was part of the job. But with three other associates available, her singling me out was a clear power play. I knew exactly what she was doing.
"This pair is four thousand dollars," I said, my voice professionally flat. "Are you sure you want to try them on?"
Amber turned to Caleb, her lower lip pushing out in a perfect pout. "Caleb..."
He was always a sucker for an audience. And now, with his shiny new job, his pride was on the line. "If you like them, we'll get them," he declared, puffing out his chest.
My colleague, Mia, who knew the whole sordid history, tried to intervene. "I can help with that," she offered.
But Amber’s eyes were locked on me, wide and deceptively innocent. "Oh, but I want to help Sophie out. This is for your commission, after all. The check from this one sale," she leaned in, her voice a conspiratorial whisper, "it's probably more than he spent on you in our entire last year, right?"
She wasn't wrong. Caleb and I had always split everything down the middle.
Amber tossed her hair back, glancing at Caleb, who was now stepping outside to take a call. "When a man won't spend money on you, it's because deep down, that's all he thinks you're worth," she mused. "Don't feel bad, Sophie. It's just how men are. They put their money where their heart is. You can't force it."
I couldn't help it. I laughed.
"Oh, no, it's not like that at all."
It was just that when my father had asked me what Caleb's starting salary should be, I'd quoted a number far too low. Low enough that buying his new girlfriend a single pair of shoes would mean he'd be eating ramen for the next three months.
2
Back when Caleb and I were still together, my dad had offered to give him a generous starting salary, as a favor to me. I’d shut it down immediately. It felt wrong. I told my dad to offer him the standard package, the same as any other new hire.
He’d been so proud of me then, praising me for not being blinded by love. I was his only child, and while he spoiled me rotten, the one thing he couldn't stand was the thought of me turning into a "love-struck fool."
The irony was, a few weeks later, I didn't even have a relationship to be foolish in.
Looking at him now, preening over a four-thousand-dollar purchase, I realized how right I’d been.
"Are they a good fit?" Caleb asked, returning from his phone call.
Amber’s confident smirk vanished, replaced by a soft, wounded expression. She bit her lip. "I don't know yet. Sophie doesn't seem very happy to help me... Maybe we should just forget it?"
Ugh. The victim act was already getting old.
Caleb’s gaze hardened as he looked at me. "Sophie, I know this isn't a great job, but if you're going to do it, you should at least be professional. Your family's situation isn't great, I get it, but—"
I nearly rolled my eyes into the back of my head.
"Mr. Adams," I said, using his last name for the first time. "If I remember correctly, the shoes you had me ask my friend to buy for her last Valentine's Day were a size seven. This pair is a six. I don't think we even need to bother trying them on."
The color drained from both of their faces.
Back then, Caleb and I were still together. He’d spun some story about how Amber knew I had a friend in Europe and desperately wanted her help sourcing a specific pair of shoes that were sold out everywhere. I thought I was just doing a favor for a friend of a friend. I had no idea I was helping my own boyfriend buy a gift for his mistress.
Amber looked like she was about to cry, clutching Caleb's arm in a damsel-in-distress pose.
I pointed to a different pair on the display wall. "That model comes in her size, though. It's only nine thousand. Would you like to try that one instead?"
Caleb’s face darkened.
That number was clearly beyond his budget. He wasn't about to spend that kind of money on Amber.
"Amber, honey, that style doesn't really suit you," he said, his voice strained. "Let's look around somewhere else later, okay?"
Doesn't suit you, the universal code for too damn expensive.
I smiled sweetly. "But Mr. Adams, your girlfriend was just saying how a man's wallet follows his heart. It’s a beautiful gesture, spending a little money to see the woman you love smile."
Amber stubbornly refused to move, her lips pressed into a thin line. The implication was clear: she wasn't even worth nine thousand dollars. She was cheap.
Caleb's face flushed with embarrassment. "That was Mr. Davies on the phone," he stammered, grabbing for an excuse. "My manager. He needs me to come back to the office for an emergency meeting. Work comes first, you know. Be a good girl."
Seizing the lifeline, Amber’s mood shifted. She stomped her foot lightly. "Fine. And isn't Mr. Davies the manager for this whole department store? You should mention the terrible service here. It could really use some improvement."
Caleb visibly relaxed, his sense of self-importance returning. "Good idea," he said, puffing out his chest again. "I'll make sure they retrain their staff." He shot a pointed, triumphant look in my direction.
Just then, my phone buzzed. It was a text from Mark Davies.
Miss Prescott, as today is your last day on the floor, I was wondering if you’d be willing to lead a meeting tomorrow to share your observations and provide some guidance for the staff?
I typed back, an idea forming in my mind.
That sounds perfect. Let's schedule it for tomorrow at 3 PM.
3
Mark Davies was one of the few people who knew who I really was. He’d worked for my father for over a decade and was one of his most trusted executives. I’d always been fond of him, calling him "Uncle Mark" in private.
After my shift, I went to grab my scooter from the employee parking garage, only to find a nail stuck deep in the rear tire. It was completely flat.
I swore under my breath. My mother had this vintage-style Vespa custom-painted for me. It was my favorite thing, my little slice of freedom for getting to and from work. And now...
A sharp honk made me look up. A brand-new Mercedes had pulled up beside me. Amber rolled down the window, her gaze flicking from me to my crippled scooter. Her expression was a perfect mask of pity.
"Sophie? Is your scooter broken? Caleb could give you a ride."
The last thing I wanted was their charity.
"No, thanks." I pulled out my phone to call our family driver. My parents were staying at their estate in the Hudson Valley, a logistical nightmare to get to from the city.
Caleb leaned over from the driver's seat. The embarrassment from the store had evaporated, replaced by his usual smug confidence. "Sophie, you know how long the wait is for an Uber at this hour. I just got this car last week. It's a much smoother ride than a cab. You won't get carsick."
He knew my motion sickness was terrible, which was why I usually biked or used my scooter for short distances.
Amber's smile tightened at the corners, but she didn't say anything.
I was losing my patience. Did this man ever get tired of showing off?
"Someone's coming to pick me up. Don't worry about it."
He seemed disappointed that I wasn't more impressed. "But—"
The car behind them laid on the horn.
Amber placed a hand on his arm. "Caleb, if she has a ride, we should just go."
He put the car in drive and sped off.
My driver texted back. Traffic was a nightmare; it would be at least forty-five minutes. I scanned the street for a Citi Bike, but of course, there wasn't a single one in sight.
Just as I was about to resign myself to the subway, another car pulled up. The window rolled down, and Mark Davies leaned out.
"Sophie—" He caught himself, remembering we were near the store. "Need a lift? I can drop you home."
I hesitated for only a second before getting in. The thought of the subway during rush hour was enough to make my stomach turn.
"Thanks, Uncle Mark."
I briefly explained what happened to my scooter.
"I'll have security pull the surveillance footage," he said, his expression grim. Then his tone shifted. "By the way, I heard some... customers gave you a hard time today?"
I was busy texting my driver new instructions to have the scooter towed to the repair shop. After I sent it, I turned my attention back to his question. The last thing I wanted was for this petty drama with Caleb and Amber to reach my father.
"It was nothing. I can handle it. No need to bother Dad."
Just then, I caught a flash of light in the rearview mirror. A camera flash.
4
I narrowed my eyes.
"Actually, Uncle Mark, I would appreciate it if you could get that footage. That scooter was a gift from my mother. I at least owe her an explanation for what happened."
He smiled warmly. "Of course, Sophie. Consider it done."
The next day, I went back to the store. I had to finalize my transfer paperwork and attend the three o’clock meeting. But as soon as I walked in, I noticed something was off. My coworkers were looking at me strangely, whispering. Even the staff from neighboring boutiques were pointing in my direction.
At first, I thought I was imagining things. Then I went to the restroom and overheard two women talking in the stalls.
"That was her, right? Sophie Prescott?"
"Yeah, that's her."
"I heard she was the top seller every month since she started. Our manager was about to promote her, but she quit. What a shame."
"A shame? Please. The girl's got a sugar daddy footing the bills. Why would she care about a promotion?"
"What? For real?"
"Totally. Someone saw her getting into Mr. Davies' car last night! I used to think she was actually good at her job, but I guess now we know how she really made all those sales—"
I pushed open my stall door. The chatter stopped instantly. The silence was absolute.
I offered them a tight, polite smile. "Sorry to interrupt. But for the record, there is nothing unprofessional going on between me and Mr. Davies. And just out of curiosity, where did you happen to hear this little rumor?"
After a long, awkward pause, one of the women mumbled, "Someone filed a formal complaint against you. You didn't know?"
The meeting was on the 26th floor. As if my day wasn't bad enough, Caleb was waiting for the same elevator.
The doors closed, leaving just the two of us inside. I stared straight ahead, determined to ignore him, but I could feel his eyes on me.
"Sophie," he began, his brow furrowed in sanctimonious disapproval. "Even if you're desperate for money, a person should have some integrity. Don't you understand something that simple?"
I shot him a sideways glance. So, he'd heard the rumor too. It had spread through every employee group chat in the building overnight. It would have been harder for him not to know.
"You should really worry about your own integrity before you start lecturing others."
His face darkened, and he grabbed my wrist. "Why can't you just accept help? If Amber hadn't told me, I never would have known you'd stoop to something like this! We may have broken up, but we're not enemies. If you needed money, you could have just asked me. Why would you—"
He looked genuinely exasperated, as if he were the wronged party.
I yanked my arm free. "You're aware we broke up, right? What do you think your girlfriend would say if she heard you offering to lend me money?"
"Amber's not like you," he scoffed. "She's the one who suggested I offer. She saw you getting in that car and told me because she was worried about you. She's a good person, Sophie. She didn't want to see you go down the wrong path. Maybe you should stop assuming the worst of people for once."
Oh.
"So I should thank her, then?"
Thank her for getting "lost" in the rain on my birthday, forcing Caleb to abandon our dinner plans to go rescue her? Thank her for constantly reminding me that she was his girlfriend now? Thank her for making sure Caleb knew I'd been accused of sleeping my way to the top?
"You—" Caleb took a deep breath, reining in his anger. "There are senior executives from corporate here today for a review. If they find out about this complaint, you're finished. I'm just telling you for your own good. Watch your back."
I, the senior executive from corporate who was about to lead said review, just stared at him.
"Right," I said. "Thanks for the tip."
5
I pressed the button for the 26th floor.
Caleb frowned at me. "The 26th floor is all executive conference rooms. There's a big corporate meeting in half an hour. No regular staff are allowed up there. What are you doing?"
I gave him a strange look. "I'm going to the meeting, obviously."
If I didn't show up, the meeting couldn't start.
A look of dawning comprehension crossed his face. "They summoned you, didn't they?"
I raised an eyebrow.
"Mr. Davies is a top aide to the CEO, Mr. Prescott. I heard he's about to be promoted to the corporate headquarters. A scandal like this right now would look terrible for him. Of course headquarters would want to investigate. It makes sense they'd call you in for questioning."
He looked incredibly pleased with himself, as if he'd solved a complex puzzle.
I just stared at him. I never realized he had such a flair for fiction.
"Are you going to the 26th floor too?" I asked.
He straightened his tie, a smug look spreading across his face. "Of course. Not everyone was invited to this meeting. Out of all the recent hires, I was the only one selected to attend."
Ah. I’d told Mark to make sure representatives from every level were there, but I'd left the junior staff selection up to him.
So he chose Caleb. Interesting.
Ding.
The elevator doors opened, and Caleb strode out, head held high.
I was about to follow when my phone buzzed with a picture message from my mom. Since my scooter was being repaired, she’d already ordered me a new one.
Honey, which of these colors do you like best?
I picked a Klein blue, similar to my old one, and was texting her back as I walked toward the conference room. I was so engrossed in my phone that I almost missed the scene at the door. Caleb was being blocked by two administrative assistants.
He looked utterly bewildered. "What do you mean, I can't go in? You have to be mistaken. Mr. Davies personally invited me!"
One of the assistants maintained a cool, professional distance. "I'm sorry, sir. Your name is not on the attendee list. We can't let you in."
"That's impossible! You've made a mistake!" he insisted, pulling out his phone. "Look! Here's the email from Mr. Davies himself!"
I walked up to the assistants. "Sophie Prescott," I said.
Their expressions shifted instantly. They bowed their heads respectfully. "Right this way, Miss Prescott."
Just then, Mark Davies emerged from the conference room, a wide smile on his face. "Sophie! You're here."
Caleb saw him and his voice grew louder, more desperate. "Mr. Davies! There seems to be a mistake with the list. They won't let me in. Could you—"
Mark seemed to notice him for the first time, waving a dismissive hand. "Just wait out here. We'll call you in when we need you." Then he turned his warm smile back to me. "Everyone's here. We were just waiting for you."
A stunned silence fell over the hallway.
I glanced over my shoulder and saw Caleb's face, a perfect picture of shock and confusion.
I tipped my head toward him. "Let him come in."
Mark paused for a beat, then nodded immediately. "Yes, of course." He turned to Caleb and barked, "Well? What are you waiting for? Get in here!"
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