Begin Again

November 15th 2017

"This is your first day, Rose, as the acting Manager of this branch. I've trained you well enough to handle this responsibility."

Because the position had been vacant for some time and the company hadn't prioritized hiring a new manager, Miss Moira—the Vice President of the McKinley Group, Taguig branch—had appointed me. She told me she had personally hand-picked me, her former secretary, and championed my résumé before the board.

It wasn't a forever gig, but I accepted it. A higher position meant more work, which suited me just fine. It wasn't about the money—my family was doing well; we had all finished our degrees, landed stable jobs, and even pooled our resources to build our mother's dream house. This role was about the credentials. It was the perfect leverage for my goal of working abroad. Miss Moira had even promised that after a year, she would facilitate my transfer to their main branch in New York.

"If you're ever in doubt, or if you find the load too heavy, you can call me anytime," she said, holding my hand with a reassuring smile.

Moira felt more like an older sister than a boss. We swapped stories, shared jokes, and spent weekends over coffee or shopping. Often, I was her designated rescue when she got an earful from her father, the branch President. (The CEO, their grandfather, was based in the US).

"Are we clear, Rose?"

"Of course, Moira."

She beamed, clapping her hands before throwing an arm around my shoulder to guide me out of her office. The staff welcomed me with a round of applause as their new temporary manager.

"Congrats, Rose—oops, I mean, Ma'am Rose! The road to New York is officially open!" Bertha cheered, making the whole room laugh.

"Guys," Moira added, her tone shifting slightly. "I know you're used to Rose as your friend, but I want you to remember to address her with respect. It's not just about protocol; it's a matter of professional etiquette. I hope you understand."

The introductions went smoothly, but the air shifted during lunch break in the pantry.

"I heard, Miss Rose," Jenna started, glancing around the table, "that Martha saw... you-know-who?"

Greg immediately jumped in. "So? What's that got to do with Rose?"

"Nothing, just checking in," Jenna defended herself.

The entire table fell silent, eyes darting to me. It wasn't a secret—not among my friends here—that I had a complicated past. It was a lapse in judgment on my part to blurt it out during a night of heavy drinking, and now, my former colleagues were public knowledge among my new circle.

"It's nothing," I muttered, focusing intently on my carbonara.

Chyna hoisted her spoon into the air. "You know, from my experience, the only way to successfully move on is to ignore them and never look back!"

"Sus, that's just talk!" Greg teased, doing a mock sway of his hips. "The truth is, you girls get hurt the moment you see your ex with someone new. You act like you're 'who are you?' but then you start insulting the girl. That's why there's an oversupply of ampalaya (bitter) people around here!"

"You mean it's not just the bitter ones," Melanie chimed in, laughing. "There are plenty of shy ones, too! Torpe!"

As the banter escalated into playful bickering, I slipped away and hurried back to my office. Once I reached the couch in my temporary quarters, I let out a long breath, staring blankly at the ceiling.

"I still have work to do out there, Philip," I groaned, leaning my head against the back of the sofa. I hated how he abused his power to keep me in his office.

"I need you here, Fen," he murmured, his arm tangling around my waist as he sat beside me. He nuzzled into my hair, kissing it repeatedly. What was I even doing in here?

"Besides," he continued, sounding entirely too proud, "I'm your boss. Any unanswered calls will be transferred directly to my intercom." He peppered my cheek with small kisses. I leaned into his chest, melting despite myself. Ang landi talaga ng sir ko!

A soft knock at the door interrupted us. I stood up to open it, only to be met with a massive bouquet of flowers.

"Ben?" I shifted the stems to peek at the man behind them. It was Miss Moira's older brother.

"Congratulations, Fenylyn!" He was beaming, handing me the flowers and planting a quick kiss on my cheek.

"Ano na namang paandar 'to?" I sighed. Ben was based in the US, supposedly training to be the next COO, but he treated this branch like his personal playground.

"Oh? Aren't you happy someone gave you flowers?" He looked like a child caught in a prank. I still couldn't fathom how someone so immature was destined to be our COO.

"Hmm! That won't work on me!" I huffed, though I let him inside. I called a helper to bring a vase.

"Nice office," he said, plopping into my swivel chair and spinning. "Did you design this?"

I surveyed the room. The peach wallpaper, the glass wall showcasing the Taguig skyline, the wooden staircase-style bookshelf, and the cream velvet couch—it was minimalist, clean, and intentionally easy to redecorate once a permanent manager was hired.

Ben looked at me, a playful glint in his eye. "Let's celebrate your promotion. After work. Ayala Triangle—I heard there's a new restaurant..."

He continued talking, but my mind drifted, busy admiring the space. Philip had been following me around, and he tugged my hand gently to get my attention. We walked out together, and he laced his fingers through mine, pressing a soft kiss to my temple.

I glanced down at our joined hands. Even now, the simple gesture made my heart flutter. Between our schedules, we barely had any time to show affection at the office. These fleeting moments were all we had.

Philip was physically affectionate—he lived for hugs, kisses, and hand-holding. He loved the scent of my hair, which always made me paranoid—what if he smells dandruff? But no, I kept my routine strict. Ever since we started dating, I'd been meticulous.

He wasn't a boring man. He wanted to know what I was thinking, how I felt, and what I envisioned for the future. Over time, I'd learned his little quirks: the way he tugged at his ear when he was amused, or how his entire demeanor darkened when he was angry. He was an open book, a narrative I wanted to keep all to myself.

I looked up to find him gazing at me. I leaned into his arm, squeezing his hand. He leaned down, whispering something sweet into my ear as we walked, and for a moment, the office politics and the past felt worlds away.