Chapter 147: Have Dinner With Me

If I had my way, I’d have my own office—four solid walls, a door that actually closes, and the glorious sound of silence. Instead, I have this box. This stupid, cramped cubicle where privacy goes to die and gossip thrives like mold. Whoever invented open offices must’ve been a sadist. It's a direct attack on staff privacy. Especially today. Every Goldberg employee within a ten-foot radius was practically leaning over my desk like I was holding a raffle ticket to heaven. Why? Because my fiancé was in the building. Yes, that fiancé. Roman Blackwood—now currently the most gossip-worthy man in Philadelphia. Apparently, his mere presence was enough to turn my coworkers into a swarm of buzzing reporters. I tried to look busy, eyes glued to my computer screen as if the page before me was more fascinating than the whispers floating around. “He’s really here,” Susan said, twirling her hair around her pen. “In our building. Savannah, you lucky, lucky witch.” I sighed internally. If only I could