7. Oliver
CHAPTER 7
OLIVER
T he pre-dawn silence of my penthouse weighs heavy as I pry open my eyes, the digital numbers on the clock blaring the ungodly hour. Five a.m. never gets easier, but ambition doesn’t hit snooze. I swing my legs out of bed, muscles protesting the short night’s rest, and within minutes, I’m pounding away on the treadmill.
My body moves mechanically, the rhythmic thud of my feet against the belt a familiar cadence. It’s too early for most things, but not for the ghosts of what-ifs that like to dance in the corners of my mind. To keep them at bay, I flick on the TV mounted on the wall, the screen springing to life with the vibrant colors of a movie already in progress.
A family laughs around a dinner table, their faces glowing with a warmth that looks even ridiculous for fiction. The mother passes a dish to her smiling husband while the kids compete for their attention. It’s a picture-perfect scene, one that gnaws at something deep inside me. My jaw clenches.
Reaching for the remote, I hit the off button. The screen goes black, the false sense of familial bliss snuffed out in an instant. I can’t stomach it — not now, not ever. That world isn’t mine; it’s a stark reminder of the cold, empty spaces of my own upbringing.
With a final surge of energy, I push through the last leg of my run, allowing the frustration to fuel me. It’s better than letting it consume me.
When the treadmill winds down, I hop off, chest heaving, and make my way to the sanctuary of the shower. Hot water pelts my skin, steam enveloping me. It’s here, in the isolation of my high-rise castle, that my defenses waver, where thoughts of Nora creep in like tendrils of mist.
Nora — the unexpected variable in my well-calculated life. I haven’t looked her up since that first time days ago, yet she’s there, in the periphery of my thoughts, persistent. She’s probably still asleep, unaware she’s haunting someone’s shower musings. Would she laugh if she knew? Or would that soft look of concern cross her face — the one I remember all too well from college?
I shake my head, trying to dispel her image along with the water droplets. There’s no room for distractions.
And why should I be thinking of her? Today is just another day. Another step on the ladder. Nothing has changed.
The soft clack of my fingers on the keyboard is a comforting rhythm, a song I can always count on. I’m in the zone, emails dispatched with military precision, contracts reviewed with an eagle’s eye.
I pride myself on efficiency, on being able to compartmentalize — work is work, personal is… well, it’s something I don’t delve into during business hours.
By ten thirty, my head aches in protest, a reminder that I’ve been running on nothing but willpower and ambition since before sunrise. The espresso machine in my office is state-of-the-art — a gleaming monument to caffeine and my savior on many late nights. But today, I crave change, a deviation from my self-imposed seclusion.
I rise, rolling my shoulders back to relieve the tension there, and make my way to the staff break room. There’s a comfort in the mundane, the normalcy that resides in such shared spaces. It’s a chance to breathe, away from the expectations that come with sitting behind the mahogany desk in my corner office.
Pushing open the door to the break room, I’m greeted by a riot of color that jars me from my work-induced trance. “Congratulations” banners drape across the walls, each letter a cheerful assault on the minimalist aesthetic I prefer. I pause, a frown tugging at my lips, not out of dislike for the display but from the surprise of forgetting its purpose.
“Oliver, we’re having cake later,” chirps Janet from accounting, her smile as warm as the coffee I came here for.
She’s holding a plate piled high with pastries, the kind that Melanie, one of our top lawyers, adores.
Melanie. Of course. The banners are for her.
How could I have forgotten?
“Wouldn’t miss it,” I reply, my tone lighter than I feel.
As I pour myself a cup of coffee, strong and black, Melanie’s departure for maternity leave looms over me like a cloud. A detail I should have remembered, a plan I should have already set in motion.
“Big day tomorrow,” Janet continues. “We’ll miss her around here.”
“We will,” I agree, because it’s true; Melanie’s competence is as much a fixture in this office as the espresso machine is in mine.
“Make sure you sign the card.” Janet nods toward the table where a giant farewell card sits, waiting for well-wishers to scrawl their sentiments.
“Will do,” I say, even though right now, all I can think about is how I’ll manage the gap Melanie will leave behind.
The door opens, and Ben enters, shock written all over his face. “Wow. Look at you, mixing with the commoners.”
“Very funny.”
As he’s the person here who’s known me the longest, he’s also the only one who dares speak to me that way. About half the staff is so afraid of me they won’t even meet my eyes when I walk by.
Which I don’t get. Yeah, I expect professionalism and for my staff to give one hundred percent all of the time, but why wouldn’t I? That sort of work effort is what makes our company stand out.
“You here for Melanie’s party?” Ben asks.
“Yeah.” I lean against the counter and sip my coffee.
“Uh-huh.” Ben raises an eyebrow, amusement dancing in his eyes. “You didn’t forget, did you?”
“Of course not,” I lie, even though it’s painfully clear that I have.
“Good, because she’s really excited about it.” Ben sips his coffee, eyeing me with a look that says he knows I’m scrambling mentally.
“Excited” isn’t the term I would use to describe my current state. Panic is more like it. Melanie’s maternity leave starts tomorrow, which means today should be filled with finalizing her temporary replacement. Except, there is no replacement because somehow, amidst mergers and acquisitions, I’ve dropped the ball.
“Six months is a long time,” I murmur, more to myself than to Ben.
It’s a statement laced with concern, not for Melanie’s life choices but for the gaping hole her departure will create in our operations.
“Could be longer,” Ben points out. “First kids have a way of changing priorities.”
“Sure,” I say, the word tight in my throat.
I respect Melanie’s decision. Family is important to some people, even though it’s something I’ve never had much of an experience with. But business is business, and Melanie is leaving big shoes to fill during the prime of her career.
“Anyway, make sure you’re there for her big send-off,” Ben adds before pushing away from the counter. “Wouldn’t want the boss to miss out on the festivities.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I reply, forcing a smile as Ben exits the break room, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the banners that now seem to mock me with their cheerfulness.
Melanie’s maternity leave is a celebration, yet here I am, feeling like I’ve just been blindsided by a freight train of responsibility.
And I have less than twenty-four hours to find a solution.
Leaving the break room, I stride through the maze of cubicles. What was I thinking, letting Melanie’s maternity leave sneak up on me like this?
“Jenna, Mark,” I call out to HR, not bothering to check if they’re at their desks before I start barking orders. “We need a temporary replacement for Melanie, and we need it yesterday.”
Jenna looks up from her computer, her eyes wide with surprise. Mark, ever the calm one, folds his hands on his desk and gives me an expectant look. It’s clear they weren’t prepared for this curveball, which makes three of us.
“Oliver,” Jenna starts, her voice tinged with caution, “you said you wanted to find Melanie’s replacement personally. We’ve held off on posting the position because?—”
“Forget that,” I interrupt, cutting her off more sharply than I intend.
The last thing I need is to be reminded of my own directive — one that I’d completely forgotten about. Somehow.
How could I have dropped the ball like this?
“Look, just…” My hand rakes through my hair as I try to gather my scattered thoughts. “Start looking now. Reach out to our contacts, headhunters, whatever it takes. We can’t afford to be a lawyer down, not with the caseload we’re juggling.”
“Understood,” Mark says with a nod, already reaching for his phone. Jenna, however, hesitates, her fingers hovering over the keyboard.
“Are you sure?” she asks softly. “If you want to take point on this, we can give you a list of possible candidates by the end of the day…”
“No,” I snap, the word coming out harsher than I mean it to. “Just… get it done, okay?”
Without waiting for a response, I pivot on my heel and storm back towards my office. Every step feels heavier than the last, weighed down by frustration and the nagging sense of failure.
The door to my office seems to mock me as I approach. I shove it open, the sound louder than necessary, and then slam it behind me with a resounding thud that echoes through the empty space. Alone now, the anger simmers down to a simmering stew of annoyance — at the situation, at myself, at the reminder of how even the smallest oversight can ripple into chaos.
I drop into my chair, the leather creaking under the sudden weight. My gaze drifts to the sleek laptop on my desk, the blinking cursor on the screen like a beacon in the dimly lit room. Somewhere in the sea of information online is Nora, the woman who has been occupying my thoughts far more often than I care to admit.
But there’s no time for that now. With a heavy sigh, I turn away from the temptation and instead focus on the mountain of paperwork that’s threatening to topple over. There are builds to review, depositions to prepare, and now a vital team member to replace.
I still can’t believe I dropped this ball. Of course I want to hand-select the person to fill in for Melanie, but I’ve run out of time to do that.
Sighing, I lean forward and jump back into work, but my usual fervor is long gone, replaced with disgust at myself.
It’s going to be a long day.