13. Jarvin
CHAPTER 13
Jarvin
I lean against the doorframe of my office, my eyes fixed on Lucy as she efficiently organizes files and answers calls. Every movement is precise, every action purposeful. She’s a powerhouse of competence, but her demeanor remains frustratingly professional. A wall of formality separates us, one that I can't seem to break through.
Why can’t she let her guard down, even just a little? I feel a surge of frustration, clenching my fists to keep from storming over there and demanding she acknowledge the spark between us. Her guardedness isn’t just professional; it’s personal, a fortress built brick by brick.
Taking a deep breath, I turn back to my desk. The familiar chaos of contracts and reports greets me, but my mind isn’t in it. I have to respect her boundaries; it's the only way to keep from pushing her further away. Still, it gnaws at me. I’m not used to feeling this powerless.
Settling into my chair, I force myself to focus on the work in front of me. My fingers drum against the polished wood as I scan through emails, but my thoughts drift back to her. Each laugh shared at the airport bar, each stolen glance in the office—it all replays in my mind like a damn broken record.
I draft another email and then delete it. No words seem right when my mind is elsewhere. She’s become an unavoidable distraction, infiltrating every corner of my thoughts.
Through the window in my office, I see her moving with practiced ease. She handles everything thrown her way without missing a beat. Her resilience draws me in even more. But how do I get past that shield she’s put up?
I push back from my desk and rub the back of my neck, feeling the tension build. Respecting her space is crucial; I've told myself that countless times. Yet every day it gets harder not to close the distance between us.
Damn it. How long can this go on?
I don’t have time to dwell on it, another meeting is about to begin. As I walk into the conference room, the hum of pre-meeting chatter filling the air, my eyes immediately find Lucy.
She’s seated at the far end of the table, her pen already moving swiftly across her notebook. Others around her are laughing and exchanging stories about their weekends, but she remains an island of focus amidst the sea of distractions.
She doesn't look up as I take my seat at the head of the table. Her attention is fixed on her notes, a barrier between us, one I can’t seem to breach. The sting of her avoidance hits harder than I’d care to admit. I grit my teeth and force myself to stay composed.
"We have a lot to cover today. But first, What did one egg say to the other before starting the meeting?" I say, my tone is authoritative yet neutral. The room quiets down instantly, all eyes turning towards me. "Alright, let’s get crackin’!” I quip, laughter filling the room. As it quiets down, I’m in my element as I dive into the agenda.
I can't help but steal glances at Lucy. Her dedication is admirable; she’s meticulous in her notetaking, capturing every detail with precision. She doesn't look up once, not even when I make a point that would normally warrant eye contact.
"Lucy," I say, addressing her directly for the first time in the meeting. "Can you update us on the client outreach progress?"
She looks up briefly, just long enough to acknowledge my request before diving into her report. Her voice is clear and professional, each word carefully measured. Yet there’s an undercurrent of distance that I can't ignore.
"Thank you," I respond when she finishes, trying to keep my tone even. "Excellent work as always."
She nods curtly and returns to her notes. The momentary connection is gone as quickly as it appeared.
As the meeting continues, I find myself battling an internal struggle. I admire her professionalism but this distance she maintains feels like a personal slight, an impenetrable wall she's built specifically for me. She doesn’t act this way with anyone else.
I wrap up the meeting with a summary of our next steps and dismiss everyone. The team begins to file out, but Lucy lingers behind for a moment longer than necessary.
I watch her leave, feeling both admiration and frustration swirling within me. Breaking through those walls is looking more challenging than any business deal I've ever negotiated.
When I get back to my office, I close the door and lean against it for a moment, letting out a heavy sigh. The frustration is mounting, a tight coil in my chest that refuses to unwind.
I push off the door and begin to pace the room, running a hand through my hair in an attempt to dispel some of the tension. Why does she keep shutting me out? What is it that makes her so damn determined to keep me at arm's length? And why can’t I just let it go?
The questions swirl in my mind like a storm. I sit down at my desk, staring at the stack of papers that demand my attention. Contracts, reports, and meeting notes—all essential, all urgent. But I can’t focus on any of it.
Her guarded demeanor, the way she avoids eye contact unless absolutely necessary, the curt responses—all of it gnaws at me. I’ve faced down boardrooms full of skeptical investors, negotiated deals with cutthroat competitors, but this? This feels like an insurmountable challenge.
I pick up a pen and tap it against the desk rhythmically, trying to channel my restless energy. Instead, the pen breaks after I knock it against the wood too many times. Great.
It's no use. I want to connect with her, to understand what makes her tick.
There’s something about her resilience, her strength in the face of adversity that draws me in. But every attempt I make seems futile. Each gesture of kindness is met with polite indifference or professional distance, which wouldn’t be a problem if I hadn’t already had a taste of what she’s like when her guard is down.
The office is quiet, the hum of fluorescent lights the only sound breaking the silence. I stand in the shadows of my office, watching Lucy from a distance. Her desk lamp casts a warm glow, highlighting the lines of exhaustion etched on her face. She’s hunched over a stack of documents, her fingers moving swiftly over the keyboard, determined to finish whatever task she’s set for herself.
My chest tightens with a mix of concern and frustration. She’s pushing herself too hard, and it’s taking a toll. The sight of her like this stirs something deep within me—a fierce need to protect her, to offer my help. But I know she won’t accept it. She’s made that abundantly clear.
I let out a heavy sigh, feeling the weight of my frustrations pressing down on me. Respecting her space is crucial, but it’s tearing me apart inside. I want to walk over there; to tell her she doesn’t have to do this alone. Yet every time I’ve tried to reach out, she’s pulled away.
Her resilience is both admirable and infuriating. She’s built walls around herself so high that even my best efforts can’t seem to break through. And it leaves me feeling helpless—an emotion I’m not accustomed to dealing with.
I lean against the doorframe, my eyes never leaving her form. She rubs her temples, clearly worn out but refusing to give in to fatigue. Her dedication is astounding, but at what cost?
Every fiber of my being screams at me to go to her, to offer some form of comfort or assistance. But I know it would be unwelcome. Lucy values her independence, that much I know, and any attempt on my part would likely be seen as interference rather than support.
I clench my fists at my sides, struggling to keep the frustration check. This helplessness is so damn foreign and unwelcome, but there’s nothing I can do about it.
Respecting her need for space means staying put, even though it tears at me inside. So, I watch from the shadows, hoping she’ll find some rest soon, even if it means she has to do it on her own terms.
Later, I sit alone in my dimly lit office, the soft glow of the desk lamp casting long shadows across the room. The glass of whiskey in my hand feels cool against my skin, a welcome contrast to the heat of my ongoing plight. I take a slow sip, letting the smoky warmth spread through me. It does little to calm the turmoil inside.
My mind drifts back to Lucy and the walls she’s built around herself. Everyone has their reasons, their pasts that shape who they are. But knowing that doesn’t make it any easier. The more she pulls away, the more determined I become.
But damn it, where’s the line? How do I balance this intense desire to connect with her against the need to respect her boundaries? Professional boundaries that the CEO should be respecting as it is.
The thought of pushing too hard and driving her away isn’t an option. I’ve seen that look in her eyes—the one that says she’s ready to bolt at any moment.
I take another sip of whiskey, contemplating my next move. Patience has never been my strong suit, but for her, I’ll wait. It’s a bitter pill to swallow, knowing I have to tread carefully when all I want is to break down those walls and show her what we could be together.
The waiting is slowly driving me mad.
With a sigh, I set the glass down on my desk and rub my temples. Patience. It’s what she needs from me right now, and it’s what I’ll give her. Even if it kills me inside.
As the night stretches on, I finish my drink and stand up, looking out at the city lights beyond my window. One day at a time—that’s how I'll get through this. One day at a time until she sees what I see in us.