Chapter Two #2
I did know. All too well. It was why I preferred to work alone, answering to no one but myself.
But this project was different. Special. Worth the headache of dealing with bureaucrats and penny-pinching board members.
“Fine.” I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Tomorrow afternoon. My office.”
“Great! I'll bring lunch. How do you feel about sushi?”
I hung up without bothering to answer. Emmett was a good guy, but his relentless cheer grated on my nerves. I'd never understand how Callie put up with it.
I slumped in my chair, staring at the ceiling. The community center plans glowed on my computer screen, a reminder of all the work still to be done.
A delicate balance, indeed. Creating something beautiful and functional while working within the constraints of budget and bureaucracy.
But that was the challenge, wasn't it? Anyone could design a masterpiece with unlimited resources.
The true test of skill was making something extraordinary out of the ordinary.
My gaze drifted to the blueprints on the wall again—each one evidence of that skill. Of the countless hours of work, the sleepless nights, the relentless drive for perfection.
But at what cost?
The thought crept in, unbidden and unwelcome. I shoved it aside, focusing on the tasks at hand. The community center. The upcoming meeting with Emmett. And beyond that, the interview with Olivia.
I pulled up her resume, scanning the details Wick had sent over. Impressive credentials. Top of her class at Ohio State. Rapid advancement at the humane society. Glowing recommendations from former colleagues.
But it was the gap in her employment history that caught my eye. Three years. A significant chunk of time to be out of the workforce. What had she been doing during that period? And more importantly, why was she looking to re-enter now?
The questions nagged at me as I shut down my computer and made my way to my bedroom.
The master suite was a work of art—a design I had been dreaming up since I was a teenager, sketching shitty ideas in my notebook late into the night. Over the years, as my skills improved, the plans became more intricate and polished.
Now, it was my sanctuary—the one place where I could truly unwind and be myself. I had invested heavily in creating the ideal personal retreat, a space that perfectly blended form and function.
It was a study in contrasts—sleek, contemporary lines against the historic bones of the house.
The original exposed brick wall behind the bed, with its rough texture, served as a reminder of the home's rich history.
But rather than looking old or mismatched, it provided the ideal counterpoint to the modern elements I had incorporated.
It was expansive but not overwhelming, with tall ceilings and a wall of windows overlooking the courtyard.
I had optimized the layout to let in abundant natural light, positioning a seating area to bask in the morning sun and tucking a workspace into a nook for those late-night bursts of inspiration.
But it was the finer points that made the space truly exceptional.
Rich, dark hardwood floors were complemented by a luxurious area rug in a geometric pattern of grays and blues.
The walls were painted in a soothing, neutral hue, the perfect canvas for the meticulously curated art pieces adorning them.
A large abstract expressionist canvas by a local artist commanded attention above the minimalist, low-profile bed.
The bed frame itself was a bespoke creation, made from responsibly sourced walnut.
I trudged through my nightly routine, the repetitive steps a cold comfort after the shitstorm of my day.
In the bathroom, I cranked the shower until the water was nearly hot enough to take off a layer of skin.
Steam billowed out, fogging up the mirror as I stripped down and chucked my clothes in the hamper.
The scalding water hammered at the ever-present knots in my shoulders and neck. I scrubbed myself raw with my fancy sandalwood soap, the smell sharp and earthy. Say what you will, but a good bar of soap is one of life's simple pleasures—it makes you feel clean deep down.
I finally stepped out onto a plush bath mat that cushioned my aching feet.
Towel slung around my hips, I sauntered over to the black granite vanity, a beast of a countertop that gleamed dully under the lights. I swiped a hand across the fogged-up mirror and stared at the sorry son of a bitch looking back at me.
I looked like shit. Exhausted and miserable as hell. But that was par for the course these days. I honestly couldn’t remember the last time I felt any different.
I grabbed my phone from where it sat on the counter, mindlessly scrolling through emails to avoid staring at my own reflection any longer. Impulse got the better of me, and I pulled up a Google search and typed in the name “Olivia Friedman.”
Not much.
I glanced back down at her resume. Olivia Friedman Parker.
I adjusted my search to her married name, and dozens of photos from her years at the humane society appeared.
Her smile lit up her entire face, eyes sparkling with genuine warmth and joy. She exuded a natural grace and elegance, even in candid shots where she was kneeling to cuddle a rescue dog or laughing with colleagues.
I zoomed in on one photo in particular, taking in her fine-boned features. Sky-high cheekbones, cute freckled nose, bee-stung lips curled in a knockout grin. Shiny chestnut waves tumbled around her face. But damn, those eyes. Big, soulful, framed by mile-long lashes.
My pulse quickened as I continued scrolling, taking in photo after photo.
Olivia in a simple black cocktail dress, the fabric clinging to her petite yet curvaceous frame.
Olivia with her hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail, a few wispy tendrils escaping to frame her face.
Olivia in a button-down shirt and slacks, looking both professional and approachable.
Fuck. I tossed my phone aside, scrubbing a hand over my face.
This was a terrible idea. The absolute last thing I needed was to develop some kind of weird infatuation with my potential assistant.
Especially when said assistant was the beloved baby sister of someone I was beginning to consider a friend.
I climbed into bed, the Egyptian cotton sheets soft on my skin. The mattress was memory foam, molded perfectly to my body. No expense had been spared in creating this oasis of relaxation.
But it seemed relaxation wasn’t in the cards. My brain pinballed between thoughts of Olivia and the community development project. The two were connected. Olivia's experience at the humane society, her clear passion for making a difference—she could really be an asset.
Of course, that was assuming she even wanted the job after meeting me.