Chapter 3
Olivia
The judgment I’ve felt in the office on occasion and the dirty looks stabbing me in the back as I pass hit twice as hard today.
As if it wasn’t hard enough dealing with the jealousy of some perceived “easy ride” to middle management, on top of the bitterness I’ve tasted when I’ve overheard employees talking badly about me in the break room, or whatever it is that has others hating me so much, now I also have to contend with Noah Westcott.
The other stuff pales in comparison, so I hold my head up and keep walking.
I can’t help but glance across the office and the rows of cubicles to Noah’s closed door.
I hate that disappointment saturates my better judgment.
I need to keep in mind that getting to know him for the sake of Maxwell is not the same thing as getting to know him for the sake of professionalism, or even on a personal level.
Personal level? What am I thinking? There doesn’t need to be anything personal with that man.
I drop my bag off in my office and head right back out. I’m on a mission this morning and ready to tackle all the obstacles in my life. Rounding the corner, I head straight for my father’s office. When I approach his assistant’s desk, I ask, “Hi, Jennifer, is Mr. Bancroft available?”
Her expression falls. “You just missed him.”
“Missed him?” I check the time on the gold watch he gave me for my high school graduation. “It’s seven fifty-three in the morning.”
Taking her glasses off, she stabs the arms into her hair that hangs loose today. I’ve always liked Jennifer. She has never treated me as spoiled or undeserving, and smiles when she sees me. Beats the scowls I’m sometimes on the receiving end of.
“It was an early start for him, but he had a breakfast meeting schedule this morning.”
“With whom?” I glance down the hall when I see other employees arriving.
“Mr. Lowe, Mr. Lowe, and Mr. Westcott.”
I tweak my neck from turning back so fast. Mr. Westcott . . . I try to contain my huff, but I see Jennifer laugh under her breath. “Yeah, with the Lowes back in the city and Mr. Westcott jumping right into the deep end, is it me, or does it feel a little—”
“Cutthroat? No,” I say, staring out the window behind her as rage burns inside. “Not just you.”
“I was going to say energized.” A slight shrug of her shoulder partners with the cringe on her face.
“Yes, that’s what I meant.” I know she doesn’t believe me, but I haven’t even had coffee yet. As my acting skills won’t be convincing, I decide not to dig this hole any deeper and end the embarrassing misery. “Will you let him know I came by to see him?”
“Of course.” When I turn to walk away, she adds, “I know what you mean about cutthroat, Olivia.”
I stop and turn back. “Yeah?”
“You’re doing a good job. I know he doesn’t tell you, but sometimes he tells me.”
“Yeah?” Coming closer, I stop in front of her desk again.
She nods with a reassuring smile. “His meeting at eleven thirty is Brooklyn.” While she studies the monitor in front of her, she adds, “Then his next meeting is at three o’clock in conference room one to close negotiations on a new client.”
“What about between his meetings? Can you schedule me in for a thirty-minute slot?”
Pulling her glasses from her head, she returns them to the bridge of her nose and starts typing. She looks up from the monitor, and says, “Not today. Actually, there’s nothing all week.”
“How about twenty minutes?”
“I don’t even have a ten-minute opening I can book. He told me explicitly not to add anything to his schedule for the next two months.”
“Then how did Mr. Westcott get a breakfast with him?”
“Mr. Bancroft called the meeting.”
My hopes fall. I hate that I still feel .
. . anything when it comes to him. I should be used to the disappointment, especially after the situation with Chip imploded.
Yet somehow, I’m still never fully prepared.
Empathy reaches her eyes, or maybe it’s sadness, pity even, which doesn’t make me feel especially good though I know that’s not her intention. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault.” Pretending to blow it off like it doesn’t matter, I smile.
“Busy is good. That’s what he always taught.
” Jennifer’s one of the few who has supported my return to the office.
After a year away, although I was working remotely, I came back to a staff that had conjured its own narrative about my disappearance.
Horrible things weren’t said only to my back. A few people made sure I overheard their nasty gossip. That’s when I realized I’d never win over some people. Doesn’t matter what I do or how nice I am. Those efforts will be wasted on them.
The decision to protect my personal life has left me fighting the misconceptions they’ve developed ever since.
Lik e any proud mom, I wish I could have a framed photo sitting on my desk, but I keep my office clear because they don’t deserve to see the best part of my life.
My mom tells me to ignore it. My father seems oblivious to the noise.
I’m stuck somewhere in the middle, wondering if I’m ever going to win not only their approval but also my father’s.
I can’t stand around here any longer, not even to make polite small talk. As much as it would be nice to have a water cooler conversation with her, it’s best if I keep my distance from everyone and focus on my job instead. “Work is calling. Have a good day.”
I can ignore the gossip, but the wrench that’s been thrown not only into my working day but also my life can’t be ignored.
I will protect the things that matter most at all costs.
Maxwell is worth it. I was hoping to get more insight into my month and, if I’m lucky, Noah.
Guess I’ll have to do the dirty work myself and start digging.
Settling in at my desk, I call Cassandra to check in. “Hello,” she answers.
“Hi, how are you? How’s Maxwell? All okay?”
“We’re great. I’m about to take him to his baby gym class, then I was thinking about a picnic in the park.”
Although it shouldn’t, my heart hurts. She’s living the life I can only dream of experiencing—spending the day with my baby. That’s not a possibility, though. I need to provide for him and that means working.
“That sounds really nice. Thank you, Cassandra.”
“Gosh, it almost feels criminal being paid for this job. Maxwell’s the best baby. We have such a great time together.”
I grin with pride and love for him. “He is. Well, you know the drill. If you need anything, call or text.”
“I will. Hope your day goes well,” she says just before hanging up.
I stare at the screensaver that pops up on the screen when we disconnect. It’s Maxwell and me on my birthday. Just the two of us and a small cake to share. “Enough distractions.” I smile, then angle toward my monitor to get to work.
Since I already know I’ll have an email from Chip because, apparently, he’s back in New York, I check to see if I’m right.
I can’t believe he’s been back, what? A night?
And he’s having breakfast with the company owners and Noah.
Chip loves a surprise when it benefits him, like never telling us whether he’ll show up to work.
And people have a problem with me? I’m here working my ass off while he’s off gallivanting across the Baja Peninsula, it appears from his expenses.
I don’t know how he always manages to convince his dad and mine that not only should they pay for his extravagant lifestyle but that, somehow, he’s an asset they need to keep on the payroll.
And people have the nerve to say my role in accounts and finances is owed to nepotism. Go figure.
Just thinking about my ex and the other three together doesn’t sit well, but when I specifically think of Chip and Noah possibly becoming friends, my stomach churns. What if . . . oh God, no. Stop. Don’t even think about them chumming up and becoming buddies or comparing notes.
Focus on work, Liv.
The moment Jennifer said Chip was back, I knew I’d have an email.
I click open, and yep, there it is. So predictable.
I’ll have to brace my eyes because I know I’ll do extensive eye-rolling over the next two hours.
He tries to get the company to pay for every expense—personal or work—so I already know it will take me time to work through exactly what we’ll reimburse and what we won’t.
Two hours are lost weeding through this unhinged email of requests. It’s not just the nerve of some of the expenses he’s trying to get paid back for. It’s the winky face and the line in the email that says, “Take care of this, muffin,” that makes my blood boil.
By two in the afternoon, I have a major headache from staring at the screen all day, picking apart the numbers of the marketing team and how much they’re spending. I shoot my dad an email short and to the point, which is how he likes it:
When can you meet to go over the marketing expenses and budgets for the next quarter?
Olivia
I never heard from him, but laughter filled the corridor at one point in the day, penetrating my door for a few hours.
The merry band of best buddies had returned, but Noah’s voice had traveled as if to torture me.
There wasn’t a chance in hell I would let him get to me, so I hunkered deeper into the numbers until Chip’s entire team had an outlook and budget in place.
Three o’clock rolls around before I realize that I’ve lost track of time and haven’t eaten today. I wouldn't have remembered at all if it weren’t for my growling stomach.
I scan the two kitchens on opposing sides of the floor before deciding that Cheetos and a soda might not be the best choice to tide me over until dinner. But if I hurry downstairs, I can order a salad or maybe get soup from the deli next door before it closes.
Naturally, the elevator is slower than molasses. When it finally arrives, I squeeze on. Bonus to being last to fit in is that I’m first off as soon as the doors open in the lobby. 3:27. Dammit. I’m wearing the wrong shoes for a jog today.
I rush past the guards toward the street and cross to the next block.
Tugging the door open, I hear, “Unless you want a pimento hoagie with jalapenos and extra pickles, we’ve already put everything away. The pimento is on the house, though.” The guy behind the counter drops the sandwich on the glass display. It lands like a brick.
I rub my stomach as if it will ease the hunger pangs. Since I’m not interested in spending the rest of the day with heartburn or in the bathroom, I reply, “Thanks, but I’ll pass.”
“You can have my salad.” I felt it the moment I walked in, but thought it was hunger. It is. Just of a different kind.
The voice . . .
The soothing dulcet tone.
Energy sparking in the air.
I gave in to a whim once. I won’t fall for him twice.