Eight
1455 Words
Olivia Westview
I sat down at my new desk, the reality of my situation slowly sinking in.
The office was spacious, with a large window that let in plenty of natural light. My desk was sleek and minimalist, with a high-end computer and a phone system that looked more complicated than I would have liked. A leather-bound planner and a set of expensive pens sat neatly in one corner.
I took a deep breath and familiarized myself with my surroundings, noting the filing cabinets to my left, the small bookshelf filled with company literature, and a few personal touches left behind by Shirley, the previous secretary.
Turning on the computer, I logged into my Sinclair Industries account. The system greeted me with a welcome message, followed by a detailed overview of my responsibilities. I clicked on the job description, reading through it carefully.
~ o ~
JOB DESCRIPTION: Executive Secretary to James Sinclair, CEO, Sinclair Industries:
Manage Mr. Sinclair’s schedule meticulously.
Ensure all meetings and appointments are coordinated seamlessly.
Be available to Mr. Sinclair at all times for any task or request.
Handle confidential information with utmost discretion.
Facilitate communication between Mr. Sinclair and other departments.
Assist in preparing documents, reports, and presentations.
Arrange travel plans, accommodations, and itineraries.
Accompany Mr. Sinclair on all business trips, meetings, and public appearances, local and abroad.
Address any personal errands as needed.
~ o ~
God. Seriously? The only thing missing on this list is that I should cater to every one of his whims.
I stared at the screen. The description made it clear that this role was not just about administrative tasks but also about being intimately involved in Mr. Sinclair's professional—and possibly personal—life.
However, what truly made my stomach churn was the requirement to accompany him on his travels, attend meetings, and be present at public appearances. Anywhere in the world. The fvcking world! The thought of being by his side constantly was nerve-wracking, to say the least.
A part of me wanted to run away, but there was a strange, inexplicable part of me that was curious to see him again, to be around him despite the awkwardness.
I shook my head, trying to clear my thoughts. This was really awkward, and I couldn't quite place what I felt about it. The memory of our night together kept resurfacing, making it hard to focus. I needed to compartmentalize my emotions and concentrate on the job.
Logging out of the job description, I started organizing my desk and setting up my workspace. I arranged the pens and planner, familiarized myself with the phone system, and reviewed the calendar to see what appointments James had lined up for the day.
It was going to be a long day, but I was determined to handle it with as much professionalism as I could muster.
~ o 0 o ~
As I typed away at my computer, meticulously filling in the details for an upcoming meeting, the rhythmic tapping of keys was my only companion. I was lost in the task, focused on making sure everything was perfect, when the office door swung open with a flourish. My heart skipped a beat, and I thought desperately, Please don’t be James. Don’t be James.
Reluctantly, I looked up, only to see Sarah, the PR manager, striding into the room with a practiced air of superiority. My relief was fleeting, quickly overshadowed by a familiar pang of irritation. Sarah’s expression was a mask of forced politeness, but her eyes were sharp, and her smile was as cold as it was artificial.
“Olivia, how wonderful to see you,” Sarah drawled. “I didn’t expect you to look so busy so early. Must be keen to get started on getting brownie points from Mr. Sinclair, are we?”
Such a fvcking b1tch! “Sarah,” I greeted, my voice a bit too bright as I forced a smile. I had to resist the urge to roll my eyes at the sheer falseness of her tone. “What can I do for you?”
Sarah dropped a stack of papers onto my desk with a dramatic thud. The pile seemed to grow as it landed, spreading out like a small avalanche. Her demeanor was a blend of disdain and superiority as she leaned over the desk, her eyes flicking dismissively over my workspace.
“Since you’re new and all, I thought I’d drop these by personally,” Sarah said, her voice edged with a hint of venom. “We’ve got a lot of PR materials that need urgent attention. Press releases, event invitations, some revisions—everything is a priority, of course. I expect these to be done by the end of the day.”
My eyes widened at the sheer volume of work being dumped on me. I glanced at the stack, trying to keep my composure. “I’ll get right on it,” I said, my tone carefully neutral, though inside I was fuming.
Sarah smirked, apparently satisfied with my response. “Good. I’m sure you’ll find it... enlightening. If you need any help, though, I suggest you figure it out yourself. We wouldn’t want to bother anyone too important, would we?”
Her words were laced with thinly veiled contempt, and the way she lingered as if waiting for a reaction made it clear she was relishing my discomfort.
"Uhm. Of course. I wouldn't."
"Good." She straightened her blazer, giving me one last scrutinizing glance before turning to leave. “Oh, and Olivia,” Sarah called over her shoulder, “do make sure these are done right. We wouldn’t want to give Mr. Sinclair any reason to question our efficiency.”
"Y-yes. Of course, Sarah."
The door clicked shut behind her, leaving me alone with the mountainous pile of paperwork. I stared at the stack, feeling the weight of Sarah’s disdain like a physical presence. It was clear that she was determined to make my life difficult, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that this was only the beginning.
I hate it here already.
~ o 0 o ~
I was buried under a mountain of paperwork, my head beginning to throb from the relentless monotony. The papers seemed to multiply with every task I completed, and my frustration was reaching its peak. As I was scribbling notes and trying to make sense of the chaotic stack, the phone rang, jolting me out of my focus. I nearly jumped out of my seat.
After three rings, I grabbed the receiver, my voice weary as I answered, “Mr. Sinclair’s office.”
There was a moment of silence on the other end, stretching out like an eternity. I could almost hear my own breathing, mingling with the silence, until a deep, velvety voice broke through. “Olivia.”
God, even his voice over the phone sounds impossibly attractive. It had a smooth, almost seductive quality that sent tingles down funny places in my body.
“Mr. Sinclair,” I replied, trying to keep my tone steady.
“Are you busy, Olivia?”
I hesitated for a split second before lying, “No, sir. What can I do for you?”
“I want to show you something. Come upstairs.”
The way he said “come upstairs” was almost too intimate, as if he was inviting me to something more personal than just a work meeting. My throat felt dry as I tried to swallow the lump that had formed.
“Right away, sir.”
~ o 0 o ~
What could he possibly want to show me? I wondered as I tidied myself up. I fixed my hair, making sure no strand was out of place, re-applied my lipstick, and adjusted my skirt. My hands trembled slightly with nerves, and I glanced at my reflection in the shiny interior of the elevator doors, trying to calm the fluttering in my stomach.
With a deep breath, I stepped out as the elevator doors slid open. I found myself in the penthouse. The room was bathed in the warm, golden glow of the setting sun, casting long shadows and highlighting the luxurious details of the space.
There he was, seated at his desk, his head bent over a computer screen. The soft light illuminated his profile, accentuating the sharp lines of his face and the intensity of his concentration.
He looks like a statue of a Greek God.
His features were striking, almost chiseled, and the way the setting sunlight played across his skin made him look almost otherworldly.
“Mr. Sinclair,” I announced.
“Come in, Olivia,” he replied, though he didn’t look up from his screen.
Welp. Here goes nothing.
- Writer
