Nine
1404 Words
Olivia Westview
I walked toward Mr. Sinclair’s desk, concentrating intently on keeping my balance. Every step felt like a challenge as my shoes dug into my toes. I shouldn't have worn these heels. The last thing I needed was to trip and make a fool of myself in front of him. My cheeks flushed just thinking about it.
When I finally reached his desk, I came to a halt and took a deep breath. “Mr. Sinclair,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.
“James,” he responded, looking up from the computer screen with a warm smile that seemed to light up his whole face. “I told you, just call me James.”
I blinked, caught off guard. “Y-yes, I’m sorry, James.”
He chuckled softly, his gaze returning to the screen. “Sit down, Olivia.”
I lowered myself into the chair, trying to get comfortable while fidgeting with my skirt. The seconds felt like hours as I sat there, watching him work. It was disconcerting how he seemed completely absorbed in whatever was on his screen, as though I wasn’t even there.
Minutes dragged on, and I found myself gazing at him, unable to tear my eyes away. He was stunning—his features were sharp and elegant, and the lines of his face spoke of experience and wisdom. He was around Dad's age, but the years only seemed to enhance his attractiveness. The gray streaks in his hair and the depth in his eyes added an alluring complexity to his handsomeness.
I tried to wipe my mouth discreetly, making sure I wasn’t drooling. My eyes wandered around the opulent penthouse, searching for something to focus on other than the incredibly handsome man in front of me. The room was filled with elegant furniture, rich textures, and a view that showcased the city below, but nothing could distract me from him.
Without warning, he looked up from his computer, and the unexpected break in the silence made my heart skip a beat. “Is everything alright, Olivia?”
My mind raced, and I nearly stumbled over my words. “Yes, sir. I mean, James. Everything’s fine. Good, actually. Why?”
“You seem nervous,” he said, his voice smooth and probing. “Tell me, Olivia, do I make you nervous?”
What the hell? Why is he asking this? I scrambled for a response, my mind a whirlwind of confusion and embarrassment. His gaze was steady, and I could feel the intensity of his scrutiny, making my anxiety spike even higher. I took a deep breath, trying to regain my composure.
“No, James,” I lied, even though he was, indeed, making me incredibly nervous. I bit my lower lip absentmindedly and looked away, trying to compose myself.
He chuckled softly, the sound both comforting and unsettling. Then, I remembered why I was there and asked, “What is it you wanted to show me, James?”
“Oh, right,” he said, as though he had momentarily forgotten the purpose of my visit. “Come, follow me.”
He rose from his desk and walked towards the other end of the penthouse, where a sleek modern kitchen and bar area were set up. I followed, my eyes drifting over the sophisticated decor. He reached for a bottle of wine, the label catching my eye: Château Margaux 2015.
He retrieved two crystal glasses and, with a casual grace, began to pour the wine. As he poured, he glanced over at me and asked, “Fancy a drink, Olivia?”
My eyes widened. What? Drinking during office hours seemed decidedly inappropriate, even if I was the CEO’s secretary. I shook my head vehemently. “No, thank you, James. I don’t think I should—”
James just shrugged, seemingly unconcerned by my refusal. He poured himself a generous glass and took a measured sip. After downing it in one go, he undid the topmost button of his long-sleeved polo shirt. The upper part of his chest, with its impressive pecs and a subtle hint of hair, peeked out. I felt my face flush crimson and quickly looked away, feeling an unexpected rush of heat.
He noticed my reaction but continued as if nothing had happened. “Since you’re my new secretary, I have some preferences about how I’d like you to present yourself.”
Confused, I glanced down at my outfit. I had chosen a smart, professional ensemble that seemed perfectly acceptable. “Is there something wrong with my outfit, James? Do I look ugly?”
He laughed a little, the sound musical and disarming. “You’re the furthest thing from ugly, Olivia.”
I felt my cheeks heat up even more. Did he just call me beautiful? I shook the thought away, trying to focus on the conversation. “So, what did you mean when you said something about my looks?”
He took another sip of his wine, and I watched as his lips made contact with the glass, the movement of his throat as he swallowed. After setting the glass down, he gestured towards the corner of the counter.
“There,” he said, pointing to the end of the counter where paper bags were.
I asked him, "What are those?"
"Go ahead, take a look."
My heart pounded in my chest. What could possibly be in those bags? I hesitated, my mind racing with possibilities. Were they groceries? Or worse, something he wanted me to help him with? With a deep breath, I cautiously walked towards the paper bags.
My eyes widened as I reached out and touched the first bag. The thick, glossy paper and the embossed logo sent a shockwave through me. It was a Chanel bag. My fingers trembled as I pulled it out, revealing a pristine, black quilted purse. My heart skipped a beat. Chanel? I’d only ever seen these bags in magazines or on the arms of celebrities.
One by one, I pulled out the other bags. A Hermes scarf, soft and luxurious, slipped through my fingers. A pair of Christian Louboutin heels, red soles gleaming, stared up at me. A Gucci dress, hanging limply from its plastic hanger, was a vision of elegance. My mind was reeling. What is going on?
“What are these for, James?” I managed to croak out, my voice trembling.
He simply smiled, a knowing glint in his eyes. “They are for you, Olivia.”
I stared at him, disbelief washing over me. These were fvcking expensive! I’d never owned anything remotely close to this level of luxury. My entire wardrobe consisted of hand-me-downs from Mom and cheap finds from the market. How could he possibly think I’d accept something like this?
“I...I can’t accept these, James,” I stammered, my voice barely a whisper.
He shrugged nonchalantly. “It’s nothing.”
Nothing? These are worth more than my entire life savings! I shook my head, my heart pounding in my ears.
He leaned forward, his eyes scanning me. “I hope they would fit as I just estimated your size.”
I could feel my face flushing with embarrassment. I was so far removed from this world of luxury that I didn’t even know my size in designer clothes.
“Please, James. I can’t,” I insisted, my voice rising slightly.
His expression turned serious. “Olivia, this is a non-negotiable. Consider this a bonus.”
"James..."
“Go ahead, try them on,” he said with a casual confidence that made my breath hitch.
What? I could feel my face redden with embarrassment. “Here? Right now?” I asked, my voice trembling as I struggled to process his unexpected command.
James’s smirk grew, and he stood up straight, his posture exuding dominance and allure. He closed the distance between us with deliberate, measured steps. His voice took on a seductive edge, dripping with a playful, yet charged undertone. “Of course not here, Olivia. That would be wildly inappropriate, wouldn't it?” he asked, his tone as smooth and intoxicating as silk.
"Y-yes, of course, it would be inappropriate." Are you serious, Liv? Why would you ask if your boss wanted you to dress up in front of him?
He smiled and pointed toward a door at the far end of the room. “You can use the powder room on the left.”
- Writer
