CHAPTER 32: CHAPTER 32

Olivia’s POV

I stepped out of my apartment, fully dressed as Oliver, and hailed a cab that would take me straight to work.

Each day, I was getting more comfortable and used to being Oliver. I no longer panicked about my adhesive or my wig pulling off.

As we drove through the morning traffic, I mentally rehearsed my game plan. Today marked the beginning of my strategic offensive against Maxwell Wellington. He wanted to play games right? Fine. I’d show him exactly what happened when someone underestimated Olivia Hopton.

But as we passed the karaoke bar from last Friday, I cursed under by breath.

"Shit!"

My voice must’ve been too loud because the cab driver glanced at me in the rearview mirror.

"Everything alright back there?" he asked.

"Yeah, sorry," I mumbled, sinking lower in my seat.

I was supposed to have gone back on Saturday to check the CCTV cameras, to finally know the identity of my mysterious stranger. But the weekend had been such a whirlwind with Mom’s drama, Gabriel’s date, and Maxwell’s infuriating interference that I’d completely forgotten.

*How could I forget something so important? This man - whoever he was - had somehow gotten my phone number, knew my real name, and had appeared in that karaoke room like some kind of ghost. Those weren’t details I should be ignoring.*

I pulled out my phone, staring at the blank screen. Still no text from Gabriel since Saturday night. My thumb hovered over his contact, debating whether I should reach out first.

*Should I text him? Would that be too forward? We’d only had one date, so technically he should be the one doing the chasing, right? Besides, texting him first would only confirm Maxwell’s ridiculous claims about me being too emotional and dramatic.*

I shoved the phone back into my jacket pocket with force. If Gabriel really liked me, he’d show it through his actions. Consistent communication was one of those actions, and if he couldn’t manage that, then Maxwell could keep him.

*No. I wasn’t going to let Maxwell’s poisonous presence get into my head. Gabriel was sweet, kind, and nothing like his arrogant best friend. He’d text when he was ready.*

The cab pulled up outside Wellington & Sons, and I paid the driver, straightening my tie as I stepped onto the sidewalk. The imposing building seemed to tower over me, but today it didn’t intimidate me. Today, I was walking in with a purpose.

I strode through the lobby with confidence, my shoulders squared and my chin up. I was Oliver Hopton, reinstated employee, and I belonged here.

"Oliver!" Patricia’s voice called out from behind the reception desk, "I’m so happy to see you back!"

I turned toward her, offering what I hoped was a charming masculine smile. "Thanks, Patricia. It’s good to be back."

I approached her desk, then noticed something about her. She was leaning forward slightly, her smile a bit wider than usual. Her eyes lingered on my face longer than necessary, and when she spoke, her voice sounded softer and flirtatious.

"You know," she said, tilting her head and batting her eyelashes, "I was really worried about you over the weekend. It just wasn’t the same around here without you."

I blinked, immediately thrown off balance. Was Patricia... flirting with me? With Oliver?

*This can’t be happening. I do not have time to deal with unwanted romantic attention from colleagues, especially when I’m supposed to be a man and she thinks I’m a man and oh God, this is getting complicated.*

"That’s, um, very kind of you to say," I managed, taking a small step backward. "I appreciate your concern."

Patricia’s smile widened, and she leaned even further forward, giving me what I was pretty sure was supposed to be an enticing view of her breasts. "Maybe we could grab coffee sometime? You know, to celebrate your return? I know this lovely little place just down the road..."

*Definitely flirting. Definitely, absolutely, one hundred percent flirting.*

"That sounds... nice," I said weakly, backing toward the elevators. "But I should really get upstairs. Don’t want to be late on my first day back."

"Of course!" Patricia called after me, her voice even more sultry. "But don’t forget about that coffee!"

I practically dove into the elevator, jabbing the button for Maxwell’s floor repeatedly until the doors closed. Once I was safely enclosed inside, I slumped against the wall and let out a long breath.

*Great. Just great. As if my life wasn’t complicated enough, now I had to deal with Patricia having a crush on my male alter ego. How was I supposed to handle that? I couldn’t exactly explain that I was actually a woman, and I certainly couldn’t encourage her feelings.*

*Note to self: avoid Patricia whenever possible. Also, maybe tone down the masculine smile - it was way too charming.*

The elevator dinged as it reached the executive floor, and I straightened my jacket, checking my reflection one last time in the polished metal doors. Oliver stared back at me - professional, composed, ready for whatever Maxwell might throw at him.

I checked my phone as I stepped into the hallway. 8:20 AM. Perfect timing.

Maxwell’s office door was closed, but I could see light coming from underneath. He was already here, probably plotting new ways to make my life miserable. Well, two could play that game.

I stood outside his door for a moment, taking deep breaths and trying to center myself. This was it - the beginning of my master plan. I needed to be calm, professional, and completely unreadable. I couldn’t let him see that he got under my skin, couldn’t give him any ammunition to use against me.

*Remember, Olivia,* I told myself silently. *He thinks he holds all the cards, but he doesn’t know that you know exactly who he is. He doesn’t know that you’ve seen him at his most vulnerable - where he’s worried about his cat. Well, if he provokes you one more time, all you have to do is kidnap Mitchell and sell her to the first bidder. He has no idea who he’s dealing with.*

I was still breathing in and out, trying to find my center, when I heard footsteps behind me.

"Are you going to keep staring at my door, or is there some other reason you’re standing there, motionless like a statue?"

Maxwell’s cold and sardonic voice made me jump slightly. I spun around to find him standing directly behind me, a coffee cup in one hand and his briefcase in the other. He was expensively dressed as always, his dark suit perfectly styled, his tie knotted to perfection.

But it was his eyes that caught my attention - those piercing green eyes that seemed to see right through me. He was studying my face with an unusual intensity as if he was looking for cracks in my disguise.

*How long had he been standing there? How had I not heard him approach?*

"Good morning, Mr. Wellington," I said, proud that my voice came out steady and masculine. "I was just reviewing my notes for the day."

One dark eyebrow arched skeptically. "Your notes?"

"Yes, sir. I wanted to make sure I was fully prepared for whatever tasks you might have for me."

Maxwell’s lips curved slightly, as though I was uttering nonsense.

"How diligent of you," he said in a mocking tone. "Though I have to wonder, Mr. Hopton, what exactly you think you’ll be reviewing in those notes of yours. You were fired before you actually did any work."

Heat crept up my neck, but I forced myself to maintain eye contact. "I made notes during my brief time here about the office procedures, important contacts, and ongoing cases that I might need to be familiar with."

"Ah." Maxwell stepped closer, close enough that I could smell his cologne - something dark and expensive. "And did those notes include any insights about why you were terminated in the first place?"

"I believe that was explained to me quite clearly," I replied, matching his cold tone. "Punctuality is paramount in this office."

"Indeed it is." Maxwell reached around me, his arm brushing against my shoulder as he grasped the door handle. The brief contact sent an unwelcome shiver through me, and I had to fight the urge to step away from him.

He pushed open the door and stepped into his office without another word, leaving me standing in the hallway feeling like I’d just survived the first round of a boxing match.

I followed him inside, closing the door behind me with a little force. Maxwell had already settled behind his desk, his attention already focused on his computer screen as if I didn’t exist.

The office looked exactly the same as it had on Friday - very large, expensively furnished, and designed to make visitors like me feel very small and... poor. The wall of windows behind him offered a stunning view of the city, but somehow the natural light only seemed to make his presence more imposing.

I stood there for a moment, unsure whether I should sit down, announce my presence, or simply wait for him to acknowledge me. The silence stretched between us, until it was becoming quite difficult to breathe.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity but was probably only thirty seconds, Maxwell looked up from his screen.

"Mr. Hopton?" he called impatiently. "Are you planning to stand there all morning, or did you actually come here to work?"

"I’m ready to work, sir," I replied, moving toward the chair across from his desk. "What would you like me to start with?"

Maxwell leaned back in his chair, crossing his fingers as he studied me. "That depends. Are you going to disappear on me again? Have another family emergency that prevents you from doing your job?"

The way he said ’family emergency’ made it clear he didn’t believe a word of my previous excuse. I met his gaze steadily, refusing to back down now.

"No, sir. My grandmother is recovering well, and I’ve made arrangements to ensure that any future family situations won’t interfere with my work here."

"Your grandmother." Maxwell’s tone was flat, expressionless. "The one who fell."

"Yes, sir."

He nodded slowly, as if filing that information away for future reference. "I see."

He stood up abruptly, moving around his desk to stand directly in front of me. He was close enough that I had to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact, close enough that I could see the flecks of gold in his green eyes.

"Now, Mr. Hopton," he continued, his voice dropping to a shivering whisper, "shall we discuss what your actual responsibilities will be in this position? Because I have some very specific expectations for my personal assistant, and I want to make absolutely certain that we understand each other."

I swallowed hard, trying to ignore the way his close presence was affecting me.

"Yes, sir." I replied weakly.