CHAPTER 35: CHAPTER 35

Olivia’s POV

By the time it was lunch break, I felt like I’d been put through a blender, reassembled, and then put through the blender again.

Maxwell had dumped what looked like three filing cabinets worth of work on my tiny desk - apparently left behind by his previous assistant who had "quit without notice." The mountain of papers, folders, and sticky notes formed a small paper city that threatened to topple over every time someone walked past my weirdly positioned corner of doom.

"These need to be organized, filed, and cross-referenced by end of business today," Maxwell had announced, dropping the last stack on my desk. "My previous assistant left things in quite a state. I’m sure you’ll handle it much more better."

Translation: *Welcome to hell, Oliver.*

I trudged toward the cafeteria like a defeated monkey, my stomach growling loud enough to wake the dead. I kept my head down and took the longest possible route to avoid any chance of running into Alex.

The thought of facing him right now, after what happened with Gabriel... *No. Just no. I can’t handle that level of awkwardness on top of everything else.*

First things first - I needed to use the restroom. My bladder was to burst open.

I slipped into the men’s restroom, quickly checked that all the stalls were empty, and locked myself in the furthest one from the door. I pulled out my compact mirror to check my disguise - thankfully, despite the morning’s furniture-moving disaster, Oliver was still intact. My fake facial hair was secure, my contouring hadn’t smudged too badly, and my hair was still styled in that masculine way that made me look like a completely different person.

The real challenge came next. I unbuckled my trousers, positioned myself on either side of the toilet seat, and... well, let’s just say that learning to pee while standing up had been one of the first skills I’d acquired in this whole charade. The key was making sure it sounded right - because apparently, even bathroom acoustics could blow my cover.

I was just finishing up when I heard the main door swing open and voices filled the hallway.

"I’m telling you, man, the new guy has no idea what he’s gotten himself into," a voice I didn’t recognize was saying.

I froze, my hand halfway to the toilet paper dispenser.

"Which new guy?" another voice asked.

"Oliver something. The one Wellington hired as his personal assistant."

*They’re talking about me.*

I held my breath and pressed myself against the stall door, straining to hear every word.

"Oh, the one who got demoted from junior associate?" the second voice asked with amusement. "Yeah, I heard about that. Pretty brutal way to start at a new firm."

"Brutal doesn’t even begin to cover it," the first voice continued. "Do you know why Wellington’s last assistant quit?"

"I heard it was because of the workload."

"Workload?" The first guy actually laughed. "Try complete and total mental breakdown. Philip lasted six months before he started crying in the supply closet every afternoon. HR had to arrange counseling sessions."

*Philip ? Mental breakdown? Supply closet crying sessions?*

"Seriously?" The second voice sounded shocked.

"Wellington doesn’t just want an assistant - he wants a mind reader, a pack mule, and a punching bag all rolled into one. The man has impossible standards and zero patience. Everyone was happy when he took that break to Europe or wherever he disappeared to. Philip used to tell me horror stories about being screamed at for getting his coffee order wrong, having to work until midnight to redo projects he changed his mind about at 5 PM, and being required to be available 24/7 even on weekends."

My stomach dropped to my shoes. *24/7? Even on weekends?*

"And now he’s got this Oliver guy who already couldn’t cut it as a junior associate," the first voice continued. "I give him a week before he cracks."

"A week?" The second guy scoffed. "I give him three days. Did you see him this morning, trying to move that desk? Looked like he was wrestling a bear."

*Oh God, people saw the furniture disaster.*

"The poor bastard probably has no idea what Wellington’s really like when he’s in one of his moods."

"What do you mean?"

"Let’s just say there’s a reason the man goes through assistants like tissues. He’s charming enough when clients are around, but behind closed doors? The man’s a tyrant. Cold, demanding, completely ruthless. And if you disappoint him..." The voice trailed off ominously.

"What happens if you disappoint him?"

"Ask the three assistants before Philip. Oh wait, you can’t - they all left the legal profession entirely after working for him."

*Left the legal profession entirely? What the hell kind of monster am I working for?*

"Jesus. And this Oliver guy actually took the job?"

"Apparently Wellington offered him enough money to make it worth the torture. But trust me, no amount of money is worth your sanity. Mark my words - by Friday, we’ll be seeing another resignation letter on HR’s desk."

I heard the sound of running water and paper towels being dispensed.

"Well, it’s his funeral," the second voice said. "Come on, let’s get back. Johnson wants those contracts reviewed before 2 PM."

The door swung shut, leaving me alone in the now quiet restroom.

I sat there in my stall, my mind reeling from what I’d just heard. Mental breakdowns? Crying in supply closets? Assistants leaving the legal profession entirely?

*What the fuck have I gotten myself into?*

But then I thought about that salary figure. About the new apartment. About finally having enough money to not stress about every bill, every grocery trip, every unexpected expense.

*Let them wait until they hear how much he’s paying me,* I thought defiantly. *Maybe the money is worth putting up with his impossible demands. Maybe I’m stronger than the others.*

*Or maybe I’m about to become another casualty in Maxwell Wellington’s war against humans.*