CHAPTER 37: CHAPTER 37

Olivia’s POV

"Kira... Kira... ki..." I called weakly, my voice barely above a whisper as I stumbled through our apartment door.

My legs gave out completely, and I slumped onto the living room floor like a Barbie doll with broken legs. The Oliver disguise felt like it weighed a thousand pounds, and I couldn’t summon the energy to even sit up properly.

"OLIVIA!" Kira’s voice echoed through the apartment, followed by the sound of running feet. "What the hell..."

She whizzed into the living room and found me sprawled on our worn carpet, still in my men’s suit, my hair now a disheveled mess, and probably looking like I’d been hit by a train.

"Oh my God, what happened?" Kira dropped to her knees beside me, her hands hovering over me as if she wasn’t sure where to touch. "Are you hurt? Did someone attack you? Should I call 911?"

I opened my mouth to respond, but only a weak croak came out.

"Water," I managed to gasp. "Water... first."

Kira jumped up and practically sprinted to the kitchen. I heard the sounds of cabinet opening, water running, and what sounded like her dropping at least three glasses before successfully filling one.

She was back in thirty seconds, kneeling beside me again with a large glass of ice water.

"Here, sit up slowly," she said, slipping an arm behind my shoulders and helping me into a sitting position against the couch. "What the hell did that psychopath do to you?"

I drank the entire glass of water without stopping, finally feeling human again as the cool water reached my parched throat.

"Maxwell Wellington," I finally croaked, "is literally the devil incarnate."

Kira’s eyes widened. "What did he do? Did he fire you again? Did he sexually harass you? I swear to God, Liv, I will march down to that office and castrate him with my bare hands if he..."

"No, no," I interrupted, holding up a weak hand. "Nothing like that. Worse."

"WORSE? What’s worse than sexual harassment?"

"Manual labor," I said flatly. "He made me move furniture. Heavy furniture. With my bare hands. For hours."

Kira blinked at me. "That’s it? That’s what has you looking like you’ve been through a war zone?"

"Kira," I said seriously, "I had to move three desks today! One in the morning, one after lunch and one before closing time. Those desks were apparently crafted by ancient giants, and I’m pretty sure it was cursed. And haunted. And possibly radioactive."

"It was just a desk, Liv."

"JUST A DESK?" I struggled to sit up straighter, my back hurting like hell. "This wasn’t just any desk, Kira. This was a desk that clearly had a personal vendetta against me. It fought back. It actively tried to destroy me. I’m pretty sure it’s possessed with the same demons as Maxwell."

Kira was trying very hard not to laugh. "Okay, okay. Tell me everything. From the beginning."

So I did. I told her about Maxwell’s ridiculous list of demands, about the salary that made my eyes water, about his obvious attempts to humiliate and break me, about the furnitures moving, and about my mortifying lunch encounter with Patricia and Maxwell’s interrogation.

By the time I finished, Kira was staring at me with a mixture of horror, amusement, and admiration.

"Let me get this straight," she said slowly. "This psychopath is paying you how much?"

I pulled the crumpled paper from my jacket pocket and handed it to her.

Kira looked at the number, blinked, looked again, and then actually fell backward on her butt.

"HOLY SHIT, OLIVIA!" she shrieked. "This is... this is more money than both of us make combined! This is ’buy actual groceries instead of ramen’ money!"

"I know."

"This is ’move out of this shoebox and into a place with actual closets’ money!"

"I know."

"This is ’I can finally buy those boots I’ve been stalking online for six months’ money!"

"Kira."

"This is life-changing, apartment-with-a-dishwasher, never-eat-cereal-for-dinner-again money!"

"KIRA."

She looked at me, her eyes still wide with shock. "Sorry, what?"

"I know it’s a lot of money. But I think Maxwell Wellington might actually kill me before I see a single paycheck."

Kira’s expression grew serious. "Liv, look at me. Really look at me."

I met her eyes.

"Our rent is due," she said quietly. "We have exactly forty-three dollars in our checking account. I’ve been living on peanut butter sandwiches for a week, and you’ve been stealing snacks from the office break room."

My stomach clenched. I’d been so focused on my revenge plan that I’d almost forgotten about our actual financial disaster.

"We need this money, Liv. We need it desperately. And if that means you have to put up with Mr. Psychopath CEO and his furniture-moving torture sessions for a few weeks..." Kira shrugged. "Well, we’ve both survived worse."

"I don’t think we’ve survived anything worse than Maxwell Wellington, Kira." I said weakly.

"Okay, okay... maybe we haven’t, but girllll, this is huge money."

Kira stood up, extending her hands to help pull me off the floor. "Besides, think of it this way - you’re getting paid a small fortune to spy on your enemy. This is like... the perfect revenge opportunity."

I let her pull me up, wincing as every muscle in my body nearly cracked. "I suppose when you put it like that..."

"That’s the spirit! Now come on, let me draw you a hot bath. You look like you’ve been trampled by elephants."

"I feel like I’ve been trampled by elephants. Elephants wearing steel-toed boots."

Kira guided me toward the bathroom, already turning on the taps and rummaging through our sad collection of bath products.

"You know what you need?" she called over the sound of running water. "Some of those fancy bath salts that are supposed to heal your soul. Or at least your back muscles."

"We can’t afford fancy bath salts," I reminded her, starting to peel off my Oliver disguise.

"We can after your first paycheck!" Kira said cheerfully. "I’m going to make a list of all the things we’re going to buy. Starting with food that doesn’t come in boxes with cartoon characters on them."

I sank into the hot water with a groan of relief that was probably heard in neighboring apartments. Every muscle in my body began to slowly unclench.

"Kira," I called out, "remind me why I thought this plan was a good idea?"

"Because you’re stubborn, dramatic, and have a pathological need to prove yourself to men who don’t deserve your time?" Kira called back from the kitchen.

"Thanks. Really helpful."

"I live to serve!"

I closed my eyes and let the hot water work its magic on my abused muscles. Maybe Kira was right. Maybe I could survive Maxwell Wellington’s torture sessions long enough to get some answers and enough money to change our lives.

The thought of a real apartment, with actual space and maybe even a bathtub that wasn’t the size of a cereal bowl, was almost worth the humiliation.

*Almost.*

I was just starting to feel human again when I heard my phone chime from the living room.

"Kira, can you check that?" I called out. "If it’s Patricia asking about dinner plans, just ignore it."

"It’s not Patricia," Kira called back, and something in her voice made me sit up straighter in the tub.

"Who is it?"

"Gabriel."

My heart skipped a beat. "Gabriel? What does it say?"

There was a pause, and then Kira appeared in the bathroom doorway, holding my phone with a strange expression on her face.

"Liv," she said slowly, "you need to read this yourself."

I grabbed a towel, wrapping it around myself as I took the phone with wet hands. There on the screen was a text from Gabriel that made my breath catch:

*"Hey beautiful. I know this might seem forward, but I can’t stop thinking about Saturday night. I’ve been going crazy wondering if you truly felt what I felt in that car. I need to see you again. Tomorrow night. My place. Just the two of us this time - I promise Maxwell won’t be anywhere near us. Please say yes. I’m already planning something special. - G"*