Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 129084 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 645(@200wpm)___ 516(@250wpm)___ 430(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129084 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 645(@200wpm)___ 516(@250wpm)___ 430(@300wpm)
The other stuff pales in comparison, so I hold my head up and keep walking.
I can’t help but glance across the office and the rows of cubicles to Noah’s closed door. I hate that disappointment saturates my better judgment. I need to keep in mind that getting to know him for the sake of Maxwell is not the same thing as getting to know him for the sake of professionalism, or even on a personal level. Personal level? What am I thinking? There doesn’t need to be anything personal with that man.
I drop my bag off in my office and head right back out. I’m on a mission this morning and ready to tackle all the obstacles in my life. Rounding the corner, I head straight for my father’s office. When I approach his assistant’s desk, I ask, “Hi, Jennifer, is Mr. Bancroft available?”
Her expression falls. “You just missed him.”
“Missed him?” I check the time on the gold watch he gave me for my high school graduation. “It’s seven fifty-three in the morning.”
Taking her glasses off, she stabs the arms into her hair that hangs loose today. I’ve always liked Jennifer. She has never treated me as spoiled or undeserving, and smiles when she sees me. Beats the scowls I’m sometimes on the receiving end of.
“It was an early start for him, but he had a breakfast meeting schedule this morning.”
“With whom?” I glance down the hall when I see other employees arriving.
“Mr. Lowe, Mr. Lowe, and Mr. Westcott.”
I tweak my neck from turning back so fast. Mr. Westcott . . . I try to contain my huff, but I see Jennifer laugh under her breath. “Yeah, with the Lowes back in the city and Mr. Westcott jumping right into the deep end, is it me, or does it feel a little—”
“Cutthroat? No,” I say, staring out the window behind her as rage burns inside. “Not just you.”
“I was going to say energized.” A slight shrug of her shoulder partners with the cringe on her face.
“Yes, that’s what I meant.” I know she doesn’t believe me, but I haven’t even had coffee yet. As my acting skills won’t be convincing, I decide not to dig this hole any deeper and end the embarrassing misery. “Will you let him know I came by to see him?”
“Of course.” When I turn to walk away, she adds, “I know what you mean about cutthroat, Olivia.”
I stop and turn back. “Yeah?”
“You’re doing a good job. I know he doesn’t tell you, but sometimes he tells me.”
“Yeah?” Coming closer, I stop in front of her desk again.
She nods with a reassuring smile. “His meeting at eleven thirty is Brooklyn.” While she studies the monitor in front of her, she adds, “Then his next meeting is at three o’clock in conference room one to close negotiations on a new client.”
“What about between his meetings? Can you schedule me in for a thirty-minute slot?”
Pulling her glasses from her head, she returns them to the bridge of her nose and starts typing. She looks up from the monitor, and says, “Not today. Actually, there’s nothing all week.”
“How about twenty minutes?”
“I don’t even have a ten-minute opening I can book. He told me explicitly not to add anything to his schedule for the next two months.”
“Then how did Mr. Westcott get a breakfast with him?”
“Mr. Bancroft called the meeting.”
My hopes fall. I hate that I still feel . . . anything when it comes to him. I should be used to the disappointment, especially after the situation with Chip imploded. Yet somehow, I’m still never fully prepared. Empathy reaches her eyes, or maybe it’s sadness, pity even, which doesn’t make me feel especially good though I know that’s not her intention. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault.” Pretending to blow it off like it doesn’t matter, I smile. “Busy is good. That’s what he always taught.” Jennifer’s one of the few who has supported my return to the office. After a year away, although I was working remotely, I came back to a staff that had conjured its own narrative about my disappearance.
Horrible things weren’t said only to my back. A few people made sure I overheard their nasty gossip. That’s when I realized I’d never win over some people. Doesn’t matter what I do or how nice I am. Those efforts will be wasted on them.
The decision to protect my personal life has left me fighting the misconceptions they’ve developed ever since.
Lik e any proud mom, I wish I could have a framed photo sitting on my desk, but I keep my office clear because they don’t deserve to see the best part of my life.
My mom tells me to ignore it. My father seems oblivious to the noise.
I’m stuck somewhere in the middle, wondering if I’m ever going to win not only their approval but also my father’s.