1
Olivia
When the tempagency gave me this assignment, they only had one piece of advice: stay the hell out of Max Ford’s way. The billionaire CEO has a stringent reputation for being driven, meticulous, and mean. I’m the fifth temp they’ve sent over this month. Because of his temperament, the others couldn’t cut it. But I’mnotthe others. I don’t have the option of taking off because some wealthy CEO treats me like shit. I’m not only flat broke, but last week I turned eighteen, and was immediately thrust from the foster system. Max Ford may be a tyrant, but I need a roof over my head. And I’ll be damned if I have to go back to that shelter, so for everyone’s sake I plan on flying under the radar.
A low rumble ripples through the staff as I make my way to the copy room. You can cut the underlying tension with a dull butter knife. Women press at the hems of their skirts. Men straighten their ties, and clear their throats. Tamara, the woman I’m reporting to, snaps her fingers in my direction. “Mr. Ford is on his way up.” She speaks in sharp, hushed tones. “Finish up and get back to your desk. Pronto!”
Unnerved by the sudden spike in energy, I press the stack of file folders against my chest, and pick up my pace. I can’t believe everyone makes such a big deal about this man. What’s the problem? If you’ve worked for one demanding boss, you’ve worked for them all. I take a deep breath and round the corner, throw open the top of the copier, and start my first of many boring tasks for the day. A slow yawn escapes my mouth. I didn’t get near enough sleep last night. One eye open, and all that.
As soon as I glance up, through the copy room window, I see the lobby door fly open and Max Ford makes his grand entrance. A lump catches in my throat when I try to swallow. He is not at all what I was expecting: a gruff businessman with bad hair, who has more money than God but can’t seem to dress himself. No, in fact Max Ford is the exact opposite.
Max Ford is the stuff that dreams are made of.
Built strong and sexy like a brick house, his suit looks like someone’s painted it on him taking the time to contour the shapely muscles in his beastly arms. God knows they don’t sell suits like that off the rack; his massive frame demands a custom cut.
His thick, dark hair stays in place with each hulking step he takes. Dark, aviator sunglasses shade his eyes. They sit perfectly on his high cheekbones which accentuate his square jaw, lined with the perfect amount of stubble. But the sexiest thing about Max Ford, is the hint of tattoos peeking out from the bottom of his shirt sleeve. My eye is drawn to the dark ink on the hand he’s carrying his briefcase in. My entire body seizes with excitement and fear, and I have to ask myself the question: what kind of bad boy lies beneath that sleek, expensive suit?
I resist the urge to duck out of his sight. Every step he takes is grounded in confidence. My body inches just out of his eye line, but I keep my gaze trained on him, watching him from behind the copy room wall as he makes his way past me.
As soon as he’s out of view, I finally catch my breath. I don’t even hear Tamara enter the room, so when she speaks I nearly jump out of my skin. “What are you doing?”
A file folder flutters to the floor. I stand up straight and grip my chest. “Nothing,” I lie. “I was just finishing up.”And checking out our terrifyingly hot boss.
“Well, snap to it. I have an entire stack of data entry for you this afternoon that isn’t going to enter itself.” I huff out a laugh at her double entendre. Tamara’s face remains stoic. “What’s so funny?”
“No, Tamara, you’re right. It won’t enter itself.” With a smile I bend down and collect the files. Clearly Tamara doesn’t get it. I know it’s silly, that sometimes I have the sense of a humor of a teenager. Maybe that’s because I still am one. A teenager that’s been forced to mature faster than normal. I’ve got to laugh whenever possible. And these days, it isn’t often.
The day goes by slower than usual. Eight hours of entering client data into a laptop in a windowless room makes me more tired than I thought was humanly possible. But, lucky for me I plan on getting a better night sleep, right here in this air conditioned office. Surely one of these big rooms have a sofa.
Tamara walks into the small room I’m stationed in without knocking. “Congratulations, Olivia, you survived your first day.” Her too-thin frame gives her a skeletal appearance. A few pounds would really round out her face. She clasps her hands in front of her concave chest. “Well, it’s about that time. You’re free to go. I’m walking out, too.” She nods her head and stands there, just waiting for me to go with her, I guess.
My heart rate quickens. I’ll have to play this cool. If I leave this office and can’t get back in, I’m screwed for the night. And after what happened last night in the shelter, I’ll sleep on the street before I go back there. The thought terrifies me, but screw that horrible place.
But I can’t tip Tamara off to my plan. So, it’s better to play along and figure out how to handle it as I go. “Let me grab my backpack.” I say tucking my chair in behind me when I stand.
“That is a gigantic backpack.” Her face twists, accentuating her deep-set wrinkles. “What do you carry your whole house with you?”
My mouth twitches into a nervous smile. “Sort of.” I say. “You can never be too prepared.”
“That’d break my back.” Her bony fingers flip the light switch as I follow her out of the office. She jabbers on as we make our way to the elevator. I’m not paying much attention to what she’s saying, instead I’m trying to figure out the most convincing argument for going back inside.
“Oh crap!” I say, my feet halting mid-step. Tamara turns to face me, visibly annoyed that I’m interrupting her story.
“What’s wrong?”
“I forgot um…my phone.” It’s the first thing that comes to my head.
“I’ll wait for you.”
“No!” I say a bit too abruptly. “I’m not sure where I left it.” I lie. The truth is that I don’t even own a cell phone. The last one I had was a pay-as-you-go, and when I couldn’t pay it anymore it became another luxury on the long list of “can’t haves.”
“Really, it’s no problem.” Tamara says, crossing her arms over her chest and tapping her foot. Damn. This is going to be harder than I thought. My mind recalculates.
“The truth is, Tamara.” I take a step closer and lean in. “I have to go to the bathroom, too.” I whisper. “And I might be a minute.”
“Oh!” She says. “I guess I’ll just see you tomorrow, then.”
Thank God she bought it. “Yep, I’ll see you in the morning. Have a great night.”