Olivia’s POV
I sat in my mini desk across from Maxwell’s imposing but very far away desk, heaving like I’d just run a marathon race and glaring at him like he should just fall and die.
Let’s recap how we got here...
*******
**Fifteen minutes earlier...**
"Now that we’ve covered your responsibilities," Maxwell had said, standing up from his chair with the air of a man who was about to make my life more miserable, "let’s discuss your workspace."
I looked around his spacious office hopefully. Maybe he’d give the nice seating area by the windows? Or perhaps that very cute side table near the bookshelf?
But instead, Maxwell walked to the far end of his office - so close to the door that if soone forcefully opened it, the person sitting there would get banged in the head - and pointed to a narrow space that looked more like a punishnt corner than a workspace.
"Your desk will go right here," he announced cheerfully.
I blinked at the spot. "Here? Right by the door?"
"Exactly. Perfect positioning for you to screen visitors and protect my privacy." Maxwell’s smile was diabolical. "Your furniture is in the assistant’s office. Go fetch it."
I turned to look at the smaller inner office he was pointing to. Through the glass partition, I could see a modest desk and chair that looked perfectly functional where they were.
"I’m sorry, I don’t understand," I said slowly. "Why can’t I just use the assistant’s office? It seems perfectly okay..."
Maxwell’s expression turned cold. "Because I wouldn’t be comfortable not knowing what you’re doing in there."
"What I’m doing? I’d be... working?"
"Mr. Hopton," his said with exaggerated patience, as if explaining sothing to a very slow child, "if I can’t see you, I can’t monitor your productivity. If I can’t monitor your productivity, I can’t ensure you’re earning that generous salary I’m paying you. And if I’m not comfortable with my assistant’s work habits, I can’t concentrate."
I stared at him. "You want to watch work?"
"I want to be aware of your presence at all tis," Maxwell corrected. "And when a CEO is distracted by uncertainty about his staff, Mr. Hopton, it ans a failing company. Surely you don’t want to be responsible for the downfall of Wellington & Sons?"
The manipulative son of a bitch was actually trying to make feel guilty about wanting basic privacy.
"But sir, the furniture is perfectly positioned in the assistant’s office. Moving it seems unnecessarily..."
"Are you complaining already, Mr. Hopton?" Maxwell interrupted, his eyebrows rising dangerously. "Because if you’re having second thoughts..."
The threat hung in the air like a sword over my head. I thought about that beautiful salary figure, about the new apartnt, the new car, probably a girl’s trip with Kira...
I forced myself to smile brightly, hoping it looked masculine enough. "Not complaining at all, sir! I’ll be more than happy to stay there!"
"Excellent," Maxwell said, settling back into his chair. "Now get on with it. The furniture won’t move itself."
******
**The Great Furniture Moving Disaster of the year**
I approached the assistant’s office like a warrior preparing for battle. How hard could it be? It was just a desk and a chair. I was a strong, independent woman. I could handle this.
*Famous last words.*
The chair seed like the logical place to start. It was smaller, lighter, definitely more manageable than the desk. I grabbed it by the back and started wheeling it toward the door.
Imdiately, one of the wheels decided to rebel against , spinning in the complete opposite direction I intended. The chair veered sharply to the left, crashed into the wall, bounced off, and rolled directly into my shin.
"Ow! Son of a..." I caught myself before finishing the curse, rembering I was supposed to be a professional male assistant.
"Everything alright in there, Mr. Hopton?" Maxwell’s voice called out.
"Perfectly fine, sir!" I called back, my voice slightly strained.
I tried again, this ti approaching the chair like it was a wild animal that needed to be tad. I grabbed it firmly, planted my feet, and began pushing it forward with determination.
The chair shot forward like a rocket, careened through the doorway, and rolled at top speed directly toward Maxwell’s desk.
"INCOMING!" I shouted, lunging after it.
Maxwell looked up from his computer just in ti to see diving across his office, arms outstretched, chasing a runaway office chair like so kind of dented superhero.
I managed to catch the chair just before it crashed into his desk, but my montum carried forward, and I ended up sprawled across his desk, my face inches from his keyboard.
"Mr. Hopton," Maxwell said calmly, not even bothering to move his coffee cup out of the way, "are you attempting to redecorate my desk?"
"No, sir," I gasped, pushing myself up and trying to regain so dignity. "The chair simply lost control."
Maxwell’s eyes were dancing with suppressed laughter. "Get back to work, Hopton, ti is essential."
"Yes, sir." I responded, straightening my tie and positioning the chair in the designated corner.
The desk was next. The desk that looked three tis heavier than I was and had drawers that were probably full of files and office supplies.
I returned to the assistant’s office and stared at my nesis. It was a solid wood desk that had probably been built soti during the sozoic Era by giants who never intended for normal humans to move it.
"Okay, Olivia," I whispered to myself. "You’ve got this. You’re strong. You’re capable. You’re a warrior woman disguised as a man who can definitely move one tiny desk."
I grabbed one end and tried to lift it. The desk didn’t budge. Not even a milliter.
I tried the other end. Nothing.
I tried the middle. The desk remained as immovable as a mountain.
"Mr. Hopton?" Maxwell called out. "Is there a problem?"
"No problem at all!" I called back, now sweating despite the air conditioning. "I’m okay here!"
I walked around the desk like a general surveying a battlefield. Maybe if I removed the drawers first? I yanked on the top drawer.
It was locked.
Of course it was locked.
"Think, Olivia, think," I muttered, wiping sweat from my forehead. "What would a man do in this situation?"
*Probably call for help like a sensible human being.*
But I couldn’t call for help because that would reveal that I wasn’t actually the strong, capable man I was pretending to be.
I decided to try sliding it. If I couldn’t lift it, maybe I could push it along the floor.
I positioned myself behind the desk, planted my feet, and shoved with all my might.
The desk moved approximately two inches and made a horrific scraping sound against the floor that probably woke up every dog in New York.
"WHAT WAS THAT NOISE?" Maxwell’s voice bood from the main office.
"Nothing, sir! Just a minor shifting problem!"
I tried again, pushing from a different angle. This ti, the desk moved about six inches but knocked over a small plant in the process, sending dirt crashing across the floor.
"Oh, co on!" I hissed at the desk. "Work with here!"
Ten minutes later, I had managed to push, pull, drag, and cajole the desk halfway to its destination. I was drenched in sweat, my hair was falling out of its Oliver’s disguise, and I was pretty sure I had developed at least three new types of back pain.
"Mr. Hopton," Maxwell appeared in the doorway of the assistant’s office. "You seem to be experiencing so... difficulties."
"Not at all, sir," I panted, leaning against the desk like it was the only thing keeping upright. "I’m handling it quite perfectly."
Maxwell looked at the disaster zone I had created - the overturned plant, the scattered dirt, the desk positioned at a completely bizarre angle in the middle of the floor - and nodded thoughtfully.
"I see. And how long will this take?"
"Oh, just a few more minutes!" I said brightly, hoping he couldn’t see the tears of frustration gathering in my eyes.
"Can you do that quietly without torturing the furniture to death."
After he left, I slumped against the desk and seriously considered my life choices.
*How am I going to survive a month of this without killing him and stealing his money and running away to xico?*
The thought was becoming more appealing by the minute.
But then I rembered the bills piling up on our kitchen counter. I rembered how much I wanted to figure out what Maxwell’s deal was.
*Suck it up, Olivia. You’ve co this far. You can move one stupid desk.*
With renewed energy, I managed to wrestle the desk the remaining distance to its designated corner. By the ti I collapsed into the chair, I looked like I had been through a natural disaster.
Maxwell glanced up from his computer, took in my disheveled appearance, and smiled that infuriating smile.
"Comfortable, Mr. Hopton?"
I sat there, heaving like I’d just run a marathon, glaring at him like he should just fall over and die, and forced myself to keep smiling.
"Absolutely perfect, sir. Thank you for this... opportunity to demonstrate my furniture moving skills."
"Oh, this is just the beginning," Maxwell said cheerfully. "Wait until you see what I have planned for tomorrow."
I gripped the armrests of my chair and wondered if it was possible to develop superhuman strength through pure hatred alone.
*One month,* I reminded myself. *Just survive one month, collect the paycheck, and then you can plot your revenge properly.*
From my new position by the door - where any visitor would literally have to step over to enter the office - I settled in for what promised to be the longest month of my life.
At least the money would be worth it.
*Right?*
*...Right?*
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