Stranger in my Ass Chapter 8

Olivia’s POV

The mont our eyes connected, ti seed to freeze. Those piercing green eyes - the sa ones that had dismissed so cruelly in his office - locked onto mine briefly.

I broke eye contact imdiately, staring down at my polished shoes while my heart hamred against my chest binding so violently I feared everyone could hear it. My hands trembled at my sides, and I secretly wiped my sweaty palms against my pants.

"Welco back, sir!" Renly called out, clapping Maxwell Wellington on the back. "The firm hasn’t been the sa without you."

"I’m sure it hasn’t," Max replied, his voice exactly as I rembered it - deep, authoritative, with that underlying tone of arrogance that had infuriated so much in his office. "Though I’ve heard Damian kept things running smoothly."

Everyone laughed, though nervously, and I wondered what was so funny.

I kept my head down, desperately wishing I could disappear. Maybe I could slip away unnoticed? I took one tentative step backward, then another.

"Before I speak with the partners," Max announced, halting my escape attempt, "I’d like to et each of our new associates individually."

Oh God. No. Please no.

Patricia, ever the busybody, began guiding Max down the line of employees. He moved steadily, shaking hands, exchanging pleasantries. With each person he passed, he drew closer to . Five people away. Four. Three.

My heart was thundering so loudly it drowned out all other sounds. Two people away. One.

And then he was standing before , those green eyes boring into mine. I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think.

"And you are?" he asked, extending his hand. His face betrayed nothing - no recognition, no anger, no surprise, no nothing. Was he playing with ? Or did he genuinely not recognize beneath my disguise?

"Oliver Hopton, sir," I managed in my practiced deep voice, praying it wouldn’t crack. "Junior associate. I started this week."

I extended my trembling hand. My palm was embarrassingly slick with sweat despite my attempts to dry it on my pants. Our hands connected, and I felt a jolt of sothing - fear, heat, or maybe just adrenaline - shoot up my arm.

His grip was firm, but I made sure to keep the handshake brief. I pulled my hand away quickly, afraid that sohow the softness of my skin might betray . Nothing in his manner suggested he recognized as the woman who had called him a "sadistic jerk" in an online review. Nothing indicated he knew "Oliver" was actually Olivia in a crazy disguise.

But the complete calmness of his expression was sohow more unnerving than if he’d shown outright recognition.

"Welco to Wellington and Sons, Mr. Hopton," he said, "I look forward to seeing your work."

And then he was moving on to the next person, leaving standing there with weak knees and shallow breaths.

He hadn’t exposed . Not yet, anyway. But had he recognized ? I couldn’t tell, and not knowing was almost worse than confirmation.

As soon as the formalities concluded and the crowd began to disperse, I practically ran back to my office, closed the door, and collapsed into my chair. My entire body was shaking.

"This is a disaster," I whispered to myself, trying to control my breathing. "He’s going to fire . Or worse, expose ."

I pulled out my compact mirror with trembling hands and examined my disguise. Was the adhesive at my jawline starting to lift? I pressed it back down firmly, wincing at the slight sting. I checked the contouring on my cheeks, the makeup that subtly reshaped my features. Everything seed intact, but I couldn’t shake the feeling of being busted.

I reapplied a bit of the special fixative Nikita had given to the edges of my facial prosthetics. I couldn’t afford even the slightest slip. Then I practiced my male posture again - shoulders back, chin slightly elevated, taking up space rather than minimizing myself as I naturally tended to do.

After several minutes of heart palpitations and disguise adjustnts, I forced myself to calm down. The fact that Max hadn’t imdiately called out was a good sign, right? Maybe he hadn’t recognized after all. My disguise was pretty convincing. Nikita had done an amazing job with the facial modifications, and the voice training had clearly paid off.

Or maybe he was just waiting for the right mont to humiliate completely.

I checked my watch. It had been twenty minutes since the welco ceremony, and no security guards had shown up to escort out. Maybe I was safe. For now.

What I needed was information. I needed to understand what I was dealing with. And who better to provide insight into Maxwell Wellington than his supposed best friend?

Taking a deep breath to steady myself, I straightened my tie, made one final check of my appearance in my compact mirror, and headed toward Alex’s office.

My anxiety increased with each step, as I rehearsed my casual questions in my head. So, you and the CEO are close, huh? What’s he like outside of work? Is he the type to hold grudges?

Before I knew it, I was standing outside Alex’s door. I knocked quietly, my knuckles barely making contact with the door.

A deep "Enter" ca from within.

I pushed the door open, my practiced words dying on my lips as I took in the scene before .

Maxwell Wellington lounged in Alex’s leather chair, his long legs propped casually on the desk, ankles crossed. He held a glass of what appeared to be whiskey, swirling it lazily. Alex sat on the office couch, his own glass in hand, looking more relaxed than I’d ever seen him.

They both turned to look at as I froze in the doorway like a deer in headlights.

"I... I’m sorry," I stamred, my male voice nearly slipping. "I didn’t realize you were in a eting. I’ll co back later."

I turned quickly, prepared to flee, when Max’s voice stopped cold.

"Wait."

I stood still, my back to them, heart racing so fast I felt dizzy.