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“I thought you were coming over with another offer for Olivia,” Zara mutters, slightly off guard. She’s usually very controlled, yet there’s something about Lilian that softens her up to the point where I have to bite my lower lip to stop myself from laughing. As I live and breathe, I think my fierce Zara Henstridge has met her match in Lilian, my close friend, my rival, and my dear mentor. What an interesting pairing, to say the least. “But I’m not gonna say no to lunch, that much I can tell you…”
Lilian offers a charming smile. “I figured you wouldn’t.” She shifts focus back to me for a moment. “I did want to talk to you about the press. They’ve been poking around my offices for a while now, trying to get some dirt on you. Someone let slip that we’re close friends, and because your building is practically impenetrable, some of these reporters have started getting creative on my turf.”
“What do you mean?” I ask. I don’t like getting this much attention.
“There have been rumors about you secretly dating someone to keep the stock market speculating,” Lilian says. “And with Olivia joining the team, I think they’re trying to create connections where there aren’t any. I told you, Will, your remaining single is highly valued by brokers. It will cost you if you lose it.”
“My God, this is ridiculous on so many levels,” I burst into an uncomfortable cackle. “Are you ladies hearing yourselves?!”
Zara exhales harshly. “I’ve already warned him about this.”
“I’m aware of my stock market value and I’m not doing anything to jeopardize it,” I say. “Furthermore, if anyone in the media plans to come for said stock market value, they’d better come with proof, otherwise they’re just full of hot air. And I will call them out accordingly.” I’m already searching for my phone so I can call my company’s publicist.
“Will, it’s fine. It’s just that Olivia is quite easy on the eye, if I may say so,” Lilian replies.
Zara shrugs. “Meh. I’d say she’s barely a degree over plain.”
“Let’s just end this conversation here,” I cut in, letting my irritation get the better of me. “I continue to be very much single, and my stock market value is not in jeopardy. Worry not. Now, you two better head out to lunch and leave me to my work; I’ve got a lot on my plate today.”
They exchange amused glances and get up at the same time, both clearly excited to go somewhere else together. There’s a spark lighting up between them, and I’m pretty sure it will make everything easier for Lilian as she navigates her divorce. I’m not sure where Zara is, emotionally speaking, but I do know they’re both great women who deserve to find happiness.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Zara says as she follows Lilian out of my office. I watch them both walk away and slide into the elevator.
Slowly, I pull my gaze over to Olivia and find her looking my way. As soon as our eyes meet, my heart skips a heavy beat while she quickly shifts her sights back on her computer. For the briefest of moments, we were in perfect, silent sync. I’m not sure what happened, but it was as if I was connected directly to the universe itself, somehow. There is something about Olivia that demands further study.
It presents issues for my stock-market-induced celibacy, but I don’t think I can stop myself.
I’m way too curious for my own good.
Besides, I meant every word of my earlier rant. No, it wasn’t the best of avenues to allow the stock market to speculate around my personal endeavors, but it has added about five billion dollars more to my stock portfolio. If I keep at it like this according to Zara’s advice and instructions, I stand to make ten times as much just from the stocks when Asclepius launches. I’ll sell everything then. I’ll be a free man. Right now, I feel trapped in a device of my own making.
And Olivia is an inviting ray of sunshine.
CHAPTER7
OLIVIA
Sometimes, I feel like he’s watching me.
I see him, now and then, stealing glances. It makes it harder for me to focus, but I’m so determined to make my software a reality, I have somehow found the nerve to balance an array of exciting new sensations at once.
On one hand, there’s this whole gig that’s paying ridiculously well while also helping me transform my theoretical dreams into applicable realities. The people at Bucklow Tech are, for the most part, helpful. The engineers, Nathan and Max, have provided me with exceptional support thus far. I was right when I told Will they’d shave about a month off my delivery deadline—their input has been game-changing, to say the least.
On the other hand, there’s Will, this enticing and mysterious presence that binds everything together. They all rally behind him. They sip on his every word and adopt his directions as personal mantras. I don’t know what he’s done to these folks, but he has a veritable following within his company. No wonder nobody’s leaking any information to the press, and I’ve seen the reporters outside just waiting to grab one of us.
I’m thrilled to be here, obviously. It’s everything I’ve ever wanted, yet there are still times when I feel threatened by an imposter syndrome that I know doesn’t even belong in my head.
Every time I step away from the workstation, it’s like a different kind of reality hits me. From behind the screen, every piece of the puzzle falls into place. Every human behavior is predictable and easy to assess. As soon as I return to the physical world, however, I catch glimpses of colleagues snickering at me. Looking down on me. There’s muted contempt aimed at me, and I’m not sure where it’s coming from. It’s not something I could bring up with Will, either. I don’t want to stir up any trouble, and besides… I can barely gather enough nerve to say hello to the guy.
It's my third week with Bucklow Tech and going into the shared kitchen is still one hell of a mission for me. I need thirty minutes just to convince myself to get up and brew myself a cup of tea. I feel my nerves stretching as I finally reach the counter and move quickly to put the electric kettle on. I can already feel some of their eyes on me as I drop a teabag in a large mug and tap my foot as I wait for the water to boil. Two guys from Accounting come in. We say faint hellos and nod at each other, but I do my best to keep to myself while they raid the fridge for what I assume isn’t even their lunch.
“Don’t let Sharon see us,” one of them mutters.
“Yeah, I know. I remember that last hissy fit she threw about her barley soup. Like I would ever touch her stupid barley soup,” the other says.
“Right, ’cause it’s her salmon and avocado salad that we’re really after,” the first one snickers.
I accidentally make eye contact, then focus on my boiling water. The moment that button clicks back up, I’m out of here.
