AllFreeNovel
Share Us
You know, that assistant.
“Yes, Mr Laurent.” The accountant hurries off, and I change course for the elevator. Who am I kidding? I don’t want to be down here, barking instructions and putting out fires. I want to be on the top floor with her.
Maybe it’s cliched, or a midlife crisis, or whatever.
I don’t care.
All I want is Georgina.
* * *
She’s not at her desk. How irritating. I flick one of the sharpies she keeps scattered over the table, the pen clattering against the wood. Where is she?
This is such a Georgina desk. A riot of color and chaos; bright and loud and unapologetic. I used to hate walking past an employee’s messy area, but with Georgina, it warms my chest.
Her Mike Wazowski stress ball squeaks softly as I pick it up. I squeeze hard until he’s a misshapen lump, then put him back feeling weirdly guilty. It’s not like I can actually hurt him. So ridiculous.
The top floor is quiet, the Ignis bustle far below on other floors, and I wait for several long minutes, breathing softly.
She probably ran out to make a personal call—or to stew more disgusting coffee. Georgina will be back any minute, and I don’t need to turn into a possessive asshole every time she’s out of my eye line. Plucking a baby pink post-it note from her stack, I scribbleCome find me, then press it to her monitor before striding away.
My own office is cool. Quiet and empty. There’s no chaos in here; no bright colors or carnivorous potted plants. No abandoned jacket on the back of my chair.
I should read over those expense reports. Should do some work on the product launch. Instead, I sink down behind my desk and bring up the employee records on my screen.
Olsen.I type it out, smiling. It’s a nice name. Would she keep it if we got married, or would she take Laurent? I shake my head, huffing in disgust. For god’s sake, I’m thirty five years old, and I’m a heartbeat away from doodling Georgina’s name in my planner.
Her name comes up quickly—one of only two records. I move my cursor, but I don’t click.
It feels wrong somehow. Christ, this woman is my employee, and I have every right to look at her file, but now that I’m doing it, it feels horribly like snooping. Like going through her nightstand or reading her journal.
She works for me. What am I going to do, pretend I don’t pay my girlfriend’s wages?
This is a mess. And I’m spiraling, my neck tight and my face hot, so I distract myself with the first thing I see. The second record: Nils Olsen.
…Hmm.
Nils Olsen.
An alarm bell sounds at the back of my brain, faint but insistent. Nils Olsen. Georgina’s father’s name. Coincidence?
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I count three slow breaths and replay our conversation in the park that day. She said he used to work in clean energy, yes, but not at Ignis. So why would she leave that part out?
She stared at me so hard when she mentioned his name. Like she was willing me to react.
…Nils Olsen.
It’s a coincidence. It must be. Perhaps it’s not the most common name, but it can’t be that rare either. I bet there are thousands of Nils Olsens in the world.
Chest tight, I click on the record. A man’s face peers out at me, red-cheeked and blond-haired, his jowls soft. He’s in his late fifties, maybe, and he has Georgina’s piercing blue eyes.
Okay, it wouldn’t stand up in court, but Iknowthose eyes. I think about them all the fucking time.
“I don’t understand.” My declaration breaks the silence of my office, and my voice sounds strange. Hoarse. But as I scan Nils Olsen’s employee file—reason for termination: intoxicated at work—my gut drops.
No. She wouldn’t… would she?
Head pounding, I check Georgina’s joining date, then run through a mental tally of everything that has gone wrong lately. The small disasters, throwing us off course every day; the rat sightings and broken elevator. The way it felt like she hated me at first, her teeth clenched behind every smile. Even the damn coffee.
