Olivia’s POV
I cried for what felt like hours, though it couldn’t have been more than twenty minutes. My chest heaved with each sob, the sound echoing off the bathroom tiles. I thought I could do this - maintain the charade, outsmart Maxwell Wellington, prove myself worthy. But it was becoming more difficult by the second. It hadn’t even been a whole day since Maxwell resumed his role as CEO, and my life was already falling apart.
When the tears finally subsided, I sat in the silence of the bathroom stall, staring at my trembling hands. My makeup was probably ruined, my disguise compromised by my emotional breakdown. I couldn’t afford to look weak. Not now. Not when I already in too deep.
Slowly, I pulled out my compact mirror with shaking fingers. The reflection that stared back at me was a mess - mascara smudged beneath my eyes, the contouring around my jawline smeared from wiping away tears. But the basic structure of Oliver’s face remained intact.
I worked again on setting up my disguise, using tissues to clean up the damage. I pressed the edges of my facial prosthetics firmly back into place, ensuring they adhered properly. Within ten minutes, Oliver Hopton was restored - perhaps a bit pale, but presentable.
I couldn’t believe I was working through my disguise for the fifth time that day, all because of one man.
Taking one last breath, I unlocked the stall door and made my way back to my office. A few colleagues nodded as I passed, and I managed to nod back, using my deep voice to offer brief greetings.
Once safely behind my office door, I collapsed into my chair and stared at the ceiling. Maxwell’s ultimatum played on repeat in my mind: *Executive assistant, or the door.*
The rational part of me knew I should walk away. Cut my losses, go back to Harry & Associates with my tail between my legs, and forget this insane plan ever existed. But the stubborn part of me - the part that had driven me to this desperate charade in the first place - refused to give up.
I pulled out my phone and stared at Alex’s contact information. He’d been so kind to me, so welcoming. Would he still want to work with me after Maxwell’s demotion? How do I stay close to him now?
My thoughts were interrupted by a knock on my door. "Come in," I called, quickly shoving my phone into my desk drawer.
Patricia peeked her head in, her expression surprisedly sympathetic. "Mr. Hopton? I hope you don’t mind me asking, but are you feeling alright?"
The kindness in her voice actually surprised me. Didn’t know this lady had it in her. "I’m fine, Patricia. Just processing some feedback from Mr. Wellington."
She stepped fully into my office, closing the door behind her. "I heard about the position change," she said quietly. "For what it’s worth, I think you’re overqualified for an assistant role."
I looked up at her in shock. "You heard?"
"Word travels fast around here," she said with a rueful smile. "And between you and me, Maxwell Wellington can be difficult. But he’s also fair, in his own way. If he’s offering you the assistant position, it might not be the punishment you think it is."
"How do you figure that?"
Patricia sat on the edge of the chair across from my desk. "In all the years I’ve been here, I’ve seen exactly three people work as his personal assistant. One is now a partner at a competing firm. Another is a federal judge. The third runs her own practice and makes more money than most of the partners here."
I blinked in surprise. "Really?"
"Maxwell Wellington is many things - arrogant, demanding, sometimes cruel. But he’s also one of the most brilliant legal minds in the country. Working directly under him... you’d learn things you could never learn in a traditional associate role."
Her words stirred something in me. Not hope, exactly, but curiosity. "What would I actually be doing?"
"Everything," Patricia said simply. "Research, client meetings, case preparation, contract review. You’d be involved in every major decision, every important case. The only difference is you’d be doing it as his right hand rather than as an independent associate."
After Patricia left, I sat alone with my thoughts for another hour. The office slowly emptied as five o’clock approached. But I remained, staring out my window at the city below.
Finally, I made my decision.
I gathered my things, straightened my tie one last time, and headed for the elevator. Instead of going to the ground floor, I pressed the button for the parking garage. If I was going to do this, I was going to do it on my terms.
The garage was dimly lit and empty by the time I arrived. I walked toward the VIP section, where the partners’ cars were parked. Maxwell’s car wasn’t hard to spot - a shiny black Porsche 911 Turbo that probably cost more than I’d make in two years.
I positioned myself next to the car and waited.
Twenty minutes later, the elevator dinged, and the almighty Maxwell emerged, his suit jacket slung over his shoulder, tie loosened. He looked tired but still devastatingly handsome. His steps faltered slightly when he spotted me leaning against his car.
"Mr. Hopton," he called, his voice neutral. "Working late?"
"Actually, I was waiting for you," I replied, pushing off from the car to face him directly. "I have an answer to your offer."
Maxwell’s eyebrows rose slightly, but he didn’t look particularly surprised. He approached slowly, pulling his keys from his pocket casually.
"And?"
I took a deep breath, drawing on every ounce of courage I possessed. "I accept. But I have conditions."
This time, his expression did show surprise. "Conditions?" He almost laughed. "You’re hardly in a position to make demands, Oliver."
"Maybe not," I agreed, "but I’m making them anyway."
Maxwell studied me for a long moment, then gestured for me to continue. "I’m listening."
"First, this arrangement is temporary. Six months, exactly as you said. After that, I get a full review for the junior associate position, and you base your decision solely on my performance, not on whatever personal issues you might have with me."
"Personal issues?" Maxwell’s voice dropped to that dangerous whisper I was becoming familiar with. "What makes you think this is personal?"
I met his gaze steadily. "Because I’m not stupid, Mr. Wellington. This sudden decision of yours is not ordinary."
For a moment, tension crackled between us in the dim garage. Then Maxwell’s lips curved into a cold smile.
"Continue," he said simply.
"Second, I want to be involved in real work. Not just scheduling and coffee runs. I want to participate in case strategy, client meetings, contract negotiations. I want to learn."
"And third?"
I hesitated, then forged ahead. "I want your word that you won’t sabotage me. Whatever point you’re trying to prove, I want assurance that you’ll give me a fair chance to succeed."
Maxwell was quiet for so long that I began to wonder if he’d simply ignore my conditions entirely. Finally, he spoke.
"You know what I find most interesting about you, Oliver?"
My heart skipped. "What’s that?"
"You have more backbone than I initially gave you credit for." He clicked his key fob, and the Porsche’s lights flashed. "Very well. I accept your conditions."
Relief flooded through me, but I tried not to let it show. "All of them?"
"All of them," he confirmed, opening his car door. "Congratulations, Mr. Hopton. You’re now my executive assistant. Don’t make me regret this decision."
He slid into the driver’s seat, but before he could close the door, I found myself speaking again.
"Can I ask you something?"
Maxwell paused, one hand on the door handle. "What?"
"Why are you doing this? Really?"
He turned to look at me, "Because, Oliver, everyone needs to learn their place in this world. Even you."
The car door slammed shut, the engine roared to life, and Maxwell Wellington drove away, leaving me standing alone in the dim garage with nothing but last his words and the growing certainty that I’d just made either the best or worst decision of my life.
As I walked out of the garage to get a cab, I couldn’t shake the feeling that he knew exactly who I was and he just wanted to keep me close to torment me further.
That drama with the electric razor seemed like the starting point.