Fuck, I’m hungover.

And tired.

No, exhausted.

I could sleep for another week straight and still not get enough sleep. I thought I’d feel better after spending the last forty-eight hours doing nothing but sleeping and drinking. But I was wrong. All it did was make me feel worse. I feel no more rested than I was when I left, and I haven’t gotten the images of Olive out of my head any more than I could before I left.

So, that’s why I’m taking some drastic measures. I can’t get Olive out of my head, and I’m not sure if abandoning her in my apartment and not calling her is going to be enough to really make her hate me. I’m going to tell Olive the truth about what I do for a living. That’s the only solution I’ve come up with. If I tell her what I do for a living, then she’ll hate me. And, if she hates me, she won’t want to fuck me again. Problem solved. I might even get lucky, and she might quit.

Then, I can focus on what I really came here to do. Run a successful real estate company and to see if I still have a shot with Jamie. And, if I don’t have a chance with her, then I need to learn to get over her.

I step foot inside the office and expect it to be bustling with people, as it usually is on a weekday. I’ve learned from my week here and from speaking with Jamie on the phone that Monday through Friday are the busiest office days while the weekends are the busiest days for the realtors to be doing open houses and showing houses to clients. And my role as the boss is to get people straightened out during the week so that they can do their best at selling the most houses over the weekend.

But I don’t expect what I see when I enter the office. I was expecting the office to be a bit chaotic on Monday morning after a busy weekend and since I wasn’t here over the weekend to ensure that everything was running smoothly. But what I see when I walk into the office is complete chaos. People are running around everywhere with no clue as to what they’re doing. Papers are flying and strewed all over desks in complete and utter disorganization. But that’s not what worries me. Disorganization, I can easily fix. What scares me is the look on everyone’s faces as they run around the office. Something’s not right.

“What’s going on?” I ask Jennifer, one of the realtors, as she walks by.

She stops and looks up at me with fear in her eyes. “It’s Monday?” she half-asks and half-says, but I know it’s not the truth.

I sigh and continue walking to my office. I need answers, and I know the only woman who is going to give me any sort of honest answer as to what the hell is going on is Olive. And, as much as I’d rather hide in my office all day and wait to talk to her until later, it doesn’t seem that I’m going to get to wait.

I walk straight to her desk, but she’s not there. I glance at my watch. It’s a quarter till nine. Olive is always here by this time. Usually, she’s already been here at least an hour or more. I glance around the office to see if I can find her. But I don’t see her anywhere, and I don’t know where to start looking.

Floyd walks over. “Where is Olive?” he asks.

“I was wondering that myself.”

Floyd’s face turns to panic. “Shit.”

“What?” I say a little too sternly.

Floyd’s eyes dart from Olive’s desk to my eyes. “It’s just that there’s only been one other time when Olive was sick with the flu and didn’t come in to work. Happened about two years ago, and it was the worst week. Nobody sold any properties that week. It’s like she’s a good-luck charm or something. Or she put a curse on this place, and we can only sell properties as long as she is here.”

“What makes you think Olive is sick?” I ask.

“Do you see her anywhere?” Floyd says, annoyed.

He runs out to do God knows what while I stand, frozen, staring at the chaos. I’m beginning to think that the reason for the chaos might be because Olive isn’t here.

I haven’t had enough time this week to really see what Olive contributes to the team, but it seems she might contribute more than I ever gave her credit for. But whatever it is that she contributes, even if it’s as simple as just providing stability and normalcy for the rest of the employees, I’m going to figure it out.

But, in the meantime, there’s one thing I know for sure. Olive isn’t sick. She’s avoiding me. She’s too embarrassed to come into work after she let her boss bang her.

I stop the next person who walks by even though I don’t know her name. “Can you tell me Olive’s address?”

The woman shrugs. “No, but I’m sure Jamie has it somewhere.”

I pull out my phone as I walk into my office. I try Olive’s number first, but I get no answer. She is definitely avoiding me. I frown. It’s like everything I’ve taught her has already gone out the window. I’m fine with Olive quitting or thinking this isn’t the position for her. I’m not fine with her hiding. She doesn’t get to take the easy way out. I need her to fight for what she wants. So, I text Jamie and head back out to find Olive. And I hope that, in the meantime, the company doesn’t come to a crashing halt.

* * *

I pull up in front of her apartment building, but I can’t believe that this is where she lives. Jamie must have made a mistake when she sent me her address. I try calling Jamie and Olive, but neither of them answers. So, it leaves me no choice but to go inside and see for myself that this isn’t her place.

The apartment building doesn’t have a valet or parking garage that I can find, so I have to circle the box three times before I find any sort of street parking that’s close. Although, after seeing the neighborhood that she loves, I really wish I had taken a cab and left my car back in the parking garage at the office.

I jump out of my car and run inside the building, determined to make this as quick as possible so that nothing happens to my car. I head over to the elevator and see the large sign that says it is out of order.

Really? How can an elevator be out of order in an apartment building this tall?

I dash over to the stairs and run up, quickly taking them two at a time, struggling for breath. I might be in shape. I run and lift, but I’m not used to climbing stairs like this. When I finally make it to her floor, I’m sweating and out of breath. This is ridiculous. I’ve done all this, and I still don’t think she lives here.

I walk over to the door that is supposedly hers and knock, and I don’t hear any movement inside. I knock one more time before I decide to give up. But, just as I’m about to leave, the door opens, and Olive stares at me, wide-eyed, in the doorway.

“What…how…what are you doing here?” Olive asks, crossing her arms.

I grin, thankful that I finally found the right place. “Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

“No.”

“Fine. Then, I have no choice but to believe that the reason you called in sick today is because of me. That you’re too embarrassed to see me again after we fucked.”

Olive frowns but opens the door wider, and I slip inside. I stare around the small place that she calls an apartment. But that’s obviously not what it is. It’s a closet or storage room. It’s definitely too small to be an apartment. I look around for a place to sit, but there is none. Because every inch of space in her apartment is filled with cookies, brownies, cakes, or muffins. I glance over at what is supposed to be her kitchen and have no idea how she’s made this many bakery items in such a small kitchen that I’m not even sure functions any better than one of those Easy-Bake ovens that kids use.

If this is all she can afford, she’s definitely not getting paid enough. Especially now that I know that, for some reason, the company practically falls apart without her there. But I’m not going to tell her that—at least, not yet. Not until I know that she has the confidence to actually earn the respect and that they think of her as a boss and not just a good-luck charm.

“Yeah, looks like you’re sick to me,” I say.

Olive glares at me. “I am sick.”

I look around at all the bakery items. “Then, why are you baking if you’re sick? Shouldn’t you be in bed? And aren’t you going to have to throw out everything now that they are contaminated with your sickness?”

An alarm goes off, and Olive walks over to the tiny oven. She pulls out a small pan of brownies and places it on the only space left on the counter. Then, she throws the dish towel at me. “Baking makes me happy. It relaxes me.”

“Relaxing won’t help you get over whatever sickness you have.”

“Migraines. I get migraines, especially when I’m stressed.”

“So, you’re telling me that I gave you a migraine?” I say, smiling.

She takes the tray of cookies off what I can’t tell is either a couch or bed and sits down, plopping the tray on her lap. She takes one of the cookies off the tray and starts eating it. “No, I don’t have a migraine because of you. I don’t care that you left me alone this weekend and didn’t call me. I’m not too embarrassed to go to work because I fucked my boss.”

I raise an eyebrow, waiting for her to continue because I just don’t believe her.

She sighs. “I’m anxious and stressed because Owen won’t give me my cat, Milo, back.”

I narrow my eyes at her. She’s never talked about a cat before, but then she does seem like the type to own a cat. Although I have no idea how two creatures could survive in such a small place.

“Have you learned nothing from me? If it’s your cat, you don’t have to ask permission. Just take the cat back,” I say.

“I tried, but it’s not as simple as that. Owen paid for the cat. I have no legal right to Milo, and he’s trying to blackmail me, so I’ll take him back. Because it turns out, he didn’t really cheat on me. It was just a quick kiss between him and his sister. It turns out, he was going to propose.”

My eyes widen when she says propose because Owen definitely doesn’t seem like the type, and it pisses me off that anyone would think they had a claim to a woman I just fucked.

“And you don’t want to marry him anymore because of me?”

She looks up from her tray of cookies as her eyes grow darker. “No, not because of you, you idiot. I don’t want to marry him because I’ve realized that I don’t really love him. I’m not ready to marry anyone yet. I want to be by myself for a while and figure out what I want without a guy. I just want my cat back.”

I stare at her a second longer, trying to tell if she is telling the truth or not. “Then, let’s go get him.”